My Husband Gave My Lab to His Mistress

The penthouse terrace was fifty stories above Midtown Manhattan. Below us, the city lights sparkled like crushed glass against the dark. Everyone was laughing and sipping vintage champagne.

They were celebrating Marshall BioTech’s newest breakthrough.

My breakthrough.

Ten years ago, I gave up my family name, my trust fund, and my entire future for Caleb Marshall. I was the Carlson heiress, the only granddaughter of the wealthiest man on the Eastern Seaboard. But nobody in this room knew that. To them, I was just Caleb’s quiet wife in a plain navy dress, standing near the edge of the room with my hair pinned up tight.

Under the crystal chandelier, Caleb held court. He was handsome, charismatic, and full of easy confidence. He smiled for the cameras and shook hands with city council members. He wore the suit I pressed for him. He took credit for the formulas I spent five years developing.

A major board member walked over and raised his glass. "To the brilliant mind behind Marshall BioTech! Drink with us, Caleb!"

Caleb held his flute, but he didn't drink. He turned to me and gave my arm a sharp nudge.

"Simone will take it for me," Caleb said with a smooth laugh. "I have a budget meeting early tomorrow morning."

He handed me the glass.

I looked down at the golden bubbles. "Caleb, you know about my stomach. The doctor said no alcohol. I have severe gastritis."

His jaw tightened. The warmth in his eyes vanished, replaced by an ugly chill.

"Don't embarrass me in front of Mr. Vance," he whispered through his teeth. "It's just a sip. Be a supportive wife for once."

I swallowed the lump in my throat and drank the champagne. The alcohol hit my empty stomach like liquid fire. My insides twisted.

A second investor stepped in. "Another toast to our CEO!"

Caleb took the glass from the man’s hand and pushed it right into mine. "Drink, Simone."

Then came a third toast. And another glass.

I drank them all. The nausea came in waves, hot and dizzying.

Caleb didn't even look at me. His attention had already drifted across the floor to Myla Vasquez.

Myla was our newest intern. She was twenty-two, pretty, and wore a backless emerald dress. Caleb walked over to her side. He picked up her cream-colored shawl from an empty chair and gently draped it around her bare shoulders. He leaned down, his lips brushing the curve of her ear as he whispered something.

Myla giggled. She blushed and touched his forearm.

Caleb worried if Myla felt a draft. But he didn't care if my stomach was bleeding.

A sudden, vicious cramp ripped through my abdomen. My vision went white. My knees buckled beneath me.

I stumbled sideways and grabbed the edge of a cocktail table. Glasses rattled. Plates clattered.

Caleb didn't turn around. He was still smiling down at Myla.

Before I hit the floor, a steady hand caught my elbow.

"I've got you," a quiet voice said.

It was Beckett Reed.

Beckett was my childhood friend and my personal assistant. He was the only person who knew who I really was. His grip was firm and gentle. He didn't ask questions. He didn't say, *I warned you.* He just stood there, holding me up so I wouldn't fall in front of the crowd.

I looked down at my left wrist. Beneath my watch was a faint white scar. It was the mark from Caleb's heavy gold ring, left the night he shoved me into our marble coffee table two years ago.

Then I looked back at Caleb and Myla.

Something inside my chest snapped. It wasn't loud. It didn't burn. It went completely, permanently cold.

Ten years of love, patience, and silent sacrifice turned to ice.

I straightened my spine and gently pulled away from Beckett's grip.

"Thank you, Beckett," I said softly.

I walked past the waiters and the investors. I didn't rush. I walked straight toward the center display table.

Sitting on the polished mahogany was a black leather folder. Inside was the technology transfer agreement Caleb had been begging me to sign for months. It would hand over every single one of my independent patents directly to his company.

I picked up the papers.

Caleb finally noticed. He frowned and excused himself from Myla. "Simone? What are you doing with those?"

I looked at him. Then I gripped the papers with both hands.

*Rip.*

The sound of tearing paper sliced through the music.

I tore the contract in half. Then I tore it again. I opened my hands and let the white scraps flutter down onto the floor like confetti.

The room went dead silent. Executives froze with drinks halfway to their mouths.

Caleb's face turned red, then pale. He let out a strained, nervous laugh. "Simone, stop this childish drama. If you had too much to drink, go home."

"I am completely sober," I said. My voice wasn't loud, but in the quiet room, it carried like a shot. "And I am not acting."

I looked right into his eyes.

"I want a divorce."

Caleb blinked. Then his lips curled into an arrogant little smirk. He thought it was just a tantrum. He thought I was throwing a fit for attention, like always.

Ten minutes later, Caleb dragged me by the wrist into an empty hallway near the private elevators.

His charming smile was gone. His eyes bulged with rage.

"Have you lost your damn mind?" he hissed, towering over me. "You embarrassed me in front of the entire board!"

"I tore up a contract," I said, my voice completely flat. "And I meant every word about the divorce."

Caleb scoffed. He stepped closer, crowding me against the wall, his breath hot on my face.

"A divorce? Let me remind you who you are, Simone. You're a nobody. Every formula you ever touched was done in my company, on company time, with my money. Marshall BioTech owns every single patent."

He jabbed a finger in front of my nose.

"If you walk away, you leave with nothing. Not a dime. Not a single file. You'll be out on the street with empty pockets."

I looked at his sneering face. I felt no fear. I felt no sorrow.

For the first time in ten years, I felt completely free.

"Thank you for clarifying," I said.

I stepped around him and pressed the elevator button. The doors opened. I stepped inside and let them slide shut, leaving Caleb alone in the hall.

When I reached the garage, I got into my car. My stomach still burned, but my mind had never been clearer.

I pulled out my phone and dialed a private number.

Beckett answered on the very first ring. "Simone."

"Call our legal team," I told him quietly. "Lock down my personal server. And call my grandfather. Tell him I'm coming home."