"That essay collection was fake. How could I possibly make another woman the protagonist?"
"Don't forget—publishing an essay collection for you every year was our wedding promise."
"Why would I suddenly change that?"
Fabian's gentle voice washed over me like a balm, settling my nerves.
I thought back over our ten years of marriage. He had always been attentive to my every need.
He remembered all my little habits.
I liked my coffee with two spoons of sugar and one of milk. Every morning, he'd prepare it and set it on my desk, always at the perfect temperature.
My hands and feet turned to ice in winter. Every night before bed, he'd heat water for me to soak my feet, massaging my ankles while I did—for nine years straight.
When I worked late in the lab, I'd step out to find him waiting with a thermos. Inside was always ginger tea with brown sugar, or the sweet white fungus soup I loved.
And now he was asking me to give my paper to a female student?
I wanted to believe it was just a misunderstanding.
"Fine, Fabian. You'd better keep your word."
That night, to make amends, he cooked dinner himself—a whole table full of dishes.
But the next day, everything fell apart.
I had taken the day off from the Pruitt Research Center. Then, around noon, my assistant called.
"Professor Pruitt, something's happened with your paper. You've been accused of plagiarism!"
I gripped my phone, my head buzzing.
"Plagiarism? That's impossible."
Those papers represented countless hours of painstaking work and dedication. Several of them were at the cutting edge of the field—concepts I had pioneered myself.
How could anyone accuse me of plagiarism?
There was no time to think. I rushed to the Research Center.
But before I even reached the entrance, I froze at what I saw.
Fabian was carefully opening a car door, then ceremoniously scooping up a girl in a white dress, carrying her bridal-style.
"Professor Morton, I'm so sorry to trouble you." Doris had her arms wrapped around his neck, gazing up at him with starry eyes. "I'm so clumsy—I twisted my ankle. Otherwise I wouldn't have bothered you like this."
Fabian looked down at her, his gaze soft as it rested on her face.
"At least you know you're clumsy." His voice was teasing. "Next time you're this careless, I can't guarantee you'll still have an internship at the Research Center."
Doris nuzzled against his chest like a clingy cat, then playfully raised her hand in a vow. "Professor Morton, I'll never do it again. I swear I'll walk more carefully from now on."
Fabian's lips curved upward. He reached out and tapped her nose.
Then he turned and carried her into the Research Center without so much as a glance in my direction.
I stood there, stunned. My scalp prickled, my vision swam, and my stomach churned violently.
Fabian was a germaphobe. He never willingly touched anyone.
In nine years of marriage, I had been the only person he would allow close.
But now, Doris had become the exception.
My mind was still reeling when my assistant appeared beside me, hesitating before she spoke.
"Professor Pruitt, I looked into it. The plagiarism accusation against your paper... it was filed by Professor Morton."
The words hit me like a plunge into ice water. Suddenly, everything made sense.
The day Fabian had pressured me to give Doris first authorship on my paper, I had stood my ground.
He'd pretended to back off.
But in reality, he'd played dirty—dragging me into a plagiarism scandal, destroying my reputation, forcing me to hand over the authorship.
My chest heaved. The color drained from my face.
"I need to find Fabian!"
I spun around and ran into the Research Center. The next second, I stopped dead in my tracks, frozen in shock.
