Krystle looked up at Amy's excited face, offering a polite, noncommittal, "Oh, really?"

Amy lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Yes! They say she's a Ph. D. from Oxford, made some huge breakthrough. Her name is Dana Warren! Do you know her?"

Krystle's hand tightened on her mouse, her knuckles turning white.

She forced her expression to remain neutral, shaking her head slowly. "Never heard of her."

"She's huge right now." Amy went on, oblivious. "I heard even our big boss is a huge fan. Not only is she an expert for the lab, but she's also a consultant for something called... Project Chimera!"

Project Chimera.

The words hit Krystle like a physical blow. Her project. Her baby. Now had a "consultant" named Dana Warren? A consultant the project's own Chief Engineer knew nothing about.

Was this Damion's doing? Not just giving Dana money, but plastering her name onto Krystle's life's work to polish her resume?

A wave of nausea rolled through her. She forced herself to turn to her computer, to the mind-numbing administrative tasks, using the mechanical work to quiet the screaming in her head.

Later, under the pretense of a bathroom break, Krystle found an empty fire stairwell.

She pulled out her encrypted phone and dialed her mentor, the project's former director, Professor Hayes.

"Professor Hayes, it's Krystle. I need to ask you about an external expert named Dana Warren being appointed as a consultant for Chimera."

The professor's sigh was heavy with resignation. "Ah, Krystle. It was a directive from one of our private-sector funders. Her resume is impressive on paper, and they insisted. Don't worry, she has no access to the core data. She's just a figurehead for PR purposes."

A figurehead for PR. Krystle hung up, leaning her head against the cold wall. So that was it. Damion wasn't just giving Dana money; he was giving her credit.

She returned to her desk to find a new message from Chloe Foste.This one was personal.

"Dr. Reynolds, you won't believe what I saw at the mall yesterday!"

Krystle typed back, "What?"

A blurry, obviously surreptitious photo appeared on her screen. It showed Dana Warren, looking elegant as she carried a brand-new, ostrich leather Hermès Birkin bag. A man stood beside her, holding other shopping bags. The face was unclear, but the build was unmistakably Damion's.

Chloe's text followed. "It's Dana Warren! With her new Birkin! I heard you have to spend a fortune on other items just to be offered one of these bags. She must have a super rich boyfriend!"

Krystle stared at the photo. An absurd, yet perfectly logical plan began to form in her mind.

She needed proof.

She pulled the scarf Damion had given her from her purse. She typed its product number, found on the tag, into a search engine.

The results confirmed it was a new season design, expensive. But a link to a luxury goods forum delivered the final, brutal piece of information.

A thread discussed the unofficial "accessory purchase" requirement to be offered a Birkin bag in that specific ostrich leather. The amount needed was substantial.

And the scarf in her hands was listed as a perfect, common item to help meet that spending threshold.

It all made sense now.

The most expensive gift Damion had ever given her in four years of marriage wasn't a gift at all.

It was the trash he had to buy so the woman he loved could get the purse she wanted.

She, Krystle, was worth less than a handbag. She was just part of the bill.

For the first time all day, Krystle smiled. It was a smile devoid of warmth, full of a chilling, bottomless despair.

In that single moment, the last lingering ember of affection she might have held for Damion was extinguished. Emotionally, she was a widow.

She remembered the four years of canceled plans, of tiptoeing around his moods, of hiding her own brilliance to soothe his family's fragile egos. All of it, in his eyes, was worth less than an accessory to a bag.

She closed the browser and placed the Hermès scarf back in her purse. It no longer felt like silk. It felt like evidence.

That afternoon, Amy bounced over to her desk. "Krystle, department dinner tonight to welcome the new interns. You coming?"

The old Krystle, the one who tried to fit in, would have said yes.

Today, she just shook her head. "No, I have something to do." Her voice was quiet but firm.

Amy, taken aback by her tone, shrugged and left.

She had no time for fake socializing. She had more important things to do.

At five o'clock sharp, Krystle was the first to leave the office. She didn't go home.

She drove her Camry to a coffee shop across the street from Damion's office building. She sat by the window, watching the entrance. She was waiting.

She needed to see it with her own eyes. To see the woman who had turned her into an accessory, enjoying everything that should have been hers.