"You know exactly how I wrote those papers. You were there." My voice cracked. "You know how much time I poured into that research. How much of myself I gave. And the moment someone accuses me of plagiarism, you just believe them? You reported me yourself?" I stepped closer. "What kind of husband does that?"

Fabian's expression cooled.

"Sara, stop making a scene." His tone hardened. "Precisely because I'm your husband—your family—I have to recuse myself. Avoid any appearance of favoritism."

He straightened his cuffs. "If your papers are clean, you have nothing to fear from an investigation. I'm just asking you to go home and rest for a few days. Cooperate, and this will all blow over."

Cooperate nicely, he said.

When this research center was built, my father was the one who funded it.

Back then, Fabian had nothing—just a penniless professor with empty pockets and no prospects. My father worried I'd suffer if I married him, so he poured everything he had into propping Fabian up, building him into the man he is today.

But I never imagined he'd have a change of heart.

That he'd hurt me without any bottom line—all for some nobody of a graduate student.

Before I could even react, Fabian signaled the security guards behind him to escort me out.

I locked eyes with him, forcing a cold smile onto my face.

"You'll regret this."

Fabian lifted his gaze, indifferent. "Take her away."

As I passed Doris, she flashed me a taunting smile.

"Professor Pruitt, you're getting up there in years. Why don't you just stay home and rest?"

She tilted her head, all false sweetness. "As for the Research Center—don't worry. I'll take good care of Professor Morton for you."

But Fabian—

Don't forget. I'm not someone to be trifled with either.

The days that followed, I was suspended. I stayed home, watering plants, reading books.

My phone, however, wouldn't stop buzzing.

Doris, sending me videos. Deliberately. Tauntingly.

In one, Fabian stood with his back to the camera, cooking in her kitchen.

Her voice dripped with satisfaction: "Look, Professor Pruitt—he even keeps his razor at my place now. He told me being with you was exhausting. Said I'm the one who truly understands him..."

Then came the photos. One after another. Intimate. Unmistakable.

I scrolled through them, and my heart sank to the bottom.

So this was the truth. Fabian's heart had never been with me.