Now, convinced I had no one to rely on, he stabbed me in the back.
He ripped open old scars and plunged a fresh blade into the wound.
In that moment, the last thread of hope snapped.
There was no going back for us.
I pulled out my phone. My fingers trembled as I opened the 999th email from Quinn Barnes.
**[Quinn, I'm in.]**
Quinn Barnes. My mentor from grad school. He had admired me back then, begging me to go abroad with him to develop new materials.
But I had been a love-struck fool. I threw myself at Thomas, believing that a home was the only path to happiness.
I rejected Quinn.
He had been furious. He told me it was a waste for someone with my IQ to be a slave to love.
I had laughed at him. Told him he didn't understand romance.
Eight years. Quinn had built a research empire overseas and a famous cosmetics company domestically.
And I? The dazzling genius of A University had become a nameless housewife, mocked by her husband's students.
Quinn's reply came instantly.
**[Why the sudden change of heart?]**
**[You were right. Love is fragile. I regret everything.]**
**[Elise, congratulations on finally waking up. My company welcomes you anytime. But I hope you make a clean break with the past.]**
I inhaled sharply and shoved the bathroom door open.
Panic flashed across Thomas's face, but he smoothed it over with a practiced lie. "Hazel doesn't know how to use our hair dryer. I'm teaching her."
My gaze landed on Hazel. Her bra strap had slipped down her arm—identical to the lace underwear Thomas had held earlier.
His collar gaped open. Another button was missing from his white shirt.
The tenth ruined shirt.
It happened sooner than I expected.
"Does teaching her to use a hair dryer require unhooking her bra?" Ice dripped from every word.
Caught, Thomas grabbed my arm and yanked me fully into the bathroom, kicking the door shut. His voice dropped to a menacing hiss.
"Keep your voice down. Hazel is a student. You ruin her reputation, and we have a problem."
I stared at him, incredulous.
I thought being caught would bring shame. Guilt. Instead, his first instinct was to protect his mistress.
"She did the deed, but she's afraid of the reputation?" I scoffed.
I tried to push past him. He blocked my exit.
"Mrs. Gilbert... don't blame the Professor," Hazel whimpered, shrinking back. "He's a man. You don't let him touch you—he's been suffering... I just felt sorry for him."