His hand clamped around my arm, his grip surprisingly strong. He pulled me sharply, dragging me away from the stunned audience, away from the stage where my work was being stolen, my name defiled.

"Let go of me, Alston!" I hissed, my voice raw with fury. I clawed at his hand, but he held me fast, propelling me through a side door and into a deserted service corridor.

He pinned me against the cold concrete wall, his face inches from mine. His eyes, usually so expressionless, were now alight with a cold, desperate calculation. "Ellie, you're making a scene. You're jeopardizing everything."

"You jeopardized everything, Alston!" I spat, tears of rage blurring my vision. "You stole my work! You humiliated me! You reduced a decade of my life to 'preliminary data'! What more do I have to lose?"

He stared at me, his gaze intense, unsettling. His jaw clenched. He said nothing.

Then, without warning, he leaned in. His lips, cold and unfamiliar, crushed against mine. A desperate, silencing kiss. His hand, no longer pinning my arm, moved to the back of my head, holding me in place.

My mind went blank. The shock was absolute, paralyzing. His kiss. Not soft, not passionate, but a brutal, possessive press that tasted of desperation and manipulation. He wasn't kissing me out of desire. He was kissing me to shut me up. To control the narrative. To save his and Kiara's reputation.

When he finally pulled away, I felt a profound, sickening nausea. The humiliation was so immense, so absolute, it threatened to consume me. He had used my body, my past affection, as a tool. A public display to dismiss my anger as a scorned woman's irrationality.

My hand moved before my brain registered the command. A searing crack echoed in the silent corridor. My palm connected with his cheek, hard. The sound was deafening.

Alston stumbled back, his head snapping to the side. His eyes, when they met mine again, were wide with shock, a faint red mark blooming on his pale skin.

Tears, hot and stinging, finally streamed down my face. But they weren't tears of sadness. They were tears of pure, unadulterated disgust. "You are despicable, Alston Scott," I choked out, my voice trembling. "I hate you. I hate you more than I ever thought possible."

He stood frozen, his hand pressed to his reddening cheek, his eyes unfocused. He looked utterly bewildered, as if he'd just witnessed an alien phenomenon.

I didn't wait for a response. I turned, stumbling, my legs feeling like lead. I walked away, leaving him standing there amidst the buzzing fluorescent lights, alone in the stark corridor.

My vision was blurred, but my resolve was crystalline. This was the end. The absolute, unalterable end. I swiped at my tears, the gesture fierce and final.

I went straight to my lab, my fingers flying over the keyboard. I accessed the institute's central server. Deleted. All my research data. Every single line of code, every experimental log, every preliminary finding related to the advanced polymer composites. Erased. If they wanted to steal my work, they would have to start from scratch. Kiara Gamble's "breakthrough" would be a hollow claim, unsubstantiated by any actual data.

I then went to my dorm room, grabbed my single duffel bag, and hailed a taxi. The airport. The earliest flight out. Anywhere. Just away.

At the gate, I pulled out my phone. Alston's number. Blocked. Kiara's. Blocked. My mother's, my father's, Jamie's. All blocked. Every single connection to my past, severed.

My flight was called. I walked onto the plane, a strange lightness settling over me. Ten years. Ten years of loving a ghost. Ten years of sacrificing myself for a man who saw me as an inconvenience. Ten years of trying to earn the approval of a family who saw me as a meal ticket.

It was over. The chapter was closed. The book was finished. I leaned my head back against the seat as the plane taxied down the runway, then lifted into the sky. Below, the city lights twinkled like distant, indifferent stars. I was leaving it all behind.

Chapter 9

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