He Left Me for the Woman Who Ruined Us

Dr. Chen's eyes darted between Beau and me, her brow furrowing as she sensed the tension crackling through the laboratory. "Ms. Gardner, given the... unexpected circumstances, we can reschedule your participation if you'd prefer."

I straightened my spine, refusing to let five years of careful reconstruction crumble in an instant. "No need, Doctor. I'm here for the study."

The words came out steadier than I felt. Inside, my chest was being crushed by an invisible vise—the same one that had appeared the moment I saw Beau's face through that glass wall.

"Very well." Dr. Chen nodded, but concern lingered in her eyes. "We'll proceed with the pre-trial interview."

A technician adjusted the microphone near my chair as Dr. Chen stepped away. The intercom system crackled to life, and Beau's voice filled the room—that same deep timbre that had once whispered promises against my skin.

"Ms. Gardner," he began, his tone clipped and professional. "For the record, please state your primary motivation for participating in this trial."

I could feel him watching me through the glass, could almost see the way his jaw would be set, the calculated distance he'd put between us. Five years ago, he'd looked at me with disgust when he'd handed me those divorce papers. Now it was something worse—cold indifference.

"Financial compensation," I replied, my voice clipped. No point in hiding it. He'd already reduced our relationship to a transaction; I'd meet him on his terms.

"Could you elaborate on your financial needs?" His voice carried a note of challenge.

I gripped the armrests of the chair. "Medical expenses for a family member."

"Terminal?" The question was blunt, invasive.

"Yes." One word, final as a door slamming shut.

A pause stretched between us, heavy with unspoken history. Then: "I see. And you're comfortable with the... invasive nature of this procedure?"

"Completely." Liar. But I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing how much this unsettled me.

"Proceed, then," he said to someone off-mic, and the intercom went silent.

---

"Calibration will take approximately fifteen minutes," the technician announced, adjusting something on my helmet. "I'll be back to check your readings."

The moment the door closed behind him, the click of heels against tile announced her arrival. Nova Adams sauntered into the prep room, her red dress a slash of color against the sterile white walls.

"Well, well," she purred, circling me like a predator. "Dahlia Gardner. I heard they were using a real person for this demo, but I had no idea they'd scraped the bottom of the barrel."

I kept my eyes forward, focusing on the blinking lights of the equipment. "I'm here for the science, not the spectacle."

"Are you?" Nova stopped directly in front of me, her designer heels inches from my worn flats. Her gaze traveled slowly up my body, taking in every detail of my bargain-store dress and carefully concealed desperation. "Some people never learn to move on."

"Is there something you needed, Ms. Adams?" I asked, my voice cool.

"Just checking on our investment." She smiled, all teeth. "Beau was so surprised to see you here. Almost like you planned it."

"Trust me," I said, finally meeting her eyes, "the last place I want to be is anywhere near either of you."

"Liar." She leaned closer. "You're still obsessed. Still can't let go."

I laughed then, a short, sharp sound that made her step back. "I'm selling my memories to save my father's life. That's the difference between us, Nova. You sell your soul for status. I'm trying to save something real."

Her face flushed, but before she could respond, the door swung open and Dr. Chen entered.

"Ms. Adams, this is a restricted area," she said firmly.

Nova straightened, her mask slipping back into place. "Just being supportive of our investment." She glanced at me one last time. "Good luck, Dahlia. Sounds like you need it."

---

The chair reclined further as technicians secured the final sensors to my temples. Through the glass above, I could see the observation deck filling with investors, their faces eager for the demonstration.

"We're ready to begin," Dr. Chen announced, her voice tense with anticipation.

The machine hummed to life around me, a low vibration that seemed to resonate with my bones. Lights flashed in sequence along the helmet's edge as the neural link established itself.

"Initializing neural mapping protocol," a computerized voice intoned.

The screen above flickered, then stabilized into a coherent image—not of the sterile lab or my face, but of my father's garden. The roses he'd planted last spring bloomed in vibrant color, their petals dewy in the morning light. Next came the sharp smell of hospital antiseptic, so real I could taste it.

"Remarkable clarity," someone murmured from above.

I closed my eyes, trying to steady my breathing as more fragments appeared—Dad's hand holding mine at the hospice, the stack of bills on my kitchen table, the endless nights of worry and calculation.

Then, like a door opening in my mind, came a memory I hadn't thought of in years: Beau's face on our wedding day, young and hopeful and utterly in love with me.

My eyes flew open as the screen above changed, displaying that very moment for everyone to see.