Hidden Scientist, Betrayed Wife's Revenge

For three years, I hid my identity as a top scientist and heiress, pretending to be a simple graduate student. All to secretly develop a cure for my husband Graham's fatal genetic disease.

Then, in his sleep, he whispered another woman's name-Keeley.

I soon discovered she was his ex-girlfriend and, horrifyingly, my doppelgänger.

He brought her into our home, siding with her as she attacked me, causing a fall that made me lose our unborn child. He showed no remorse.

Instead, he publicly humiliated me, accused me of faking the pregnancy, and filed for an annulment to marry her.

The man I sacrificed my career, my fortune, and my identity for saw me as nothing more than a convenient substitute. He destroyed my life, all for a cheap copy of me.

He thought he had broken me. But he forgot who I really am. Now, as the true head of the Morton Institute, I'm ready to reclaim my name. At the global press conference for his cure, I will expose every last one of their lies.

Chapter 1

My stomach churned, a cold, hard knot spreading through my core as his hands, once a source of comfort, now felt like a cage. Every touch was a fresh stab of betrayal, a horrifying reminder of the name he'd whispered in his sleep, a name that wasn't mine.

"Babe," Graham murmured, his voice a low rumble against my ear, pulling me closer. "You're so tense tonight. What's wrong?"

I flinched, my body stiffening. The question felt like an accusation, a veiled demand for performance. My breath hitched. How could he not know? How could he pretend?

"Nothing," I managed, the word a brittle whisper. I tried to shift away, but his grip tightened.

"Come on, Elise," he coaxed, his fingers tracing a path down my spine. His voice held that familiar seductive edge, the one that used to make my knees weak. Now it just grated on my nerves. "Let's lighten up. We could order some champagne, put on some music."

He leaned in, his lips brushing my neck. I recoiled, a silent scream building in my chest. The intimacy felt wrong, tainted. It was a performance, and I was no longer willing to play my part. My muscles screamed in protest, a warning, a desperate plea to escape. I needed air, space, anything to pull away from the suffocating lie that was our marriage.

I closed my eyes, trying to block out the sensation, to detach. But the memory was too vivid, too fresh. Just last week, in this very bed, in the dim light of dawn, he had stirred from a deep sleep, his arm still heavy around me. His voice, thick with dreams, had mumbled a name, a name that echoed in the quiet room like a gunshot.

"Keeley," he'd whispered.

Not my name. Never my name. He always called me "babe," or "honey," or sometimes, if he was feeling particularly affectionate, "my little scientist." Generic endearments, sweet enough,