I stood behind the closed door, my breath catching in my throat. His knock came again, insistent. I didn' t move. My heart hammered, a frantic drum against my ribs. I had to be strong. This was it. The final cut.

"Ellie. Open the door." His voice was low, devoid of its usual authority, tinged with a strange note of something-pleading? I couldn't tell.

I finally opened it, just a crack. He stood there, his hair slightly disheveled, his eyes searching, almost bewildered.

"I... I just wanted to explain about Kiara," he began, his voice hesitant. "Professor Albright's comments were uncalled for. And... she was upset. It was a moment of comfort."

Comfort. The word tasted like ash. He was explaining away a kiss, a public display of affection, as an act of scientific benevolence. He didn't even realize the hypocrisy.

"You don't owe me an explanation, Alston," I said, my voice flat, devoid of emotion. "We're not together. What you do with Dr. Gamble is your concern, not mine."

His eyes widened slightly, a flicker of genuine shock. "Ellie, you're being... cold. This isn't you."

"Perhaps you never knew who 'me' was," I retorted, the bitterness finally seeping into my tone. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to sleep." I moved to close the door.

He put his hand out, stopping it. His touch, usually so distant, felt warm against the wood. "Ellie, wait. We need to talk about the wedding. And the house. You can't just-"

"I can," I cut him off, my gaze firm. "I did. Now leave."

I pushed the door shut, locking it with a defiant click. His hand lingered for a moment, then I heard his footsteps recede. I leaned against the door, my body trembling, a hollow ache blossoming in my chest. It' s absurd. It' s absolutely absurd, I thought, a desperate, silent scream echoing in my mind.

The next morning, a call from Professor Davies jolted me awake. His voice, usually jovial, was tight with barely contained rage.

"Ellie! Have you seen the pre-print server? The new paper from Dr. Scott's lab? The one on advanced polymer composites?"

My stomach dropped. "No, Professor. Why?"

"It's... well, it's brilliant, Ellie. Truly exceptional work. But the authorship... the lead author is listed as Kiara Gamble. And then Alston. Your name is... it's not there."

My blood ran cold. The phone almost slipped from my numb fingers. Not there? This was my work. My sleepless nights, my failed experiments, my painstaking analysis. My breakthrough.

"That's... impossible," I whispered, my voice barely audible.

"See for yourself," he urged, his voice filled with sympathy. "It's already generating buzz. They're hailing Gamble as a prodigy."

I immediately logged onto the institute's internal server, my fingers shaking as I navigated to the new publications. There it was. "Novel High-Strength Polymer Composites for Extreme Environments." Lead author: K. Gamble. Second author: A. Scott.

My name, Ellie Cleveland, was absent. Erased.

The paper was the culmination of my last two years. The delicate balance of rare earth elements, the innovative molecular structure, the specific thermal annealing process-all of it, my intellectual property. The foundation of the work Alston had so casually dismissed as "preliminary data" for Kiara to review.

A cold, hard knot formed in my stomach. This wasn't just a slight. This was theft. Intellectual theft. A professional assassination. It wasn't enough that he had taken my heart; now he was taking my career.

My heart raced, a furious drumbeat in my ears. I dialed his number, my thumb trembling.

He answered on the second ring, his voice calm, collected. "Ellie? Is there a problem?"

"A problem?" I spat, my voice laced with venom. "Where is my name, Alston? On that paper! The polymer composites! That's my research!"

A pause. A beat of silence. Then, his voice, annoyingly smooth. "Ah, yes. That. I decided to reallocate the authorship. Kiara made some significant contributions to the theoretical framework in the final stages. And given her recent arrival, it seemed... expedient."

"Expedient?" The word was a scream trapped in my throat. "You stole my work! You gave my years of labor, my breakthrough, to your protégé! To the woman you're now parading around!"

"Ellie, don't be dramatic," he chided, his tone dismissive. "It's all part of the institute's intellectual property. And frankly, your departure would have complicated the publication process. Kiara is here, she's staying. It made sense."

"It made sense?!" I was shaking now, with a rage I hadn't known I possessed. "So I'm just a disposable resource to you? A research assistant who can be erased when inconvenient? A stepping stone for your new favorite?"

His silence was deafening. Then, very slowly, very deliberately, he said, "Ellie, you have a valuable skill set. But your emotional reactivity is becoming a hinderance. You're a competent technician. An excellent support to my work. But you lack... vision. The kind Kiara possesses."

The words hit me like physical blows. Competent technician. Support. No vision. The truth, cold and brutal, ripped through me. I was not his partner. I was a tool. A replaceable part in his grand design.

"What am I to you, Alston?" I whispered, the rage draining out of me, leaving behind a vast, desolate emptiness. "Really? What am I?"

Chapter 7

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