I glared at him, disgust rising. "Who do you think you are?"

Scanning the office, I declared, "This institute is mine, registered under my name, and your boss is my wife."

Jake froze for a split second, then burst into laughter. "Yeah, sure. You're decent-looking, but a delivery drone claiming Monica as your wife? Delusional much?" he scoffed. "If you're her husband, then I'm the president."

He kicked the flowers away and sauntered closer, clapping a hand on my shoulder. "Get real. Take a good look at yourself."

His words hung in the air, igniting a chorus of snide whispers from behind me. The barbs stung like needles, each dripping with mockery.

Then, a swirl of fabric caught my eye. It was the unmistakable silhouette of Monica.

She strode in and demanded, "What's the commotion? Breakthroughs to discuss?"

Clad in a sleek beige pantsuit, she clutched a thick folder of documents. Her eyes locked on mine, and for a heartbeat, her composure faltered.

Her pupils contracted, and her fingers whitened around the papers. "Alex? You didn't mention you were back."

The room fell into a hush, and disappointment washed over me like a cold wave. I'd tried to tell her through the call earlier, but she had hung up on me.

I pointed at Jake. "Who is this guy?"

"Alex..." Monica hesitated, glancing between us.

"Babe, this delivery guy is unhinged," Jake interjected. "Claims that he bought the flowers and that he owns this place. He even scuffed up those shoes you bought me."

He draped an arm over her shoulder, adding, "Look at the mess. The flowers are trashed. He even trash-talked you. What a nut!"

I narrowed my eyes, marveling at his brazen audacity.

Turning to Monica, I demanded, "Why don't you tell him the answer? Who is your real husband?"

My voice was steady despite the storm within.

In the next instant, she looped her arm through Jake's, her voice syrupy. "Jake, obviously. Who are you to make a scene here?"

Incredulity hit me like a slap. I'd earned my stripes as a top national researcher long before meeting Monica.

Early in our relationship, I'd found her sobbing curbside, her family refusing to fund her education. I used my scholarship to support her.

Then it all unfolded naturally: graduation and marriage. My work kept me lab-bound, but I'd trusted her implicitly.

But now, she denied our bond.

I scanned her face, piecing together her motives. It all circled back to Jake.

But before I could retort, he barreled forward again.

"Scram, your worthless scum!" Jake bellowed. "I bet you sniffed out Monica's success and cash. Figured you could mooch off her."

I let out a bitter laugh. "Her success and cash? Every bit of it traces back to me. Ask her."

The spectators erupted in chuckles.

"Give it a rest! Ms. Bowman is an Ivy League whiz, steering this whole ship. She recruited Mr. Finley and spearheaded the national AI initiative."

"Do you even grasp what an elite graduate means? Our research focus? That cheapo watch on your arm is probably a bargain bin from Amazon, right? Ms. Bowman gifted Mr. Finley a Rolex."

I glanced at my wrist. The watch was Monica's present for our first anniversary. I'd cherished its sentiment, despite its modesty.

Now Jake's flashy Rolex glared at me.

He flaunted it. "Bet you've never seen luxury, delivery boy. Stuck slinging bouquets for chump change."

Their tag-team mockery unfolded like a scripted farce, each line amplifying the ridicule.

"I don't recall seeing you at the national lab," I countered.

Three years ago, I'd groveled to my father for a billion dollars to settle gambling debts for Monica's brother, freeing her from her family's grip.

Post-marriage, I'd integrated her into my institute to bolster her prestige, even handing over management to let her shine.

"Monica with you? Delusional!" Jake scoffed. "Claiming national lab creds? Hilarious! Just dial 911 and cart this loon off."

Ignoring the jeers, I pressed Monica. "Are you sure he is your legally wedded husband? Who owns this institute? You know the answer better than anyone else. Even if you're the manager, I can boot you out anytime."

Before she could respond, Jake inserted himself like a human shield. "Who are you to threaten her here? Our elite team reports to her, and they've snagged global awards."

Monica fidgeted silently, twisting fabric between her fingers. She'd conveniently forgotten one fact. I'd headhunted that team with premium salaries.

They were my dad's former students, brought in to guide her and pad her resume with prestige projects.

In my absence, they had bombarded me with complaints of Monica dismissing their expertise and dragging unqualified outsiders into sensitive areas.

I'd pleaded with them to hang on, promising to set things right upon my return.

Yet Monica strutted around like she owned the place, oblivious to the strings I'd pulled.

"Pipe-dreaming fool! Hit the bricks! No shot I'd stoop to your level!" she said.

I smirked, unfazed. "By all means, fetch the paperwork and see whose signature seals it."

"Total crap!" Jake bellowed, charging like a bull. His hands clawed for my throat. "You sneaky rat! If you don't bounce, prepare for the pain! Hold him, folks. I'm filming this and posting it online."

The rubberneckers, thrilled at the invitation to pile on, swarmed me in a frenzy.

A fistful of my hair got ripped out in the scuffle, my shirt hanging in tatters.

Adrenaline surged, but lab life had sapped my strength. I couldn't shake them off.

I was pinned face-first to the cold floor, my arms wrenched behind my back. They whooped with glee, capturing my humiliation with their phones.

"Busted the sidepiece. First time jumping into the fray."

"Blast it to his flower gig and viral accounts. Expose this arrogant prick to the world."

Humiliation burned my cheeks, but resistance was futile.

As they hauled me toward the exit, a trio of familiar faces entered.

"Monica, when is my start date here? You promised today," one of them asked.

Their eyes met mine, and panic flashed across their features. They shuffled backward instinctively.

"This loser was punching way above. Watch me toss him out!" Jake yanked me upright. "He spouts off that Monica is his wife. Luckily, I am around, or God knows what stunt he'd pull."

Those people bobbed their heads in agreement, giving me a once-over before pivoting away. "Sort it out. We'll come back later."

"Gambling debts paid?" I sneered at their hasty retreat.

Memories of them borrowing money from me flooded back. They had forced Monica's brother to beg me desperately.

Post-payoff, they'd turned saccharine, fawning over me to secure their meal ticket.

Yet now, Ryan Bowman came up and shoved me hard. "Shut your trap! A scrub like you is no match for my sister. Only Jake deserves her."

His grotesque sneer fueled my disgust. I spat, "Birds of a feather! Savor these final moments. I won't let you off."

Monica tugged Jake's sleeve. "Just eject him already. We've got work to do."

I memorized their faces. This betrayal would not go unpunished.

"Hold up!" Jake clamped my arm. "Can't let him slink off that easily. Flowers are strewn on the floor. No waste. Chow them down."

Monica's silence endorsed his madness.

"You're deranged! That mess is on you!" I yelled.

Jake's eyes narrowed. "Delivery is your game. We reject it, and you eat the loss."

Wriggling free in a surge of fury, I landed stinging slaps on both their faces. Amid the stunned chaos, I discreetly hit a button in my pocket.

"Get him!" Monica shrieked, cradling her cheek. "Shove every petal down his throat!"