Chapter 10
Vivian's POV
Late autumn in Oceancrest City still carried a thread of warmth in the afternoon air. Inside the lab, the energy was something else entirely.
The project — months of work toward stable in vitro neural network cultivation — had finally broken through. The data from the most recent batch was almost too clean to look at without checking it twice.
"Ms. Wilson, the third control group results just came in — full expected values, and actually better than the simulation projected!"
Daniel stood there with the freshly printed charts in his hands, voice unsteady with the effort of keeping it professional.
I looked at the waveforms moving across the screen. The tightness that had lived in my jaw for months finally — quietly, almost imperceptibly — let go.
This was the first major project I had led independently since coming back to research. Success meant more than a scientific result. It was proof of something I had needed to prove to no one but myself: that I could do this. On my own. Without anything or anyone I'd been told I needed.
"Excellent work, everyone." I looked around the room at the exhausted, shining faces. "Get the full dataset organized and begin compiling the project completion report. Daniel — start reaching out to the prospective partners on my shortlist. Priority targets are medtech companies working in neural interface and brain-computer integration."
"On it!"
I had barely sat back down in my office when my phone rang.
Unknown local number — but the prefix belonged to a well-known investment firm.
"Ms. Wilson, my name is Gregory Moore. I'm Chief Investment Officer at Peakview Capital. We've been tracking your laboratory's progress for some time. Your research direction is of significant interest to us, and I was hoping we might find a time to talk in depth."
I sat up straighter. Peakview Capital was in my top three.
We agreed on an in-depth meeting the following week. Before I had finished the call, another rang through — a major biotech company. Strong results were the best possible advertisement. I took each call in turn, and the weight that had pressed on me through all the uncertainty lifted, incrementally, with each one.
But when Gregory called again to confirm the due diligence details, something in his voice had changed.
"Ms. Wilson, our internal evaluation is still ongoing. There's also a piece of market feedback we'd like to verify with you directly."
My stomach dropped before he finished the sentence. "Go ahead."
"An anonymous report has been filed claiming that several of your core research findings show substantial overlap with a body of unpublished internal research from Hudson Group — and further, that these materials were obtained through improper channels during the course of your marriage."
The language was careful. The implication was explicit: someone was questioning my academic integrity, claiming I had used my marriage as a vehicle to steal proprietary research.
The warmth drained from my face. The hand holding my phone went still.
"Gregory, every stage of this research — from the initial conceptual framework through experimental design to every data point in the results — is fully documented. Every member of this laboratory can attest to that."
A pause.
"Ms. Wilson, I have no personal doubt as to your integrity. But the current situation isn't one where it would be appropriate for us to move forward. I'd suggest exploring other potential partners."
The line went dead.
Daniel's messages came through in quick succession — urging me to check the academic forums.
I opened my laptop. The posts had spread quickly. Beware the Academic Opportunist. The Scientist Who Slept Her Way to the Top. No names — but with the project's visibility, anyone in the field would know exactly who was being discussed.
I moved through them without hurrying, taking screenshots — usernames, timestamps, content — methodically, every one of them. I forwarded the folder to Daniel: Track down the origin of these accounts. And re-encrypt all project data. Full redundant backup at offsite location. Now.
If this was how it was going to be, then fine.
A few days later, Dylan called.
"Vivian. We need to meet. There are details in the agreement about Allen's future arrangements and a few other specifics that I think need to be worked through in person."
I glanced at the screenshots on my screen. Then at my calendar.
"Time and location."
"Tomorrow. Two o'clock. Cloudview Tea House."
"Fine." I ended the call.
I arrived the next afternoon at exactly two o'clock.
White button-down, tailored trousers, hair tied back simply, no makeup. There was a clarity to the way I held myself that required no embellishment.
The server led me upstairs to a private room. I pushed the door open — and my step faltered, almost imperceptibly.
Beside Dylan sat an elderly woman.
Mrs. Audrey Hudson. Dylan's grandmother. A figure of formidable reputation in Hudson circles — and one of the first people to make clear, in the early days of my marriage, exactly where I stood in her estimation.
She looked me over with the unhurried, comprehensive scrutiny of someone accustomed to making assessments and having them matter. One hand turned a string of bracelets slowly at her wrist. "Vivian," she said, without warmth. "It's been some time."
"Mrs. Hudson." I sat down with the composure of someone who had no particular feelings about any of this.
The server set down coffee and withdrew, pulling the door softly closed. The fragrance of it drifted across the table. The air held an entirely different tension.
Mrs. Hudson lifted her cup, took a small sip, replaced it, and fixed me with a gaze that had no interest in pretending to be pleasant.
"I've been hearing some rather ridiculous things lately. That Hudson's daughter-in-law has been conducting herself without any sense of propriety — neglecting her husband and child, running around doing God knows what, and borrowing the Hudson name to do things that don't bear examination. Dragging the family's reputation through the mud."
She paused, letting the words settle.
"The Hudson family may not be of the first rank, but our name means something. Anyone who carries it is expected to behave accordingly, with decorum and discretion." The look she gave me was sharp and unhurried. "Do you understand what I'm saying?"
A naked threat, dressed in civility.
I met her gaze. And then, quite unexpectedly, I smiled.
I turned toward Dylan, who had not said a single word.
"Dylan." My voice was quiet. "Haven't you told them?"
He met my eyes. Something flickered in his expression.
I said it plainly, with no particular emphasis, as though it were a fact that had been established long ago and simply hadn't been communicated yet.
"We're getting a divorce."
