My Husband Gave My Lab to His Mistress

Beckett’s tablet chimed as we sat in the back of the sedan.

He glanced down at the screen. His jaw tightened.

"He did it," Beckett said quietly.

He turned the screen toward me.

It was an automated submission alert from the *Journal of Advanced BioSciences*.

Title: *Targeted Epigenetic Vectors in Regenerative Oncology.*

First author: Myla Vasquez.

Corresponding author: Caleb Marshall.

I looked at the words. A cold, hard knot formed in my stomach.

That paper was five years of my life. Five years of late nights, ruined weekends, and bloodshot eyes. I had synthesized the core molecule with my own hands. And now, Caleb was handing it to an intern who couldn't even balance a chemical equation.

He didn't just want my research. He wanted to give Myla my name, my reputation, and my glory.

"Call Margaret Osei," I said. My voice was calm. Almost too calm.

Margaret was the journal’s senior editor-in-chief. She was brilliant, ruthless, and despised academic fraud.

Beckett dialed her direct line and handed me the phone.

"Simone?" Margaret answered on the second ring. "I was just looking at a manuscript with your husband's name on it. Marshall BioTech is claiming a major breakthrough."

"Retract it," I said.

A brief silence followed. "Excuse me?"

"The submission is fraudulent," I said clearly. "It's my work. Every single word. Beckett is transferring our encrypted archive to your private inbox right now."

On his laptop, Beckett tapped a key.

"Check the timestamps, Margaret," I said. "The lab notebooks. The original patents. They predate Caleb’s company by three years. Myla Vasquez was still in high school when I ran the first clinical trial."

Paper rustled on the other end. Then came the fast clicking of a mouse.

Margaret took a sharp breath. "Good god. The molecular mapping is identical. And these dates are verified by federal patent registry seals."

"I am the sole author," I said. "Caleb and Myla contributed nothing."

"Consider it done," Margaret said, her voice hard as steel. "I’m killing the submission immediately. We will flag it in our system."

"Thank you, Margaret."

I hung up and looked at Beckett.

"He wanted to use that paper to raise fifty million dollars on Wall Street," Beckett said. "He wanted to take Marshall BioTech public next month."

"He won't get a single dollar," I replied.

I opened my own laptop. My fingers moved fast over the keyboard.

"What are you doing?" Beckett asked.

"If Caleb wants this research out in the world, he can have it," I said. "For free."

I opened the global Open-Access Science Network. It was a free, public platform used by researchers and universities across the globe. I uploaded my complete manuscript. Every chemical formula. Every dosing protocol. Every manufacturing step.

I clicked *Publish*.

No paywalls. No corporate patents for Caleb to sell. No investors lining his pockets. Anyone in the world could now use my formula to save lives, and Caleb couldn't charge a dime.

Within five minutes, the download counter spiked. Five hundred. Two thousand. Ten thousand.

My phone rang twenty minutes later. It was Margaret Osei.

There was a dry chuckle in her voice.

"Simone, your husband just called my office," she said. "He was screaming. He demanded to know why we rejected the paper."

"What did you tell him?"

"I asked him a very basic question," Margaret said. "I asked him to explain the binding affinity of the peptide chain on page fourteen. Since he listed himself as the corresponding author."

A faint smile touched my lips. "And?"

"He choked," Margaret said plainly. "He couldn't even pronounce the compound name. He mumbled some nonsense about proprietary secrets and hung up on me. I logged his failure in the official journal record. It's a permanent note on his file now."

"Thank you, Margaret."

I ended the call.

Before I could set the phone down, the screen lit up with three back-to-back notifications.

*Alert: Joint Chase account has been frozen by primary account holder: Caleb Marshall.*

*Alert: Corporate Amex card ending in 4102 has been canceled.*

Then came an email notification from Marshall BioTech’s human resources department.

*Notice of Immediate Termination. Employee: Simone Carlson. Reason: Conduct unbecoming and gross insubordination.*

A text message from Caleb popped up right after:

*Let's see how long you survive out there without my money, Simone. No cards. No accounts. No job. You have one week to come home and apologize on your knees.*

I stared at the screen. I almost laughed out loud.

He really thought I was helpless. He really thought he was the one holding the checkbook.

Then Beckett’s phone buzzed with a message from our contact inside the Marshall family townhouse. Beckett read it and shook his head in disgust.

"Caleb is having lunch with his father right now," Beckett said quietly. "Gerald told Caleb to let you starve. He said you were 'barren and useless' for never giving them an heir, and that Caleb should start looking for a 'more capable wife.'"

A cold fire flared behind my ribs.

*Barren.*

Gerald had called me defective to my face for years. But it was Caleb who had begged me not to get pregnant. He had looked into my eyes and said a baby would ruin his startup's momentum. I took birth control pills for ten years just to protect his fragile ambition.

And now, I was the defective one.

I looked down at the pale scar on my wrist, right beneath my watchband.

"Beckett," I said. My voice was steady, quiet, and completely devoid of warmth.

"Yes, Simone?"

"How far are we from Carlson Tower?"

Beckett looked in the rearview mirror and smiled.

"Two blocks, Miss Carlson. Your grandfather has the entire board waiting for you."