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My Husband Drugged Me to Protect His Mistress Novel Cover

My Husband Drugged Me to Protect His Mistress

The blue light of the laptop screen was the only warmth in the room, casting long, skeletal shadows against the silk wallpaper of the master bedroom. My eyes burned, gritty from another forty-eight-hour stretch without real sleep, but the simulation on the screen was finally stabilizing. The protein folding sequence—the key to halting the genetic decay eating away at my husband’s cells—was ninty-eight percent viable. I tapped my pen against my knuckles, a rapid, nervous rhythm that echoed the racing of my heart. *Just a little longer, Hudson. I’m almost there.* The heavy oak door creaked open, shattering my concentration. I slammed the laptop shut, shoving the encrypted drive under a stack of fashion magazines on the nightstand. To the world, I was Eliza Evans, the docile, socialite wife of the Knight empire. No one could know I was the Director of the Rare Disease Research Institute at Columbia. Especially not him.
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Chapter 3

The rhythmic *whir* of the centrifuge was the only sound that made sense anymore. Here, in the sterile, fluorescent-lit sanctuary of the Rare Disease Research Institute at Columbia, variables could be controlled. Outcomes could be predicted. Unlike the chaotic debris of my marriage, science didn't lie.

I sat on a stool in the corner of the lab, my safety goggles reflecting the scrolling data on the monitor. *Tap, tap, tap.* My pen hit the knuckle of my thumb in a rapid staccato, a nervous tic I hadn’t been able to suppress since Lila arrived at the estate.

"You're going to bruise yourself, El," Dr. Vivian Vance murmured, not looking up from her microscope. Her voice was sharp, but her eyes, when she finally turned to me, held a softness she reserved only for me. "The base formula is stable. We’re within the margin of error for human trials."

I stopped tapping. My hand hovered over the keyboard, the cursor blinking next to the file named *Project HK*.

"It’s not enough," I whispered, the words tasting like copper. "His cell degeneration is accelerating. If I don't synthesize the carrier protein by the end of the month, the drug won't bind. It will be useless."

Vivian slid off her stool, her lab coat rustling as she crossed the room to grip my shoulders. "You are saving the life of a man who is currently dismantling yours. Does he even know you’re here? Does he know his 'boring housewife' is the only reason he’s still breathing?"

"He thinks I'm shopping," I said, my voice devoid of humor. I pulled away, typing in the encryption key to lock the data. "If he knew I was the Director here, his ego wouldn't survive the transplant. He needs a savior, Vivian, but he wants a saint. Not a wife who’s smarter than him."

I grabbed my purse, the weight of the encrypted drive heavy in my pocket. "Keep the simulation running. I have to go back before he notices I’m gone."

***

The air at the Knight estate was different—thicker, perfumed with old money and rotting secrets. I dismissed the driver at the gate, needing the walk up the driveway to armor myself against whatever fresh humiliation awaited inside.

I took the path through the sunken garden, the high hedges offering a temporary shield. I was halfway to the terrace when a laugh stopped me cold. It wasn't Hudson’s. It was a man’s laugh—oily and ingratiating.

I froze behind a trellis of climbing ivy. through the leaves, I saw them. Lila was lounging on a stone bench, a glass of wine in hand, looking every bit the queen of the manor. Standing over her was Marcus Thorne, a pharmaceutical executive I had blacklisted from my institute years ago for unethical practices.

"You worry too much, darling," Marcus said, lighting a cigar. The smoke drifted toward me, acrid and pungent. "Hudson is desperate. He’s not checking background references. As far as he knows, your degree from Yale is as real as the diamonds on your finger."

Lila giggled, taking a sip of wine. "God, buying that transcript was the best investment I ever made. But what about the clinical trial data? If the FDA looks too closely at the numbers for the new painkiller..."

"They won't," Marcus interrupted, his grin predatory. "We tamper with the adverse effect reports, push the drug through, and cash out before the lawsuits hit. With Hudson’s backing, the stock will soar. We’ll be rich enough to disappear before the bodies pile up."

My blood ran cold. It wasn't just fraud; they were planning to use the Knight family name to pedal poison. Lila wasn't just a homewrecker. She was a parasite.

***

I didn't knock when I reached Hudson's study. I threw the heavy oak doors open, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the silent house.

Hudson was behind his desk, nursing a tumbler of scotch. He looked up, his eyes narrowing instantly at my intrusion. "I didn't hear you come in. Where have you been?"

"It doesn't matter," I said, marching to the desk. I placed my hands flat on the mahogany, leaning in until I could smell the alcohol on his breath. "You need to kick Lila out. Now."

Hudson set his glass down with a dangerous *clink*. "We are not doing this again, Eliza. I told you—"

"She’s a fraud, Hudson!" My voice rose, cracking the carefully maintained composure I wore like armor. "I just heard her in the garden with Marcus Thorne. She bought her credentials online. They’re planning to falsify clinical trial data for the new painkiller line using your company’s resources. She is going to destroy you."

For a second, silence hung suspended in the room. I watched his face, searching for the spark of intelligence, the ruthless businessman I had married.

Then, he laughed.

It was a dry, hollow sound. He stood up, towering over me, his shadow swallowing me whole. "You are unbelievable," he sneered. "I knew you were jealous, Eliza, but I didn't think you were delusional."

"I am telling you the truth!" I insisted, my fingernails digging into the wood of his desk. "Check her transcripts. Call Yale. Just look!"

"Lila is a victim of your insecurities, nothing more," Hudson spat, his voice dropping to a terrifyingly quiet register. "She told me you might try something like this. She said you’ve been stalking her, trying to find dirt that doesn't exist."

"She's manipulating you," I pleaded, though I could feel the wall slamming down between us. "Hudson, please. Listen to me."

He walked to the door and yanked it open, pointing into the hallway. His face was a mask of stone.

"I’m done listening," he said, the finality in his tone striking me harder than a physical blow. "I want you out of my sight. Pack a bag, Eliza. Go to the townhouse. Go to a hotel. I don't care where you go, but you are not staying under this roof tonight."

I stared at him, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. The man I was killing myself to save was throwing me out for the woman who was plotting his ruin.

I straightened my spine, pulling my dignity around me like a shield. I didn't cry. I didn't beg.

"You're making a mistake," I said softly, my voice trembling with a rage that felt dangerously like power. "And by the time you realize it, it will be too late."

I turned and walked out, the sound of the heavy door slamming behind me sealing my fate.

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