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."

Beth's heart seized violently, her blood seeming to freeze in an instant.

He wanted her to take the blame. He wanted her to bury Summer’s lies with her own academic career.

"And the reason?" she asked, her voice trembling. "Rick, give me a reason."

"You're still young. You have time to start over." His justification sounded lofty, yet cut like ice. "But Summer doesn't. Behind her stands the entire Belden Medical Group. Our lab consumables and equipment all depend on their support. Beth, this is for the greater good."

"So my future—my reputation—is the price you're willing to sacrifice at any time, in your so-called greater good?"

"I told you I'll compensate you!" His patience finally wore thin, his face darkening. "Beth, you need to face reality! In this circle, without my protection, you are nothing. If this conference falls apart, do you really think you'll still have a place in this field?"

The logic was absurd, the emotion ice-cold. Like a fire, his words burned away the last trace of attachment in Beth's heart.

Tears streamed down her face, and she smiled.

"Rick, don't you love my talent?" She pointed to her chest and asked each word slowly. "Then why is everything you're doing now destroying it with your own hands?"

He was left speechless. In the end, he waved his hand impatiently.

"Don't be so emotional. This is final."

His gaze hardened as he delivered the cruelest verdict.

"At tomorrow's conference, you'll explain it the way I told you."

The way I told you.

Those words fell like a final sentence, declaring that in his heart she was no longer a partner whose brilliance deserved protection—but a tool that could be manipulated and sacrificed at will.

…

At the international conference the next day, under the glare of the spotlights, Beth was pushed onto the stage.

She looked out at the sea of faces below—faces that had once admired her, now filled with disdain and scrutiny.

She opened her mouth, but no words came.

She saw Rick sitting in the front row, watching her with a look of warning and impatience—not even offering a single reassuring gesture.

In that moment, the noise of the world seemed to fade away.

Her academic reputation, her dignity, her future—under his indifferent gaze—were being carved apart piece by piece.

The last shred of trust she had left was torn to dust by his own hands.

In the end, she did not "admit her mistake" according to his script. She simply picked up the microphone and said one calm sentence to everyone present.

"Regarding the authenticity of the data, I have nothing to say."

With that, she set the microphone down and, amid the stunned silence of the hall, turned and walked off the stage.

She left without hesitation, never once looking back at Rick's ashen face.

After the conference, what awaited her was not comfort, but Rick's cold "arrangement."

"For the time being, don't appear at the institute. I'll announce publicly that you've entered a period of medical leave for treatment."

"Treatment?" Beth laughed softly. "Treatment for what—for the value you haven't finished extracting from me yet?"

At that moment, her long-held belief—that if she only waited, he would one day give her justice—was completely, irrevocably shattered.

Calmly, she took a resignation letter from her bag and placed it in front of him.

"Thank you, Professor Allen, for your years of guidance. Our collaboration ends here."