When I drove my husband’s car home, I casually activated the voice assistant: “Navigate home.” But the screen pinpointed an unfamiliar apartment complex. “Sure thing, preparing to depart. I’ve located ‘Ethan and Rosie’s Love Nest’ for you.” My heart sank. Who was Rosie? I immediately called my husband: “Did someone mess with the navigation settings in your car?” There was a second of silence on the other end, then a casual laugh: “Oh, that. Last week Marcus borrowed the car to pick up his girlfriend. Probably some cheesy thing those young lovebirds set up. I’ll talk to him about it.” I laughed along and hung up. My fingertip slid across the car’s display screen. Below “Ethan and Rosie’s Love Nest,” there was a clear arrival record timestamped 00:30 AM. I yanked the steering wheel and headed straight for that unfamiliar complex. When the engine died, the navigation system’s lingering voice grated on my nerves. “You have arrived at your destination—Ethan and Rosie’s Love Nest.” I had just pulled over when I ran into the last person I expected to see. Rosie Sullivan. Ethan’s newest PhD student this year. When Rosie spotted the familiar car, she let her hair down and sauntered over with a deliberate sway in her hips. She knocked on the window with practiced ease: “Did you forget your key card, Professor?” The window rolled all the way down, revealing my face and my not-quite-amused smile. Rosie’s expression froze. She quickly corrected herself. “Oh! Mrs. Hartwell, what brings you here?” I looked at her coolly and got straight to the point. “The navigation in Ethan’s car led me here. And here I find you.” “Explain.” Rosie seemed caught off guard by my directness, but she only faltered for a moment before flashing a coy smile. “Oh, it’s like this—Marcus’s girlfriend is my good friend and roommate. Last week when Marcus borrowed Professor Hartwell’s car to pick her up, he gave me a ride too, and we navigated here.” “I’m so sorry for the misunderstanding, Mrs. Hartwell.” She even pulled out chat screenshots and photos from that day as proof. Her explanation was airtight, polite and proper. But when they crafted this lie, they seemed to have forgotten something. Ethan had an extreme case of germophobia. He wouldn’t touch anything someone else had touched. Lending his precious car to a colleague he barely knew just so the guy could impress a girl? How was I supposed to believe that? I stayed silent, letting my gaze drift down to the laundry basket in Rosie’s arms. Right on top was a pair of black men’s boxer briefs. The embroidered brand initial ‘E’ on the waistband was slightly worn. I had mended it myself with royal blue thread—the color difference was obvious. I recognized them instantly. Those were Ethan’s underwear. In that moment, something lodged in my chest, suffocating me. I pointed at the briefs, my tone teasing, my eyes ice-cold. “Your boyfriend’s? What a coincidence—they look exactly like the pair Ethan lost. Even the mending thread is the same color I used.” Rosie instinctively hid the underwear behind her back, her face going chalk white. She couldn’t get a single word out. Now I understood everything. I drove out of the complex with a cold expression, pulled over on the side of the road, and started logging into Ethan’s payment apps and social media accounts one by one. But every time I logged in, Ethan immediately got a notification. By the time I tried to log in again, he had already changed all his passwords. The next second, Ethan called. The contact name “My Husband” on the screen stung my eyes. On the other end, Ethan’s voice was soft and slow, like he was coaxing a spoiled child. “Chloe, I need my phone for a conference presentation.” “If you want to check my phone, you can look through it tonight when I get home, okay?” Before I could respond, he suddenly lowered his voice: “Meeting’s starting. Gotta go.” The moment he hung up, a text came through. [Babe, I’ve been so busy lately. It’s my fault you’re feeling insecure.] [But you have to believe me—I only love you.] [And I will always be faithful to you.] But there, under the sycamore tree at the entrance of the complex. I watched silently as Ethan casually tossed his phone aside and pulled Rosie—who had come running toward him—into his arms, kissing her urgently, deeply. My ears were ringing. I suppressed the burning sensation rising in my nose, opened my phone, and started recording. Then I drove away. The radio announcer’s words echoed through the car. “Ladies, a man’s promises are no different from a dog’s bark. Never believe them.”
That night, Ethan claimed he had something to deal with at the university and didn’t come home. Yet he calmly sent me all his social media usernames and passwords. I logged in and found he had meticulously scrubbed everything related to Rosie. But I still managed to trace a suspicious transaction from years ago and followed the trail to a couple’s account. The woman featured in the posts was Rosie. The man only appeared from the hands and waist down. I recognized him instantly. That man was Ethan. I scrolled through the posts one by one. May 16, 2023—the night I was at the hotel preparing for our wedding. Rosie was wearing my wedding dress, covered in red marks, leaning in Ethan’s arms. Caption: [The house, the bed, the dress—hers. The man—mine.] April 19, 2025—the night I miscarried and sobbed in the hospital. Rosie posted a photo of a positive pregnancy test and our ransacked nursery. Caption: [He says it’s most exciting doing it in here. And thanks to whoever came before me—I’ll gladly take the clothes and toys you won’t be needing~] May 14, 2025—the night I was critically injured in a car accident, which triggered my grandfather’s health crisis. Rosie leaned against Ethan’s chest, posing for a selfie with my grandfather—tubes running all over his frail body—her eyes full of mockery. Caption: [I visited the old man on her behalf. Poor thing’s half-blind—kept holding my hand and calling me “Chloe.” Hilarious.] After seeing this, I no longer had the strength to hold my phone steady. So that’s what happened. The lipstick stain on the collar of my wedding dress. The baby clothes and supplies that mysteriously vanished from the nursery. And… What my grandfather kept saying to our family before he died, gripping everyone’s hands with all the strength he had left. “I saw Chloe… I saw she’s doing well… I saw it…” So none of it was me being paranoid. None of it was me overthinking. And it wasn’t a dying man’s hallucination. I had been nothing but an extra in their script, a fool who thought she was the leading lady in her own love story. My throat felt like it was being scalded shut. A dense, spreading ache radiated from my heart to every limb. I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I screamed, tearing through Ethan’s study like a madwoman, smashing everything in sight. But among the scattered papers, I found Rosie’s PhD dissertation draft—the one she was preparing for her defense. The experimental data matched almost exactly with the academic paper I was about to publish in a top journal. I bit down hard on my lower lip, forcing myself to stay calm. I picked up the scattered documents and compared them piece by piece. The papers didn’t just “basically match.” Apart from the introduction and acknowledgments, the core data charts, analytical logic, and conclusions were completely identical. Beside them were Ethan’s annotations in blue pen. [Chloe’s lab updated this data yesterday. Remember to revise accordingly.] [What’s hers is mine. We’re married. Don’t be afraid to copy.] [She publishes papers every year. Your dissertation only happens once. Letting you have it should be her honor.] ………… I let out a cold laugh and hurled the draft to the floor. So Ethan wasn’t just cheating on me—he was planning to steal years of my team’s research to pave the way for his precious mistress? Over my dead body. I immediately contacted the Dean, asking him to arrange for me to sit on tomorrow’s dissertation defense committee. But the moment the call connected, the Dean spoke first. “Ethan gave you his spot for this year’s Beijing research trip. Get ready—you’re leading the team tomorrow.”
Early the next morning, Ethan made a point of coming home just to drive me to the airport himself. He stayed glued to my side, making sure I actually boarded the plane. Meanwhile, in first class, the professors and students connected to the in-flight Wi-Fi and pulled up the livestream of the PhD defense at our university. The camera panned across the faculty panel. Everyone saw it—Rosie had been given special permission to sit right next to Ethan. In my seat. Ethan held the microphone, his dark eyes calm, radiating natural authority. After reading the standard procedural announcements, he softened his tone. “Let me just say something unrelated to the defense. My student is sitting in my wife’s usual seat for academic discussion purposes. Please don’t overthink it or spread rumors—I’d rather not end up sleeping on the couch tonight.” The room erupted in laughter. Several colleagues and students even texted me playful jokes. But I sat expressionless, staring at the update Rosie had just posted one minute ago on her couple’s account. June 15, 2025, 8:45 AM. While Ethan was speaking, hidden beneath the table, a leg in black stockings was gently hooked around his, stroking up and down. Caption: [Being the wife must be exhausting. The professor’s lap is much more comfortable~] The defense began, and soon it was Rosie’s turn. She opened her PowerPoint and began confidently. “Distinguished professors, my research aims to address two major bottlenecks in CAR-T cell therapy for solid tumors—off-target effects and tumor microenvironment suppression…” I watched Ethan’s lips curve into a slight smile. His gaze held an almost reverent indulgence—no eager showing off. Just a quiet, tender pride that said: See? I knew she was brilliant. He had never looked at me that way. When I gave up fertility treatments, willingly exposed myself to radiation damage, and spent countless sleepless nights producing research with groundbreaking implications for cancer treatment—only to face doubt from others— He stood with them. And lectured me. “Chloe, you don’t have the ability to produce data like this in just one year. Don’t do anything that would disappoint me.” Then he took my research report and tossed it into a roadside fire burning crop stubble. But now, when other professors questioned the precision of Rosie’s experimental data and conclusions, Ethan didn’t hesitate. He grabbed the microphone and charged to her defense. “Rosie’s research design is highly valuable and extremely innovative. I hope my esteemed colleagues won’t let jealousy cloud their judgment.” “She is my star student. It wouldn’t surprise me at all if she achieves even greater things in research.” Ethan’s voice wasn’t loud, but it carried an unquestionable finality. The room fell silent as everyone watched him stand firmly in front of Rosie, speaking with deliberate conviction. “In the field of CAR-T cell therapy, no one in this country—or abroad—has achieved more than my wife, Chloe Whitmore.” “If even she were here, she wouldn’t raise a single objection to this dissertation!” The audience was stunned into silence. The other professors, intimidated by the reputation and authority Ethan and I held in academic circles, didn’t dare say another word. Just as everyone was about to unanimously approve Rosie’s dissertation defense and congratulate her on her imminent publication in a major journal and faculty position— A steady voice rang out from the audience. “I have an objection.” The flattery died mid-sentence. Heads turned instinctively toward the source of the voice. Ethan’s expression turned cold. He picked up the microphone, his tone dismissive. “And you are?” I rose from my seat in the back corner—the person who was supposed to be leading a research trip in Beijing. I raised an eyebrow slightly and gave a polite wave to the gasping students. Then I met Ethan’s stunned gaze head-on. “I’m Dr. Chloe Whitmore. Distinguished Professor with lifetime tenure at this university.” “And I have an objection.”
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