My Ex Chose Her,So I Married the Scientist Above Him

The next time I saw Les Gilbert, I was kissing my new husband in front of a cheering crowd.

His little junior stood right beside him—the one he'd always coddled—but her eyes were red with fury.

No one there knew that six months ago, to celebrate Michelle's birthday, he'd stolen my only spot at an elite international research conference.

"You're a young scholar—you'll have plenty of chances. But Michelle's turning twenty, and her birthday wish is to be there and broaden her horizons."

He confiscated all my documents, locked me inside the apartment from the outside, and flew Michelle abroad without looking back.

That night, a fire broke out from old wiring.

I smashed through a window to barely make it out alive, then knelt on the pavement calling his phone over and over.

When someone finally picked up, it was Michelle, laughing:

"Madge! Les is cutting my birthday cake right now. Is it urgent?"

In the background, Les was announcing in flawless English to the whole world that she was his lover.

Seven days of conference. Every day, Michelle posted couple photos, location tags, gifts on social media.

And I became the biggest joke in our circle.

Until tonight's academic gala, when Dustin Vance—newly risen powerhouse of the research world—shielded me behind him in front of everyone:

"She's my wife. She's not someone any of you get to touch."

That was when Les finally understood: the girl who used to have eyes for no one but him, he'd thrown her away himself.

……

On the eighth day of the international conference, Les Gilbert finally came home.

He dragged his suitcase through the door in designer casual wear, still riding the high of a week on the international stage.

When he pushed the door open and saw the soot-blackened living room, his brow barely creased.

"Madge, what the hell happened? If you can't use the appliances, don't use them. You're a researcher. Don't you have basic safety awareness? Look what you've done to the place."

I was sitting on the couch, still in the same clothes from the night of the fire. Light burns marked my arms and shins. My face was paper-white, my lips cracked and split.

I raised my head slowly, looked at this man I had loved for three full years, and felt nothing but the shock of staring at a stranger.

Home.

He had the nerve to call this home.

While I was trapped in a burning apartment fighting not to die, he was at a world-class venue overseas, arms around his little junior, smiling as he told everyone she was his lover.

If I'd actually burned to death, he wouldn't even have known.

When I didn't speak, just stared at him with that cold, unfamiliar look, something in Les shifted. He yanked off his tie, irritated, and tossed the suitcase aside.

"Are you done throwing a fit? So you didn't get to go to the conference—so what? You're already a well-known young scholar in this country. Can you stop fighting over scraps like a child? Michelle's still young. She needs the exposure."

"I'm the one making a scene?" My voice finally came, so hoarse it scraped, but underneath it was something worse than anger. Dead calm.

"You took my conference spot. You locked me in this apartment. The apartment caught fire and I nearly died inside it. I called you over a dozen times. You were with your junior, celebrating her birthday, telling the whole world she was your lover."

Every word came out bitten off, forced through clenched teeth.

"Now you walk back in and you don't ask if I'm hurt, don't ask if I was scared, don't ask how I survived that night. All you care about is that I wrecked your precious apartment?"

Something flickered across Les's face, his gaze shifting, as if he'd only just remembered.

"I was busy, alright? The conference schedule was packed, and Michelle's birthday only comes once a year. You're mature. You should understand."

He said it like it was obvious. Like I was the unreasonable one.

"Besides, it was just a small fire. You're fine, aren't you?"