My Fiancé Stole My Research to Give His Mistress Fame

The desert diner was a far cry from the upscale restaurants of Manhattan—just a weathered building with flickering neon and a jukebox that had seen better days. But as Jude pushed open the door, the warm air carrying the scent of fried food and coffee welcomed us in a way that felt more genuine than any white-tablecloth establishment ever had.

"We deserve to celebrate," Jude said, his eyes bright with excitement as he guided me to a booth by the window. "Our data set is revolutionary."

I smiled, still unaccustomed to receiving direct praise without qualification. "It's just preliminary."

"It's brilliant," he insisted, "and you know it."

The waitress brought us two plates of burgers and fries, along with two glasses of ice-cold soda. As we ate, the jukebox switched to an old country song with a lively beat.

"I love this song," Jude said suddenly, standing and extending his hand. "Dance with me?"

I hesitated, aware of the other patrons watching us. "Here? Now?"

"Why not?" His smile was infectious. "Life's too short not to dance."

Before I could overthink it, I found myself in his arms, swaying to the music in the middle of the diner. The floor was sticky with spilled soda, the lighting harsh, but none of it mattered. Jude moved with surprising grace for someone so tall, his hands gentle but sure as they guided me.

"You're a good dancer," I said, surprised by how naturally we moved together.

"You're not so bad yourself," he teased.

When the song reached its chorus, he spun me under his arm, and I laughed—a genuine sound that startled me with its freedom. For a moment, I forgot about Cassian, about New York, about everything except the feeling of being alive in this ridiculous, wonderful moment.

As we danced, I caught sight of our reflection in the window—Jude looking at me with undisguised admiration, his smile wide and unguarded. There was no calculation in his eyes, no heavy burden of guilt or obligation. Just pure joy in the moment we were sharing.

---

The package arrived three days later, its elegant packaging and distinctive Elliott Corporation seal impossible to miss. I was passing Jude's office when Elena handed it to him, her expression curious.

"Another delivery from home?" she asked.

Jude's eyes met mine over Elena's shoulder, and I saw something flash across his face—fear? Guilt? Before I could process it, he quickly tucked the package into his desk drawer.

"Jude," I said later, finding him alone in the lab. "The Elliott Corporation. That's... not a coincidence with your last name."

He looked up from his microscope, his expression carefully neutral. "No. It's not."

"You're..." I trailed off, waiting for him to fill in the blanks.

"Heir to the Elliott fortune," he finished quietly. "Though I prefer to keep that to myself."

"Why?"

Jude sighed, running a hand through his hair—that endearing gesture I'd grown so fond of. "You've seen how people treat you differently when they know you have money. The way they look at you—like you're either a meal ticket or a target."

I nodded slowly, understanding more than he knew. "So you hide it."

"I hide it," he confirmed. "I wanted to be valued for my work, not my inheritance."

"And you were afraid I'd be different if I knew?" I asked, feeling a strange mix of hurt and admiration.

"I wasn't sure," he admitted. "And after what you went through with Cassian..."

I stepped closer, closing the distance between us. "I'm not here for your money, Jude."

His eyes searched mine, vulnerable in a way I'd never seen before. "I know that now."

---

The desert night wrapped around us like a velvet cloak as we stood outside my cabin. The day's heat had faded, leaving a comfortable coolness that felt like a caress against my skin. Above us, stars blazed with an intensity I'd never seen in the city.

"I had a good time tonight," Jude said softly, his voice blending with the gentle desert sounds.

"So did I," I replied, meaning it more than I could express.

He stepped closer, and I felt my heart quicken. "Sylvie, I—"

"Jude," I interrupted, suddenly nervous. "I need to ask you something."

He nodded, waiting.

"If you want to kiss me," I said, my voice barely above a whisper, "you need to ask first."

Something shifted in his expression—a deepening of respect that made my chest tighten. "May I kiss you, Sylvie Gray?"

The formality of his request, the way he used my full name, made tears prick at the corners of my eyes. When was the last time someone had asked for my permission? When had I last been treated like someone whose boundaries mattered?

"Yes," I whispered.

Jude's hands came up to frame my face, his touch gentle but sure. When his lips met mine, it wasn't the possessive claiming I'd grown accustomed to with Cassian. This was a question and an answer all at once—tender, respectful, and deeply moving.

As we parted, breathless, I realized something profound had shifted inside me. For the first time in my life, I wasn't begging for scraps of affection or trying to earn love through sacrifice. I was being cherished as an equal—and it felt like coming home to a place I'd never been before.