Chapter 9
I should have been on a secluded beach, enjoying the sunshine, healing from the wounds Graham had inflicted. Instead, I was holed up in a secure lab, working around the clock. The gene therapy for Harvey's Syndrome, my life's work, needed to be perfect. Every data point, every algorithm, every minute detail had to be flawless. I worked for twelve, sometimes fifteen hours straight, until my body ached and my eyes burned from staring at computer screens.
One evening, as I stumbled out of the lab, my body screaming for sleep, I saw him. Corbett. He was sitting on a bench outside, nursing a cup of coffee, a large paper bag beside him. My heart, still tender, warmed slightly.
"Corbett," I said, my voice hoarse from disuse.
He looked up, his eyes lighting up. He immediately rose, coming towards me. "Elise. You're finally done. I brought you dinner." He smiled, a gentle, reassuring presence. He took my hand, his touch warm and familiar, pulling me closer.
"You didn't have to wait," I mumbled, leaning into his strength for a moment.
"Nonsense," he said, ushering me inside, his hand resting lightly on my back. "A little sister needs her big brother to look after her." He gestured to the sprawling meal he' d laid out on my workstation. "Eat up. You look like you haven't slept in days."
I picked up a spoon, taking a careful sip of the soup. My eyes widened. "Corbett," I said, looking at him. "You made this. It's your chicken noodle soup."
He chuckled, a soft, warm sound. "Caught me. I figured you needed something homemade." Just then, his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, then walked a little distance away, answering in a low voice.
I heard snippets of the conversation, his mother's voice, high and insistent, filtering through the quiet lab. "...Elise's future... the Morton legacy... it's time, Corbett. You need to make your intentions clear... she needs a strong partner by her side..."
Corbett's face was flushed when he returned. He ran a hand through his hair, avoiding my gaze.
"Are you sick?" I asked, reaching out to touch his forehead. He flinched slightly.
"No, no," he stammered, his voice unusually strained. "Just... tired." He swallowed hard, his eyes meeting mine. His gaze was intense, burning. "Elise, I... I need to tell you something."
My phone buzzed, a series of frantic notifications. I pulled it out, my eyes widening as I scanned the messages. My face must have paled because Corbett immediately took the phone from my trembling hands.
His eyes widened in shock, then narrowed into a furious glare. On the screen, a video played. It was clearly doctored, a malicious montage. Me, in a hotel room, in what appeared to be a compromising position with a faceless man. The next video showed me being dragged through the hospital hallway, my hair shorn, my face bruised, Keeley's triumphant smirk in the background.
Then, an official statement from Harvey Technologies. It disavowed any connection to me, painting me as a con artist who had manipulated Graham, fabricated a pregnancy, and was trying to extort money from his family. It demanded I return all "gifts" and relinquish any claim to communal assets.
Finally, a video of Graham himself, his face grim, addressing the camera. "I've tried," he said, his voice laced with false sorrow. "I've given Elise every opportunity to do the right thing. But she has chosen to lie, to manipulate, to destroy. Our marriage was a sham, a calculated fraud on her part. I am officially filing for annulment, and I ask the public to respect my privacy during this difficult time. I will not be seeking any financial compensation from her, as I simply want to sever all ties and move on with my life, with my true love, Keeley."
Corbett stared at the screen, his jaw clenched, his knuckles white.
My hand flew to my mouth, stifling a choked sob. The lies, the public humiliation, the sheer cruelty of it all. I felt soiled, dirty, tainted by his venom. My body began to tremble, a deep, uncontrollable tremor that threatened to consume me.
Corbett's face was a mask of pain. He dropped to his knees in front of me, his eyes filled with a raw agony I rarely saw. He reached out, his hand hovering, unsure how to comfort me.
"Elise," he whispered, his voice thick with unshed tears. "I'm so sorry. I should have protected you better."
The dam broke. A guttural sob tore from my throat, raw and desperate. I crumpled into his arms, burying my face in his chest, the tears flowing freely, washing away years of suppressed pain, humiliation, and betrayal.
As I wept, my phone, still in Corbett's hand, flickered. Two new messages flashed across the screen just before it died, the battery finally giving out.
`Keeley: Elise Morton is the head of that institute. The real brains behind the Harvey cure. I had to destroy her before she destroyed me.`
`Graham: Meet me at the Civic Center tomorrow afternoon. We're getting an annulment. And then... I'm marrying Keeley.`
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