Chapter 3

I pushed open the door to Dr. Peterson's office and my heart sank.

Ashley Nunez was already there, sitting in one of the chairs opposite his desk. The moment she saw me, a flicker of triumph flashed in her eyes before she quickly arranged her face into an expression of tearful victimhood.

Dr. Peterson's face was a thundercloud. He slapped two thick research papers down on his desk. The sound echoed in the silent room.

"Explain this," he snarled, his voice tight with fury.

I looked down. One paper had my name on it. The other had Ashley's. They were nearly identical. My groundbreaking research on vascular regeneration techniques, the project I had poured my soul into for the last year. Stolen.

"One of you is a liar and a thief," Dr. Peterson said, his gaze sweeping between us.

"It wasn't me, Dr. Peterson," Ashley said immediately, her voice trembling with manufactured sincerity. "I would never... I have a witness."

On cue, the door opened again.

Adrian walked in.

He didn't even look at me. He addressed Dr. Peterson directly, his tone cool and authoritative.

"Sir, I can vouch for Ashley. I've been mentoring her on this project for the past six months. I've seen her data, her drafts." He paused, then finally let his cold eyes fall on me. "Dr. Goodwin, however... We all know the pressure she's been under. Perhaps she took a shortcut."

I stared at him, disbelief rendering me speechless. He had helped me with that research. He had read my drafts, praised my innovative approach. He knew it was mine.

And he was giving it to her.

Dr. Peterson dismissed them, leaving me alone to face his wrath. The lecture was brutal. My paper was disqualified. A formal reprimand for academic misconduct would be placed in my permanent file. My career, already crippled, was now officially dead.

I floated back to the apartment in a daze. Later, the lock clicked. Dean came in, all fake smiles and soothing words.

"Come on," he said, pulling me up from the bed. "You've been moping around all day. Let's go out. We're going to complete our 'Couples Bucket List'."

He dragged me out, forcing me through a grotesque parody of a perfect date. A walk in the park, ice cream, a movie. I was a puppet, my strings being pulled by his cheerful, lying hands.

As night fell, he took me to a high-end, exclusive club. The kind of place with velvet ropes and private rooms.

"I'm just going to the restroom," he said, pushing me down onto a plush sofa in a secluded booth. "Don't move."

He was gone for less than a minute when the door to our private room swung open. Three large, drunk men stumbled in, a leering grin on their faces. One of them locked the door behind them.

"Well, well, what have we here?" the leader slurred, his eyes roaming over my body. "All alone, little lady?"

I shot to my feet. "Get out."

They just laughed, advancing on me. I fought back, kicking and scratching, but it was useless. They were too strong, their hands grabbing at my clothes, my arms.

Suddenly, the door was kicked off its hinges.