Unmasked at the Academic Summit

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At the grand annual academic summit, I projected the surveillance footage of my fianc and his graduate student in his private laboratory.

The screen filled with their passionate, tangled embrace. The crowded auditorium erupted into absolute chaos.

A week ago, I had been browsing an obscure international academic forum, lurking under an anonymous account, when I stumbled upon a thread:

"Is it normal for my advisor to hold me while we do experiments?"

Beneath it, someone had replied: "What kind of experiments?"

The original poster answered: "He teaches me how to use the pipette hand-in-hand. He holds me from behind, his body so warm against mine that my hands shake and I can't even align the pipette tip with the multi-well plate."

Another user quickly commented: "That definitely sounds like it exceeds the boundaries of professional teaching."

She immediately defended him: "But he told me I'm the most special student he has ever taken. He said I'm nothing like that boring, clinical bookworm of a fiance he has, who only cares about raw data and papers. He said she has absolutely no romance in her, and he is sick of her. He told me that being with me is the only time he feels truly alive."

The post was accompanied by a blurry, candid photo.

In the frame, a man in a white lab coat had his sleeve rolled up, revealing a silver watch. On the bezel of that watch was a tiny, distinct scratch.

It was the exact same watch I had gifted Arthur.

He had scratched the bezel while personally hauling heavy equipment into our new laboratory.

At the time, he had laughed, gently stroking my hair, and told me that even with the scratch, it was his favorite timepiece because it served as a monument to our shared beginning.

Even more glaring was the chromatography machine in the background of the photo.

Engraved on the side of its metal casing were our joint initials.

I had traveled to nine countries to secure that exact, state-of-the-art model. It was a rare import, and I had personally wheeled it to his private workstation as an engagement gift.

The blood in my veins turned to ice, and my throat tightened until I could barely breathe.

Arthur had betrayed me.

But the bitter irony was that once, I had been his student too.

With trembling fingers, I refreshed the thread.

Several users had begun to criticize her: "Are you actually looking for advice, or are you just bragging about sleeping with your advisor?"

She shot back instantly: "It is not just an affair. It is a meeting of minds. He brought me into his lab right under his fiance's nose. He is even taking the breakthrough project from the Chief Scientific Officer and giving it to me so I can publish it and secure my career."

Another comment read: "I despise academic nepotism. That is not giving, that is theft! Aren't you two ashamed of what you are doing to that Chief Scientist?"

She replied: "Why should we be? He simply loves me more. He needs an understanding muse, not a cold, sterile research machine."

Every single word felt like a poisoned needle driving straight into my heart.

Just ten days ago, Arthur had sat me down in his office, his face full of grave sympathy. "Giselle, someone in Europe just published a paper with your exact concept. Your current project is dead. You will have to start over and find a new direction."

It had been a lie.

He had taken my blood, sweat, and tears, and handed it to his mistress as a stepping stone.

Arthur had always been the epitome of professional distance. In our industry, he was considered as pure as distilled water, an intellectual monk devoted solely to science.

When I was his student, he would always maintain a strict half-arm distance whenever we discussed data.

When he first showed me how to use the pipette, his fingers had briefly brushed my wrist, and his ears had flushed a deep, bright red.

He had told me back then that I was his most brilliant, most special student.

Even after we realized our feelings were mutual, he was so terrified of rumors damaging my reputation that he waited until I graduated, until I stood beside him as an equal, before he ever dared to hold my hand in public.

That disciplined restraint, that quiet integrity, had made me fall hopelessly in love with him.

On the night he proposed, he told me that scientists value absolute devotion, and his devotion belonged entirely to me.

Now, staring at the diamond ring on my finger, and then looking at the blurry photo of their bodies pressed together in our lab, a wave of pure nausea washed over me.

Every vow he had ever whispered to me had been recycled into cheap, filthy lines to seduce a graduate student.

The passion and dedication I poured into my research, which he had once cherished as my greatest quality, had now become the traits of a boring, clinical machine.

I scrolled down further, and a newly uploaded photo appeared. It showed Arthur leaning down, his lips pressed against her neck.

My stomach churned violently. I ran to the bathroom and retched until my chest ached.

As the criticism on the forum grew louder, the girl only became more arrogant.

"I have to go now," she posted. "His boring fiance is sick, and he is terrified I might catch whatever she has. He is taking me abroad to help me relax."

Just that morning, before he left for the airport, Arthur had cradled my feverish body in his arms. His voice had been thick with tender concern.

"I am going to use this international symposium to look for new research ideas for you, Giselle. Rest at home, sweetheart. Don't overwork yourself. Seeing you sick breaks my heart."

He knew this was the final year for my tenure and promotion evaluation.

Yet, he had stolen my project and handed it to another woman.

To meet the year-end deadline, I had been working day and night, surviving on black coffee to draft a new proposal from scratch, completely ruining my health in the process.

When I watched his taxi leave for the airport, I had felt so guilty for being too ill to accompany him, blaming myself for letting him carry my burdens alone.

I had no idea he was jetting off to a tropical resort with his mistress.

The sudden ringing of my phone broke the silence. It was Arthur.

He always called the moment his flight landed.

"Giselle, why is your voice so raspy? Have you been resting and taking your medicine?" his voice flowed through the receiver, dripping with warmth.

When I didn't reply, he sighed, as if making a grand sacrifice. "I have been thinking. Even if you can't finish the new proposal in time, I will use my entire professional network to guarantee your promotion this year."

I let out a silent, bitter laugh.

He knew exactly what that meant. If he did that, I would be branded a fraud for the rest of my career, a woman who climbed the ranks through nepotism rather than merit.

"Arthur, you once told me you never wanted my talent to be overshadowed by gossip. You said you wanted me to stand on my own feet."

He cut me off with a soft sigh. "But I cannot bear to watch the woman I love suffer. To me, you are the best. Even if people accuse me of playing favorites, I don't care."

He sounded incredibly devoted. But then, in the background, I heard the faint, sweet giggle of a woman.

I gripped the phone tightly. "Who is at your door, Arthur?"

He let out a quick, forced cough. "Just room service. I asked them to bring up some extra writing pads and pens."

"Alright, sweetheart, I need to get to the conference. Take care of yourself. I bought your favorite pastries and left them in the fridge. Eat them even if you don't have an appetite."

I stared at the blank screen after he hung up.

His prompt check-in calls upon landing were never about love. They were preemptive strikes, designed to keep me from calling him at an inconvenient moment and interrupting his vacation.

That night, I opened the forum again. She had updated her status.

"The unapproachable god has finally been brought down to earth. He knows exactly what I like to eat, and he guides my research hand-in-hand. Being with him feels so natural. He told me tonight was the most unforgettable night of his life."

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and shut down the page.

Suppressing the bile rising in my throat, I walked to the kitchen and opened the fridge. The pastries he had left were covered in a thick layer of crushed peanuts.

I am severely allergic to peanuts.

The girl's posts had mentioned how Arthur had walked across town in the heat just to find her favorite peanut-rice cakes.

He had brought her leftovers home for me.

I picked up my phone and sent Arthur a message: "Arthur, are you really going to abuse your position like this?"

He replied almost instantly, assuming I was still talking about the promotion: "Giselle, everyone in our field knows you are my fiance. Even if I do absolutely nothing, people will still whisper. We might as well secure the title and make it official."

It was true. Even when I had worked myself to the bone to reach the top of my field and earn the title of Chief Scientific Officer, people still looked at me with suspicion.

When we first announced our relationship after my graduation, anonymous letters had flooded the university administration, accusing me of trading favors for grades during my student years.

The online vitriol had been savage.

To silence the doubters, I had practically moved into the laboratory. I worked eighty-hour weeks, churning out paper after paper, until the scientific community had no choice but to recognize my work.

He had watched me bleed for that respect.

Now, he dismissed it all with a casual shrug.

The man who had once stood before the board of regents to defend my honor, the man who had threatened to resign his prestigious fellowship rather than let them slander me, was gone.

Only a hollow, grotesque shell remained.

My laptop screen flashed with a new email notification.

It was a formal offer from a premier international research institute in Switzerland.

They had doubled their previous salary offer, desperate to recruit me to lead their core molecular biology laboratory.

I had turned them down twice before, solely because I wanted to remain by Arthur's side.

When we founded Aura Research, we had nothing but a three-desk office and my initial research project. Over five years, we had grown into a major listed biotechnology firm.

Arthur used to wrap his arms around me and whisper, "Giselle, my intuition was right. You are the most brilliant scientist I have ever known. You are the true cornerstone of Aura."

Yet, behind my back, he had slipped his mistress into my laboratory, using our workspace for their cheap trysts, and stealing my intellect to build her career.

The "temporary security camera malfunctions" and the mysterious leaks of my research concepts all made sense now.

I drove to the laboratory, my body still shaking with fever, wanting only to download my raw data and files.

But when I reached the executive research wing, his secretary blocked my path.

She looked down at her desk, refusing to meet my eyes. "Dr. Taylor... I am sorry, but the access permissions for this entire wing have been transferred to Dr. Monroe's graduate assistant, Miss Isla."

It was absurd. I had built this laboratory from the ground up, and now I was locked out of my own office.

I took out my phone and sent Arthur a text: "Maybe you should just get a new fiance. Your precious Miss Isla seems like she would fit the role perfectly."

My message disappeared into a void. He didn't reply, and my calls went straight to voicemail.

Around me, my colleagues were whispering, their eyes filled with a mixture of curiosity and pity.

An hour later, a text from an unknown number popped up on my screen. It was Isla.

"Sensing that your time is up, Chief? Arthur is in the shower right now, and his phone is with me. He doesn't have time for you."

"By the way, he told me you aren't as innocent as you look. He said you were just a cheap student who seduced her advisor in college."

"I am different. Arthur pursued me. He told me that when he met me, he finally understood what uncontrollable passion felt like."

A sharp, suffocating pain flared in my chest. I coughed violently, tears spilling over my cheeks.

When the rumors had threatened to destroy me years ago, Arthur had held me through the night, telling me we would prove them all wrong.

Now, he was the one handing his mistress the knife to stab me in my oldest wound.

I drove back to our quiet, cold apartment.

Near midnight, my phone finally rang. It was him.

"Giselle, you didn't call me all day. I was starting to feel neglected."

His tone was smooth and affectionate. I felt a chill run down my spine. He clearly had no idea that Isla had used his phone to text me.

"I did try to reach you," I said, my voice dead and flat. "You just didn't see it."

He let out a light, nervous laugh. "Ah, the conference must have kept me too busy. But I have some wonderful news to share."

"My new graduate student, Isla, has incredible potential. She just presented a research concept at the seminar that is remarkably similar to your work."

"I am planning to appoint her as the new Chief Scientific Officer of Aura, and you can step down to serve as her deputy. That way, you can guide her, and we can co-author the main projects. With my influence, your tenure will be guaranteed."

"Are you listening, Giselle? You should really thank her. Having both of you working under me is the greatest blessing of my life."

It was a blessing for him, but a nightmare for me.

My teeth ground together as I asked, "Arthur, what if I refuse?"

He let out an irritated sigh. "Don't be childish, Giselle. The Chief position belongs to whoever can produce results. You haven't submitted a single viable project this quarter. Why embarrass yourself by clinging to a title you aren't earned?"

I stood on the balcony, letting the freezing night wind numb my face.

I thought of the endless nights I had spent in the lab, the times I had been hospitalized from physical exhaustion just to keep Aura ahead of our competitors.

I had poured my life into this company, only for him to hand it to his mistress.

I pulled out my phone, opened the email from the Swiss institute, and hit reply:

I accept your offer. I will start next month.