A voice full of delight came through the line. "Beth! I knew you wouldn't disappoint me! I'll send you the invitation immediately!"

The call ended. Beth stood at the far end of the corridor, her fingertips still trembling.

Not far away, inside an office, Rick was speaking in a low voice to comfort Summer. Summer leaned against him, sobbing as she poured out her fear and grievances.

An academic power couple, fighting side by side—they looked perfectly matched.

Beth stood there, her heart feeling as if it had been soaked in formalin—cold, numb, and lifeless.

"Beth, are you all right?" Summer noticed her first and immediately tightened her grip on Rick's arm.

Almost by reflex, Rick moved Summer behind him.

The wariness in his gaze was like a scalpel, slicing into Beth's heart inch by inch. He was afraid she might hurt the partner he valued most.

The man who once said, "I recognize only your talent," now guarded against her as if she were a corporate spy.

Only after Summer was escorted away by an assistant did Rick walk over. He reached out, as if to touch Beth's shoulder.

"Beth, the situation is very complicated right now. The more trouble you cause, the harsher the board's punishment will be. And we're close to the final results. I don't want any distractions. I'll handle the data issue—why do you have to…"

"I told you there's nothing wrong with the data!" Beth's eyes suddenly reddened.

Rick seemed startled by her intensity. He paused, then softened his tone. "All right, all right. None of that matters anymore."

Doesn't matter anymore.

Those words were like poisoned needles, piercing her already shattered heart.

He still didn't believe her.

Seeing the stalemate, he reached into his pocket and took out a velvet box, handing it to her.

"This—you've always wanted it."

Beth's pupils shrank. She opened the box. Inside lay an exquisitely designed fountain pen, a tiny star engraved on its barrel.

It was the limited-edition commemorative pen of her most admired, late Nobel laureate—only ten existed in the world.

"You gave it to Summer!" Her voice trembled. "I saw it—in the pen holder in her office!"

"Summer liked it, so I gave it to her first." Rick frowned and grabbed her hand. "Consider it an apology to me for the trouble you caused this time."

"That pen is my entire faith in academic pursuit!" Beth was on the verge of collapse. "How could you treat it like something you can casually give away? You know how important it is to me!"

She reached out to snatch it back, but Rick suddenly clamped down on her wrist and flung her aside.

"Beth!" he shouted her full name for the first time, his eyes terrifyingly cold. "It's just a dead object. Is it more important than the reputation of our entire institute? Have you not made enough of a scene?!"

He used too much force. Beth was thrown hard to the side, stumbling into a nearby lab bench.

Her waist slammed into the sharp edge of the cold metal. The pain nearly made her black out.

But Rick only cast her a cold glance before turning away.

"I'll take care of the data problem," he said, his retreating figure resolute and icy. "You—calm down and stop causing trouble for me."

The door slammed shut.

…

When Rick stormed out, Beth was still slumped on the floor, the searing pain in her side stealing her breath.

She stared at the tightly closed door—so decisive, so cold, without the slightest hesitation.

In her agony, she suddenly remembered that he used to worry about her like this, too.

Once, when she cut her finger on a shattered test tube in the lab and a bead of blood welled up, his eyes had reddened with distress. He carried her to the infirmary himself, his hands shaking the entire way.

The doctor said with a helpless smile that it was only a superficial injury, but he insisted on a tetanus shot anyway, terrified that she might get an infection.

And now—

Beth lowered her head and looked at her pale fingertips. Suddenly, she laughed.

She laughed and laughed, until tears came crashing down.

Leaning against the wall, she dragged herself back to the dorm, limping the entire way.

The pain in her waist grew sharper by the minute. Dizzy and barely able to stand, she pulled out her phone to call a car to the hospital—when someone suddenly seized her wrist from behind with brutal force.

"Beth!" Rick's voice was tightly restrained with fury. "Summer fainted from anger because of you, and you still won't let it go? Hiding here, playing dead?"

She turned and met his tightly furrowed brows and the chill in his eyes.

He was dressed in a white lab coat, as aloof and refined as ever. Only now, his body carried the scent of the perfume Summer always wore—cloying and nauseating.

"I need to go to the hospital…" Her voice was so soft it was nearly inaudible.

Slowly, she lifted her hand, pulled aside the hem of her clothes, and pointed to the vicious bruise on her waist.

"I'm hurt too."

Rick froze. Only then did he notice her deathly pale face and the fine beads of cold sweat on her forehead.

"You said that once the final results came out, you would clear my name." Beth looked at him, her eyes rimmed red. "But now, can you still see me at all?"

His brow furrowed even deeper. He reached out, as if to touch the bruise. "What happened?"

"You pushed me," she said calmly. "I hit the lab bench."

Rick's pupils contracted, as if the scene finally came back to him.

Most of his anger dissipated at once. He pulled her into his arms.

"Beth, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. I was just afraid something would happen to Summer. She's the face of the entire project right now. If she collapses, all our previous efforts will be wasted…"

Beth let him hold her, her gaze hollow, like a deep, dried-up well.

She had heard these words too many times before.

"I understand." She pushed him away. "Go check on her."

She turned to leave, but he grabbed her wrist again.

"Beth, no matter what, you have to believe that you're the only one in my heart. Everything I've done has been for us—to secure an academic position that no one can shake."

He gently stroked her hair, his voice tender as poison. "I'll have my assistant take you to the hospital. I need to go calm the board right now."

With that, he let go and hurried off, his retreating figure edged with anxiety.

Beth stood where she was, watching his tall silhouette fade into the distance.

She suddenly laughed, laughing until tears fell.

"I don't believe you anymore…" she whispered. "Rick—not a single word you say."

…

Over the next few days, Beth saw almost daily updates on the institute's internal network about Rick and Summer "fighting side by side."

In the photos, Rick bent his head, patiently guiding Summer, his expression focused. She stood close beside him, smiling with confidence and sweetness.

Her fingertips trembled as she swiped through them, one by one.

There were photos of him staying late into the night with Summer in a conference room, forcefully rebutting dissent. Photos of him personally clearing up the so-called "data controversy" for her. Photos of him praising her in front of all the researchers, calling her "possessed of the keenest academic intuition."

With every image, it felt as though a dull blade sliced into her heart.

And yet, as the pain continued, she realized she could no longer feel it.

Perhaps her heart had already died the moment he pushed her away for Summer.

Just as she was about to mute all the notifications, her phone vibrated again.

It was an email from the International Association for Medical Applications.

She opened it, and what she saw stole her breath away.

The email was a letter of congratulations, announcing that her research from three years ago—on neural regeneration–inducing factors—had won this year's Golden Lancet Award for Innovation.

It was the first milestone of her academic career, proof forged from years of blood and sweat. It was also her greatest dream, one she had once shared with Rick without reservation.

But under Award Recipient, the name listed was… Summer Belden.

Beth stormed into Rick's office with her phone in hand, her voice trembling.

"Why?"

Rick was reviewing documents. He looked up at her, his expression so calm it was almost cruel.

"Beth, don't make a scene. The institute is under intense scrutiny right now. Putting Summer's name on this award is the best way to stabilize everyone."

"Stabilize everyone?" Her whole body shook with rage. "Then what about me? Do I deserve to be your stepping stone?"

"This is just a temporary measure." He frowned, clearly displeased by her loss of control. "Once the storm passes, I'll make it up to you."

Make it up to you.

Again.

His love and his promises were always the same—blank checks that could be overdrawn endlessly, but never redeemed.

Just then, there was a knock at the door. Summer walked in carrying coffee. Sensing the tension in the room, she immediately put on a look of measured confusion and hurt.

"Rick, Beth… what's going on?"

Her gaze flicked to the email on Beth's phone. Her face paled slightly before she spoke in a gentle voice.

"Beth, about this award… I know how much it means to you. But Rick is doing this for everyone's sake. Questioning him like this only puts him in a difficult position."

She cast herself as the considerate, innocent party—misunderstood by a friend.

Almost by reflex, Rick stepped to her side.

"Beth!" he snapped, his eyes cold, as if he were looking at an unreasonable stranger. "Summer is right. You're being immature."

The words hit Beth like a sledgehammer.

The man who had once sworn to stand against the world for her talent now scolded her as "immature"—for another woman.

The light in her eyes dimmed, bit by bit.

Rick didn't notice. He turned to comfort Summer, using the gentle tone Beth had once longed to hear.

"Don't mind her. She's probably under too much pressure lately. You're the rightful recipient of this award."

Listen to that.

Rightful recipient.

Those words nailed Beth to a pillar of shame. Somehow, she had become the villain—someone who had stolen another person's dream and then made an unreasonable fuss.

…

On the eve of the international academic conference, even more shocking news broke.

The data fabrication scandal surrounding Summer continued to escalate. The international journal Nature announced it would launch an independent investigation and demanded that the institute issue a public explanation at the conference.

That paper was the institute's crown jewel—and the foundation of Rick's career.

If the fraud were confirmed, the institute's reputation would be destroyed beyond recovery.

Rick summoned Beth to his office, his expression more grave than ever before.

She thought—finally—he was going to tell the truth and clear her name.

But his words were like a blade dipped in poison, stabbing into her last shred of hope.

"Beth, you're the only one who can save the institute now."

His voice was weary and hoarse.

"At tomorrow's briefing, you'll voluntarily admit that you made a mistake while entering the data because you were eager to produce results. I'll say that Summer, as the project lead, also bears responsibility for insufficient oversight. That way, we minimize the impact and define it as an error—not fraud."