My Husband Gave My Research to His Mistress

The email looked official. Hoffman Biomedical letterhead. Facilities maintenance request. Temperature calibration issue in Cold Storage Unit 7B. Requires immediate verification by senior researcher.

I stared at it. Senior researcher. They hadn't called me that in months.

I forwarded it to my supervisor. Got an auto-reply. Out of office.

The unit was in the basement. Sub-level two. I took the service elevator down. The doors opened onto concrete floors and exposed pipes. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead.

Cold Storage 7B was at the end of the corridor. The heavy steel door stood open. Inside, rows of sample racks disappeared into darkness. Vapor curled along the floor.

I stepped in. Checked the temperature gauge on the wall. Negative forty Celsius. Normal range.

The door slammed shut behind me.

I spun around. Reached for the handle. It didn't move.

The lights cut out.

Complete darkness. The kind that pressed against your eyes. Cold bit through my lab coat immediately. My breath came out white. I couldn't see it but I felt it freeze on my lips.

"Hello?" My voice sounded small. Dead. No echo.

I pounded on the door. The steel was already ice under my palms. "Someone's locked in here!"

Nothing.

I fumbled for my phone. The screen lit up. No signal. The basement was a dead zone.

I pounded harder. "Help! I'm locked in!"

A crackling sound. The intercom speaker in the corner.

Then a voice. Low. Amused. Nothing like the breathy sweetness I'd heard for five years.

"Comfortable, Autumn?"

I stopped. Pressed my back against the door.

"Laylani?"

A soft laugh through the speaker. "You sound surprised."

"Let me out."

"Not yet." She sighed. Content. "We should talk first. Really talk. No Bennett. No witnesses. Just us."

My fingers were already numb. I shoved them under my arms. "Open the door."

"Do you know how easy it was?" Laylani's voice was almost conversational. "The miscarriage. I bought pig's blood from a butcher in Queens. Heated it to body temperature. Soaked through my dress in Bennett's office bathroom. He called 911 himself. Held my hand the entire ambulance ride. Cried when the doctor told him we lost the baby."

I couldn't breathe. Not from the cold. From something else.

"There was never a baby," she said. "But there was a ring. A foundation donation in my name. A permanent place at his side. All I needed was his pity."

My legs started shaking. I slid down to the floor. Drew my knees to my chest.

"And your sister," Laylani continued. "Holly. God, she was so careful. Always double-checking seals. Always following protocol. That's what made it so satisfying."

"Shut up," I whispered.

"One loose valve. That's all it took. Pressurized synthesis chamber. I adjusted it during her lunch break. Watched from the observation deck when it blew. She flew backward into the fume hood. The glass shattered. Blood everywhere."

I screamed. Slammed my fists into the door. Pain shot up my arms. The steel didn't even dent.

"Your sister is already dead," Laylani said softly. "Her body just hasn't caught up yet. Those machines are breathing for a corpse. You're killing yourself for nothing."

"You're lying," I choked out. My voice broke. "You're lying."

"Bennett believed me," she said. "Equipment malfunction. Operator error. I cried so prettily. He never even opened an investigation."

I couldn't feel my hands anymore. Couldn't feel my feet. The cold was inside now. In my chest. My bones.

I pounded the door again. Weaker this time. My knuckles split. Blood smeared the steel. Froze instantly into dark streaks.

"Help!" I screamed. "Someone help me!"

Footsteps in the corridor outside. Rapid. Multiple people.

The intercom clicked off.

I heard voices. Muffled. Then the lock disengaged. The door swung open.

Fluorescent light blinded me. I fell forward onto the concrete. Gasped. My lungs burned.

Bennett stood over me. Laylani beside him. Her mascara smudged. Tears on her cheeks.

"She attacked me," Laylani sobbed. She pointed at me with a shaking hand. "She grabbed my throat. Shoved me. I ran. She locked herself in. I think she wanted to—" A theatrical choke. "I think she wanted to hurt herself."

Bennett's face was stone. He looked down at me. Not at my bleeding hands. Not at my blue lips. At my face.

"Get up," he said.

I couldn't. My legs wouldn't work.

He grabbed my arm. Hauled me to my feet. Pain shot through my shoulder. He started walking. Dragged me with him.

We passed the service elevator. He took me to the main corridor. Researchers stopped. Stared. Bennett's grip was iron on my arm.

"This is what instability looks like," he said. Loud enough for everyone to hear. "This is what happens when someone refuses help."

I stumbled. He yanked me upright. My bloody hand left a smear on his white sleeve. He didn't let go.

Security met us at the lobby. Two men in uniform. Bennett shoved me toward them.

"Revoke all building access," he said. "Escort her out. If she tries to return, call the police."

They took my arms. Walked me to the exit. The glass doors reflected my face. Pale. Lips cracked and bleeding. Eyes hollow.

I looked back once. Bennett stood in the center of the lobby. Laylani tucked under his arm. She met my eyes over his shoulder.

And smiled.

The doors closed behind me. I stood on the sidewalk. Traffic rushed past. People walked by without looking.

I pulled out my phone. My hands were still shaking. Still bloody. I scrolled through my contacts. Found the number I'd saved three days ago.

Dr. Phillip King answered on the second ring.

"Autumn," he said. His voice was warm. Steady. "Are you all right?"

"No," I whispered.

"Where are you?"

"Outside the Institute."

"Stay there," he said. "I'm sending someone. You're coming to Boston. Tonight."

I closed my eyes. Nodded even though he couldn't see me.

"Autumn," Dr. King said quietly. "It's over. Do you understand? You're done with them."

I looked up at the glass tower. Twelve floors. Five years.

"Yes," I said. "I'm done."

I ended the call. Sat down on the curb. Waited.

Twenty minutes later, a black car pulled up. The window rolled down. A man leaned out. Dark hair. Steady eyes.

"Autumn Greene?"

I stood.

"I'm Julien King," he said. "Let's get you out of here."

I got in the car. He pulled into traffic. I looked back one last time.

The Hoffman Biomedical Research Institute disappeared behind us.

I didn't cry. I had nothing left.