Chapter 74 - 73 Remnants Of Betrayal
EMILY
Sweat dries into an uncomfortable, sticky film across the back of my neck. I drop my heavy gym bag onto the plush bedroom carpet and roll my aching shoulders.
After crashing yesterday, I woke up this morning and went straight to training again.
Today’s morning marksmanship drills in the cellar armory left my ears ringing with the sharp crack of the training pistol. The afternoon strength conditioning with Leo drained every ounce of energy from my body. I lifted iron kettlebells until my forearms shook. I ran sprint intervals until my lungs burned.
I walk into the master bathroom and turn on the gold-plated faucet. I splash cold water over my flushed face. The icy temperature shocks my system, providing a brief moment of relief. I grab a crystal glass from the nightstand, pour water from the pitcher, and drink it down in three massive gulps. The freezing liquid soothes my parched throat.
My phone vibrates against the mahogany wood of the nightstand. The sudden noise startles me. I set the empty glass down and pick up the device. The bright screen displays Dr. Aris’s name. I swipe the green icon and press the phone to my ear.
"Good afternoon, Dr. Aris." I lean my hip against the edge of the mattress.
"Miss Emily." His voice sounds really energetic over the speaker and it calms the small nerves that started building in my chest . He clears his throat. "What have you been busy with lately?"
I look at the thick cardiovascular anatomy textbook resting on my desk. The glossy cover reflects the warm afternoon sunlight streaming through the balcony doors. When I’m not training, I’m either reading or resting for my baby.
I don’t think the training part is important, so I mention what is.
"Just reading heavy medical texts to nurture my unborn child. That, and waiting patiently by the phone."
"Waiting for me?" he asks.
"Waiting for the university admissions office." I wipe a drop of condensation from my hand onto my sweatpants. "I check my email every ten minutes. I stare at the phone screen willing it to ring."
“The university?”
“Yes, Doctor.”
A brief pause follows. Papers rustle loudly on his end of the line. "They haven’t called you yet? That is highly unusual.”
I frown. “Really?”
“Yes. The last time I spoke to the dean, the dean assured me that your paperwork was completely expedited. I will make a few specific inquiries on your behalf right away. Do not worry about the admission."
I wonder why there’s a delay but I try not to let it bother me. "Thank you. I appreciate the help."
"I’m sure it’s merely a minor administrative delay. I actually called you about our other project." Dr. Aris takes a deep breath. "Ever since I released the initial data regarding the SN1818 collaboration, my office lines have been ringing nonstop. Over a hundred enterprises knocked on our door in the last forty-eight hours. It must have been an oversight from the dean’s office."
I grip the phone tight. The plastic casing digs into my palm. One hundred companies.
He’s saying the same thing he said before but I’m still yet to believe it.
The sheer scale of that number hits me hard. I knew the formula held immense potential. I synthesized it to be the most effective cardiac emergency agent on the global market. The commercial value is obviously staggering. Hearing the actual demand from established corporations makes my pulse race.
"A hundred?" I ask again just to be sure. I pace slowly across the carpet.
"Easily. The medical industry knows a genuine breakthrough when they see one." Dr. Aris chuckles softly. "I already weeded out the opportunists and the underfunded startups. Remember I told you that I narrowed the field down to five highly qualified enterprises. We need to sit down and discuss the fine details of their proposals."
My heart skips. He mentioned a name the last time and I hope he doesn’t mention it again today.
"I agree." I walk over to the window and look out at the sprawling estate gardens. The green hedges are perfectly manicured. "When should we meet?"
"Are you available this evening?"
I shake my head, even though he cannot see me. We had this same conversation the other day and I’m really hoping that we get to meet this time. But some things need to be prioritized.
"Once again, my daytime training schedule with Leo is still something I don’t want to miss. And yesterday turned out to be more busy than I thought. But this time, I’m sure we can meet tomorrow."
"Tomorrow evening works perfectly.”
“Still...at Bordeaux 101? Is that still fine?”
A sharp pang of financial regret hits me instantly again. The mere mention of that restaurant conjures the image of an eighteen thousand dollar dinner bill. I have the million-dollar loan from Alistair sitting safely in my bank account. I can technically afford it. I just hate wasting capital on overpriced wine and tiny portions of food. Every dollar counts when building an independent future.
"Bordeaux is fine," I say. I swallow my hesitation.
"Excellent." Dr. Aris taps a pen against his desk. "I want you to still prepare for the top two contenders. They submitted incredibly aggressive preliminary offers. They have the infrastructure and the global reach SN1818 requires. One is the Shaw Group. The other is the Thorne family."
The Thorne family.
The blood drains completely from my face. I stand perfectly still on the thick carpet. The Thorne Medical Corporation belongs to Julian. Julian Thorne. The man who lied to my face, slept with my stepsister, and treated my life like a disposable convenience. The man who is the sole reason I am currently trapped in a contractual marriage.
I really wanted to believe that I misheard him the last time.
"I will be there," I manage to say. My voice sounds hollow and distant in my own ears.
"See you tomorrow, Emily." Dr. Aris hangs up the phone.
I lower the device. I stare at the blank black screen. Julian Thorne wants SN1818. He is actively bidding millions to acquire the rights to a drug I created.
The absolute irony makes my stomach churn violently. I walk over to the plush armchair in the corner of the room and sit down heavily. The soft velvet cushions offer no real comfort. I close my eyes. The memory of my previous attempt to share my work with him floods my mind.
*Three months ago.*
The interior of Julian’s luxury sedan smells overwhelmingly of expensive leather conditioner and his signature spicy cologne. He wears a tailored gray suit. His dark brown hair is styled perfectly. He keeps his manicured hands on the leather steering wheel while we wait at a long red traffic light in the city center.
I reach into my purse. My fingers wrap around a small, pristine glass vial. The amber liquid inside catches the bright afternoon sunlight pouring through the windshield. It is the very first stable batch of SN1818. I spent hundreds of hours in the cramped, poorly ventilated university laboratory perfecting the chemical compound. My back ached for weeks. My eyes burned from the microscopes.
I hold the vial out to him.
"Julian," I say. I keep my voice light, but my hands shake slightly. "I need a massive favor. I have a friend who developed a new cardiovascular agent. She wants a professional laboratory analysis. Could Thorne Medical run a sequence on this?"
I do not dare admit I am the developer. I want the empirical data to speak for itself. I want the Thorne Medical scientists to analyze the purity and the efficacy. I want to see the utter shock and absolute pride on Julian’s handsome face when I finally reveal the truth. I want him to look at me as an equal.
Julian glances at the small vial. He looks mildly annoyed by the request. He takes it from my fingers and drops it carelessly into the center console cup holder.
"I will drop it off with the junior technicians," he says. The traffic light turns green. He hits the gas pedal. The powerful engine roars. "Do not get your hopes up, Emily. Most amateur chemical compounds are completely useless. It takes millions in funding to create a viable drug."
I smile politely. I wait.
Half a month passes. Fifteen long days of complete silence.
Julian offers absolutely no response. He never mentions the vial. He never brings up the laboratory or the technicians.
I finally take the initiative. We sit in his car again, parked right outside my family’s home. The engine idles quietly in the warm evening air.
"Did your technicians ever finish the analysis on that cardiac agent?" I ask. I force a casual, breezy tone to hide my soaring anxiety.
Julian reaches over to adjust the air conditioning dial. My eyes follow his hand.
The small glass vial sits in the exact same cup holder. A thick layer of dust coats the glass. The amber liquid looks cloudy from the intense car heat. He never took it inside the corporate building. He never gave it to a single scientist. It sat abandoned in his hot car for two entire weeks.
He looks at me. His brown eyes are completely flat and utterly sincere.
"They ran the tests," Julian lies smoothly. He does not even blink. "The results were terrible. The agent is completely unstable and entirely unsuitable for market release. It is basically garbage."
I stare at his handsome face. The blatant, effortless lie strikes me like a physical blow to the chest. The air leaves my lungs.
"You should distance yourself from friends like that, Emily," he continues. His tone turns patronizing. He pats my knee gently. "People who try to take shortcuts in medicine are dangerous. Tell your friend to give up on this foolish project."
A massive, painful lump forms in my throat. Hot tears well up in the corners of my eyes, blurring my vision. I look down at my lap quickly to hide my face. The crushing weight of his betrayal suffocates me. He did not care enough to help me. He did not respect me enough to tell the simple truth. He chose to look me in the eye and fabricate a detailed lie rather than admit he forgot.
*Present Day*
I open my eyes. The opulent master bedroom of the Wolfe estate comes back into sharp focus. The velvet armchair supports my weight.
The memory no longer brings tears. It brings pure, unadulterated anger.
I stand up from the chair. I walk over to the mahogany desk and pick up my heavy anatomy textbook. I run my hand over the glossy cover. My jaw clenches so tight my teeth ache.
Julian Thorne threw the greatest medical breakthrough of the decade into a dusty cup holder. He dismissed my life’s work as garbage without ever testing a single drop. Now, he stands in line with a hundred other desperate executives, begging Dr. Aris for a chance to bid on my formula. He likely used Chloe to secure a favorable recommendation.
A cold, sharp sneer curls my lips upward.
He did not want SN1818 back then. He lied to my face and told me to give up. Now he is willing to spend a fortune to acquire it.
It is entirely too late for Julian Thorne. I will sit across from him at Bordeaux 101 tomorrow night. I will watch him present his aggressive offer. I will let him think he has a chance to win the patent. And then, I will personally destroy his bid and his arrogance.