My Husband Gave My Lab to His Mistress

The morning sun glared off the glass tower of Marshall BioTech.

I arrived at eight sharp. My stomach still felt sore from the champagne, but my head was clear.

I took the private elevator to the executive floor and swiped my keycard at my lab door.

*Beep. Beep.*

A red light flashed. Access denied.

I tried again. Red light.

Through the frosted glass, I saw movement. A woman was sitting behind my desk.

It was Myla.

She wore a soft pastel sweater and leaned back in my leather chair. My green research notebooks were stacked around her. My prototype vials were arranged neatly on the desk. She was even drinking coffee from my favorite ceramic mug.

Myla looked up and saw me. A slow, smug smile spread across her face. She stood up and opened the door just a few inches.

"Good morning, Simone," she said in a sweet voice. "Didn't Caleb tell you? He gave me this lab. It’s my welcome gift."

She looked at my keycard and gave a little pout. "Caleb had the locks changed first thing this morning. He said your childish behavior last night proved you need a break."

I didn’t get angry. I didn't raise my voice.

"Step out, Myla," I said.

"I don't think so," Myla chuckled. "Caleb is the CEO. This is company property."

"I wasn't asking."

I turned my head. Beckett was standing right behind me. With him were two burly men in dark suits and steel-toed boots.

Beckett held a heavy crowbar.

"Beckett," I said quietly. "Open it."

"Right away, Miss Carlson."

Beckett wedged the metal bar into the doorframe. With one sharp heave, the wood splintered. The brand-new lock snapped with a loud *crack*.

Myla screamed and jumped back against the desk. "Are you insane? You're breaking in! I'm calling Caleb!"

"Call him," I said, stepping inside.

I grabbed a row of empty storage crates from the hallway. My security team went straight to work.

"Take the external hard drives," I ordered. "Take the black ledger notebooks. Pack every single prototype from that refrigeration unit. Leave nothing."

"Stop!" Myla shrieked. She reached out to grab a binder from my hands. "Those are company files! Caleb told me I'm the lead researcher on the new gene therapy project!"

I pulled the binder away with one smooth motion. I looked down into her wide, panicked eyes.

"You don't even know the chemical formula on page two, Myla," I said evenly. "Caleb can give you a room. He can't give you my brain."

My men worked fast. In ten minutes, every hard drive was wiped from the local machines and packed away. Every page of my ten years of research was in our crates. Every piece of equipment bought with my personal trust fund was loaded onto carts.

Then the second crew arrived.

Ten men in yellow hard hats walked in carrying sledgehammers, crowbars, and power saws.

Myla stared at them, her mouth open. "What is this?"

I looked at the foreman. "I paid for this entire buildout three years ago. The Italian marble tiles. The custom oak paneling. The acoustic ceiling. The lighting fixtures. I want all of it taken down to the bare concrete."

"You got it, ma'am," the foreman said.

A sledgehammer slammed into the custom wall unit. Wood cracked and shattered.

Myla clutched her purse to her chest and ran out of the room, coughing in the rising dust.

I walked out behind her.

Two hours later, Myla returned from an early lunch with Caleb's assistant.

She stopped dead in the hallway.

The lab door was gone. The polished floor was gone. The walls were stripped bare. Dust hung in the air like a gray cloud. Exposed steel beams and dangling wires hung from the ceiling.

There was nothing left inside. Just cold, empty concrete.

My phone buzzed in my coat pocket.

The screen flashed: *Caleb Marshall*.

He called once. Then twice. Then a third time.

I didn't answer. I slid my finger across the glass and hit *Block*.

I walked out to the parking garage and slipped into the back of Beckett's black sedan. The leather was cool and smelled of fresh rain.

Beckett got into the driver’s seat. He didn't start the engine right away. Instead, he reached over and placed a heavy metal briefcase on my lap.

"Open it," he said softly.

I popped the dual latches. Inside were three encrypted hard drives, stacked neatly alongside bundles of paper.

"Every patent filing from the past ten years," Beckett said. His voice was steady and calm. "Original laboratory journals with your timestamps. Bank records showing your private accounts paid for every patent registration fee. Backup copies stored in three separate off-site vaults."

He looked at me in the rearview mirror.

"Caleb thought he took everything," Beckett said. "He doesn't own a single molecule."

I sat in silence.

I looked down at my left wrist. My thumb found the faint white scar under my watchband. I rubbed it gently. I remembered the night he shoved me, the cold stone of the table, the sharp edge of his gold ring tearing my skin.

I had made myself small for ten years to make him feel big.

Never again.

I closed the briefcase with a crisp snap.

"Drive to my lawyer's office, Beckett," I said. My voice didn't waver. "Let's file the divorce."