My Husband Stole My Research for His Mistress

Cameron stood in the doorway of the old apartment, keys still in his hand. The place smelled like dust and stale air, like a life sealed off and forgotten. The boxes were stacked against the far wall, labeled in Selah's neat handwriting — *Books. Files. Kitchen.* He'd avoided coming here for months, told himself it was because he was too busy, but the truth sat heavier: walking into this space meant admitting she'd really left.

He pulled out his phone and dialed. Daisy picked up on the first ring.

'I'm here,' he said, his voice low even though no one was listening. 'Which box?'

'The one marked Files,' Daisy said. Her voice had that breathy excitement it always got when she was getting something she wanted. 'It should be near the top. Brown folder, I think. She kept everything organized like that.'

Cameron found the box and pulled it open. The folder was exactly where Daisy said it would be, the pages inside crisp and untouched. He pulled out the paper and flipped through it, recognizing Selah's work immediately — the precision of the argument, the way every citation built toward something larger. He'd read this draft years ago, back when she'd still believed he wanted her to succeed.

'Got it,' he said.

'And?' Daisy's voice sharpened. 'Is it good?'

Cameron hesitated. Good didn't cover it. The paper was better than good. It was the kind of work that made you realize you were standing next to someone operating on a different level entirely. He'd known that when he told her not to publish it. He'd known it when he watched her fold the pages back into the folder like she was folding up a part of herself.

'It's solid,' he said finally. 'We'll need to reformat it, change the intro, scrub her name from the citations. But yeah. It'll work.'

'Perfect.' Daisy exhaled, relief flooding through the line. 'I was starting to panic. My own draft was... not great.'

Cameron sat down on the edge of a box, the paper still in his hands. 'We have to be careful. If anyone asks you detailed questions about the methodology—'

'I'll handle it,' Daisy cut in. 'I've been your research assistant for two years. I know how to talk the talk.'

'Even I can't fully explain the methodology,' Cameron said quietly. 'Selah was always better at that part.'

There was a pause. Then Daisy laughed, bright and careless. 'Well, his ex-wife was too stupid to even password-protect her files. So I guess we lucked out.'

Cameron didn't laugh. He stared at the folder in his lap, at the careful annotations in Selah's handwriting, and felt something twist in his chest — not guilt, not quite, but something close to it. He shoved the feeling down.

'I'll bring it to your apartment tonight,' he said. 'We'll go through it together, figure out what needs to change.'

'You're the best,' Daisy said, her voice warm again. 'I mean it. I don't know what I'd do without you.'

Cameron ended the call and sat there for another moment, the apartment silent around him. Then he stood, tucked the folder under his arm, and walked out, locking the door behind him.

He never noticed the small speaker mounted in the corner of the living room, the one connected to the smart home system Selah had installed three years ago. He never thought to check if it was still active.

It was.

Three thousand miles away, Selah sat at her desk, her phone on speaker, listening to the entire conversation play back in real time. She heard Cameron's hesitation. She heard Daisy's laugh. She heard every word, every pause, every casual cruelty delivered like it was nothing.

When the recording ended, she saved it to three separate encrypted drives, labeled each one with the date and time, and sat back in her chair. Her hands were steady. Her breathing was calm. She felt nothing but a cold, clean clarity, the kind that came right before a verdict.

She picked up her phone and called Alayna.

Alayna answered on the second ring. 'Tell me you have something.'

'I have everything,' Selah said.

There was a pause, the kind that stretched just long enough to feel like a smile. Then Alayna's voice came through, sharp and satisfied.

'We move.'

Selah ended the call and set the phone down on her desk. Outside her window, the city was beginning to light up, building by building, like a stage being set. She stood and walked to the glass, pressing one palm against the cool surface.

Six weeks.

She could wait six weeks.

She'd waited seven years. What was six more weeks when you were finally holding all the cards?