My name’s Isabelle Dubois. My life, on the surface, was perfect. Success and love. I’m a research scientist in Cambridge, UK. Big deal. They knew my gene therapy work. It was groundbreaking. My work? That was my whole life. Microscopes. Data. Hopes for healing. My colleagues respected me. Students looked up to me. Science saw me as a star. A pioneer. Everything felt good. My brain. My hard work. They shaped it.
Then came Dr. Alexander Sterling. Forty-five. My research lead. My mentor. My love. A legend. He had graying, wind-swept hair. Sharp, warm gray eyes. His smile made me feel safe. Problems vanished. We worked for five years on gene therapy. For Huntington’s disease. Big finds. Small hopes. Long nights in the lab. Machines hummed. That chemical smell. Fancy talks. He’d share breakthroughs. Always there. My inspiration. My strength. He helped me through everything.
I recall those nights. Clearly. Staying super late. Just beeps from machines. That alcohol smell.
Alexander: “You see, Isabelle?” His deep voice echoed. Eyes glowed. Full of passion. Pointing at a graph. “This is it. A medical change. This bad gene… it won’t be a death sentence.”
Isabelle: “I just hope we can truly help those suffering, Alex. A small light is enough.” I felt happy. Deeply happy. Being part of this. Sharing it with him. He seemed to share my goals. My passion.
We got engaged six months ago. Romantic night. Under the stars. At Trinity College gardens. Old trees. Shadows on stone. He knelt. A Cartier ring box sparked. The diamond. A tiny star. On my finger.
Alexander: “Isabelle, you are my light. My mind. My everything. My success has your mark. Will you marry me?” His voice. So soft. So real.
Isabelle: “Yes,” I whispered. Happy tears ran down my face. I hugged him tight. I thought I found my partner. He’d explore science with me. Build a bright future. Love and knowledge. Side by side.
My life. Built on smarts and love. It seemed perfect. I had it all. A good career. Respect from others. A love I felt was meant to be. The real truth.
But life, I’d soon learn, had hidden parts. My brain couldn’t find them. And truths. Man, truths were worse than any virus. They could break everything. Boom.
The first signs were small. Barely there. Tiny cracks. On a big block of ice. Hinting at a break. Alexander. He started being more private. ‘Bout his time. Late nights at the lab? More often. Sometimes, he’d just vanish. For hours. No clear reason. Just vague words. And a growing unease inside me. A bad feeling.
Isabelle: “Alex, you’re late again?” I asked one night. He came into our flat. Almost midnight. Three nights straight, he hadn’t eaten dinner. Fridge untouched. The smell. Alcohol. And this strange perfume. Sweet. Not mine. Not his. It came from his collar. Creeping everywhere. Into my mind. “You said you were working at the lab? Is something that serious going on?” My voice tried to be calm. But my heart raced. Anxious beat.
Alexander: (Voice tired. He looked down. Didn’t meet my eyes. Rubbed his temples.) “Sorry, love. Problem. Test samples. Big error. I had to stay. Make sure things were okay. Or we’d lose a week’s work. Maybe a month. You know this project’s important.” He came closer. Kissed my forehead. But the kiss was cold. Quick. That strange smell. Still there. Made me shiver.
He kept his phone closer. Always face down. That phone. It became a wall. Between us. One time, I made breakfast. His phone buzzed softly. On the counter. I glanced. Saw a message. On the lock screen: “Don’t forget our date, my love. I’m counting every minute.” No name. Just a weird number. But my heart. It squeezed. Couldn’t breathe. The world stopped. Only that cruel message. Glaring. Brighter than the sun. In my kitchen.
Isabelle: (Tried to look calm. But my voice trembled. Each word was hard to say.) “Alex, who’s texting you? Seems urgent.” I pointed at his phone. Tried to hold a steady stare. Like a scientist. Looking at key data. But inside, I burned.
Alexander: (Startled. He grabbed his phone fast. My face went white. Swiped quickly to hide it. Suspicious.) “Ah, just a funder. They’re keen to meet. Talk about new money. Pressure’s high, you know.” He forced a strained smile. Didn’t reach his eyes. Lifeless. “Don’t worry, love. Everything’s fine.” He avoided my gaze. He never used to do that. It made me feel a hole opening. Between us. A hole. Full of doubt. And lies.
His words. They sounded right. But the worry in my heart? It grew. Like a sickness. Quietly. Alexander. The honest man I knew. He was becoming sneaky. Like a weird reaction. One I couldn’t find in a book. He started giving me sudden, expensive gifts. A bright diamond necklace. A trip to Paris. He’d just, like, float through the sights. Not really there. His mind was elsewhere. Like he was trying to, what? Make up for something. I remember him giving me the necklace. His hand trembled. His eyes had this complex look. Fake love. And a vague fear.
Alexander: “I know you like it, Isabelle. You deserve the best. Don’t think too much, my love.” He said. Tried to hug me. But it felt like a wall. Between us. I couldn’t feel his warmth.
Isabelle: “Thank you, Alex,” I said. But a heavy weight. Pressed on my heart. I wondered. Were these gifts about making things right? Or just a trick? To hide the truth? My trust in Alexander. Once strong. It started to crack. And I knew. It wouldn’t stand firm again. My perfect life. Collapsing. Piece by piece. Like a failed test. One I couldn’t control.
In the weeks after, I told myself I was crazy. My science brain, just trying to find a pattern. A reason. For Alexander acting weird. Maybe I worked too much. Stressed. That’s why everything looked bad. Alexander. Always busy. Loved his work. A busy smart guy.
I tried to push doubts away. Buried myself in research. Dry numbers. That usual lab smell. Beeps from machines. Perfect work. It felt safe. A fake safety. A hideout. From the chaos in my mind. I stayed later at the lab. Sometimes ’til dawn. Just to avoid the empty feeling in our flat.
I remember sitting for hours. Microscope. Staring at cells growing. Trying to find logic. Order. In life’s mess. I wrote notes carefully. Looked at every detail. Every bit of dust. But my mind. It just kept going back. To small things: strange perfume, avoiding glances, phone face down. Even then, Alexander’s image. His phone was hidden. That strange perfume. Haunted me. Like a virus. Slowly eating me. From inside. I felt lonely. In my own home. In the love I thought was strong. Our home. Full of laughs before. Science talks. Future plans. Now? Just an empty shell. A cage. Gold.
One evening, I sat on the sofa. London sky, gray. Tiny raindrops. On the window. My fingers traced the shining Cartier ring. On my finger. It didn’t feel safe anymore. Not that forever promise. It felt like chains. A promise. Hanging over my head. I didn’t know if it’d break. Or if I’d break it. The diamond. It seemed to laugh at how blind I was. How innocent. I remembered my dad’s words. His deep voice. Full of life lessons. From his days as a lawyer. Facing lies every day: “Isabelle, always trust your gut. It will never lie to you. Even if you don’t want to believe it.” And my gut. Right then. It was screaming. A warning. I couldn’t ignore. A danger sign. Ringing in my soul.
Things hit a peak. At the Institute’s 20th-anniversary party. Big event. Top scientists. Rich funders. From everywhere. Even the Minister of Health. Me. Alexander’s fiancée. Co-author. Institute’s biggest project. I should have shone. By his side. But I felt like I was in a costume. In a play. I didn’t know the script. Didn’t even know I was a pawn.
I chose a beautiful sapphire blue dress. To make my blue eyes pop. Hoping it’d hide the mess inside. Alexander picked me up. Looked sharp. Perfect tuxedo. But something in his eyes. Chilled me. A clear tension. Like he was ready for a fight. He kept checking his phone. Restless. Like a criminal. Waiting for a key call. Or a gambler. Waiting for the last number.
Isabelle: “You okay, Alex? You seem tense. Did you forget your speech?” I asked. I tried to smile. But that smile was just a mask. Hiding anxiety. And fear.
Alexander: (Voice tired. Rubbing his neck.) “Just a bit nervous ’bout the speech, love. Pressure’s always huge at these events. Especially with the Minister here. Funders. Waiting for good news.” He forced a strained smile. Held my hand. Not tightly. His hand. Cold. Clammy. No usual warmth. “We can’t screw this up. Everything relies on tonight.”
We arrived. Ritz London ballroom. So grand. So fancy. Overwhelming. But I felt choked. Bright crystal lights. Soft music. Hushed talks. Everywhere. I saw colleagues. Professors. Important funders. Faces I knew. But now. Strange. Far away. But then. In a corner. Near the champagne bar. I saw her. A woman. Around 30. Shiny blonde hair. Perfect curls. A striking, tight red dress. Stood out. Drew all eyes. Like a fire. In the dark. A sharp rose. She laughed. Chatted. With a group. But her eyes. Always on Alexander. A clear focus. A look. Full of planning. Owning. I saw something I knew. In her smile. Arrogance. Owning. Couldn’t name it. But it scared me. Like a bad sign.
All evening, Alexander kept finding reasons to leave me. He talked to funders. To colleagues. Laughed. Shook hands. But his eyes. Always on the blonde woman. Like a moth. To a flame. When he talked to a big funder group. From a huge drug company. I saw her walk over. Lightly touch Alexander’s arm. He started. Then flashed a bright smile. A smile I never saw him give anyone else but me. A smile that shone. Like he found himself. Found real joy. They whispered. For a while. Her soft laugh. Rang out. Like happy bells. For a secret wedding. Then she left. Her eyes. Bold. Looking at me. Like she was saying she won. A win. I knew nothing about. A win. Where I lost.
A cold rage. Rushed inside me. Like hot lava. Burning every bit of safety. Every hope. I couldn’t take it. Not anymore.
Isabelle: (I walked up to Alexander. My voice is low. But heavy. Each word is like ice. Trying not to be overheard. To save what little dignity I had left.) “Alexander, could you tell me who that is?” I pointed gently. Toward the blonde woman. My gaze is steady. Like a cold knife. Ready to cut out a tumor.
Alexander: (He started. His face paled. Eyes darting. Looking for escape. No use.) “Isabelle? What are you doing here? I thought you were home. Getting ready for your talk tomorrow! You shouldn’t be here now!” He fumbled. Couldn’t meet my eyes. Sweat. On his forehead. Running down his tuxedo collar. “Ah, this is… She’s… just a former student. Sarah Jenkins, do you remember her? She’s doing PR for a new fund at the Institute.” He tried to force a strained smile. But it only showed his panic. And lies.
Isabelle: “A former student?” I cut him off. My voice sharp. Each word a blade. Cutting into the wound. “I’ve never seen her at any Institute alumni gatherings, Alex. I know all the main people who give money. And I’m quite sure she’s not one of them. And I’m quite sure she just called you ‘my love’ when I wasn’t looking.” I said. Glancing at his collar. Sarah’s perfume. Still there. That scent. Now clear proof. “Or do you think I’m blind? Or do you think I can’t smell? Or do you think I’m so dumb I wouldn’t notice what’s happening?”
Alexander: (Voice tight. He tried to grab my hand. Whispering. But threatening. Like he wanted to put out my fire.) “You’re misunderstanding, Isabelle. You know I have nothing to hide. Don’t be so sensitive. This is a big event. You don’t want to make me look bad, do you? Our name. The project’s. Everything’s at risk. You don’t want to ruin what we built, do you?”
Isabelle: “Sensitive? Alexander, you’re lying. I feel it. In your every breath. In your every look away. In your every clumsy lie.” My voice. It started to break. But I fought to stay calm. Every nerve tight. Like a wire. Like a chemical chain reaction. In my brain. Unstoppable. “You cheated on me. Right? With her? Here? At the party you called most important in your life? Right in front of everyone who trusted you? Who trusted us?”
He turned away. I tried to avoid it. But his eyes. They couldn’t hide his extreme fear. I knew. I had to find the truth. That short talk. Just the last straw. But it broke the wall of lies. He built it so well. My life. Once so perfect. Now upside down. Nothing left to trust. Everything I believed. About him. Our love. My future. Gone. In an instant.
A few days after the party, Alexander told me he had an urgent conference in Berlin. He packed carefully, but left his tablet on the coffee table. This was my chance. I knew I shouldn’t, knew invading his private space was wrong. But doubt had eaten at me too long. I couldn’t bear it anymore. My gut told me the truth was close. I couldn’t ignore it.
I turned on the tablet. In his encrypted messaging app, I found a message thread with an unsaved number. I knew Alexander was careful; he must’ve deleted everything. But I’m a scientist, too. Good at data. Finding hidden stuff. I used a special data recovery program. A tool I often use for lab data.
And then they showed up. Line by line. Word by word. Like knives. Cutting into my heart. Not one. Hundreds. Each one deeper.
Sarah Jenkins: “My dearest Alex, last night’s party was wonderful. I miss you so much. Did my red dress distract you? I saw her looking at me.”
Alexander: “Me too, my love. You looked absolutely stunning in that red dress. I had to try very hard not to stare too long. Her? She’s too busy looking at my reputation.”
Sarah Jenkins: “How did you lie to her? Did she believe you? I saw her looking at me, I bet she’s suspicious now.”
Alexander: “She’s so naive. She never suspects anything. I just told her she was being overly sensitive. Don’t worry. She’s a docile little lamb.”
Sarah Jenkins: “Good. We need to keep this secret until the project is fully funded. You know, my reputation is very important to my career. And your position too. The entire funding package depends on our discretion.”
Alexander: “I know. Just be patient a little longer, my love. Then we’ll have everything. The project, the money, and us too. A future without complications.”
My heart stopped. Then pounded. Fast. Out of sync. Nausea rushed into my throat. More violent than any chemical reaction. “Her” was me. “My love” was not me. It was Sarah Jenkins. The blonde. And “the funded project” was all about lies. A careful plan. To use my trust. The Institute’s trust. The whole science world’s trust.
Cheating. Made me shake. Every cell in my body. Like it was shrinking. But it also lit a fire. Anger. Drive. Inside me. I couldn’t let it go. Couldn’t be a quiet victim. I kept searching. Hands shaking. But my eyes. So sharp. Missing nothing. In his jacket pocket. On the sofa. I found a small wallet. No cash. Just a tiny USB drive. And a receipt. From a fancy jeweler in Mayfair. A shop he once said is too rich for us.
I plugged the USB into my laptop. Inside. An Excel file. Password-protected. I tried some of Alexander’s usual passwords—his birthday, our anniversary—no luck. Then, I tried Sarah Jenkins’s birthday. Found it in the messages. It opened.
The Excel file. Called “Project Venus.” Not a science project. A list. A detailed list. Of Alexander’s money “partners.” Each one? A woman. Every row. Every column. Every number. Every note. Another stab. Deep into my heart.
Name: Emily Hayes
Job: Lawyer
Money Given: £15,000 (for “project consult” and “first legal costs”)
Notes: “Smart, but emotional. Began asking ’bout money papers. Needs control or removal.”
Status: Done (ended after 6 months. Reason: Emily questioned costs and project honesty)
Name: Charlotte Davies
Job: Art Gallery Owner
Money Given: £28,000 (for “research growth and buying gear”)
Notes: “Very kind, likes art. Easy to fool with praise. Asked for public love, this is weak.”
Status: Ending (lasted 1 year. Reason: Charlotte wanted to go public, risky for plan)
Name: Isabelle Dubois (me)
Job: Scientist (notes: “Has her own money, few friends outside Institute, trusts easily. Has pull in Institute. Key for project’s name.”)
Money Given: £50,000 (as “personal lab funds”) + Big gifts (ring, necklace, Paris trip)
Notes: “Main goal for money and cover. Engaged now, watched closely. High funding chance. Keep it secret till project is full and moved.”
Status: Engaged, watched closely. High funding chance. Keep it secret till project is full.
Name: Sarah Jenkins
Job: PR Manager (notes: “Big network, good at hiding info. Practical, gives in easily.”)
Money Given: £10,000 (for “project ads” and “public help”) + “Hidden value” (notes: “Good networking and hiding info. Key for end, helps with problems.”)
Status: Partner, testing as Isabelle’s replacement. Big chance.
My stomach clenched. Like an invisible hand. Squeezing it. I wasn’t his love. I was a line on a spreadsheet. A cold, planned investment. A step. For his career. And a rich life. Alexander didn’t just lie. He built a big lie network. Using women’s feelings and money. To fuel his career. And a rich life. And Sarah Jenkins. She wasn’t just a mistress. She was a helper. Part of “Project Venus.” A partner. In this gross play.
The jeweler’s receipt. I found it in Alexander’s wallet. The last, worst proof. It was for a bigger, shinier diamond ring than mine. Buyer: Alexander Sterling. Receiver: Briana Vance. I didn’t know Briana Vance. But I knew. It wasn’t me. This was a ring. For a “next target.” After I was “taken out.” Clear proof of his meanness. And plans.
I felt an electric shock. Through my body. From head to toe. He didn’t love me. I was just a long-term investment. A money source. For him. And now. With a “new stock sale.” Named Briana Vance. Higher returns. He was ready. To coldly. “Get rid of” me. From his life.
I didn’t scream. Didn’t cry. I just felt the thin ice. Under my feet. Finally crack. And I wasn’t falling into a dark hole. But into a bare, cold truth. I’d tried hard to ignore it. A painful truth. But freeing. Because now. I saw everything. Clearly. I’d been made a number. A tool. For a skilled liar. My career. My name. All could be pulled down. If I didn’t act. But that. It wasn’t happening.
Alexander came back from Berlin. Midnight. Face tired. But eyes still had that usual pride. Like he just closed a big deal. He walked in. And I stood there. Middle of the living room. In my old pajamas. His laptop is open. On the coffee table. Screen showing “Project Venus” spreadsheet. And those awful messages. My Cartier ring. Already off. Lying alone. On the glass. Reflecting light. But not sparkling. Like a promise.
Alexander: “Isabelle? What the hell are you doing? How dare you touch my computer? What are you playing at?” His voice. Full of anger. And fear. Mixed with surprise. He was caught.
Isabelle: (My voice. Cold. Scary quiet. The opposite of the storm. Raging inside me.) “You’re back, Alex? Your Berlin trip seemed ‘successful,’ huh? Or rather, your date with Sarah Jenkins, right?” I pointed at the laptop. My finger trembled. But firm. “Or do you want us to look at your ‘Project Venus’ together? Or ‘Briana Vance’? You want me to call her here? Face to face?”
Alexander’s face. White as paper. All his pride. All his calm acts. Fell away. Showing total panic. Raw fear. He stepped back. Like he got shocked.
Alexander: (Voice trembling. He tried to reach for the computer. Eyes darting. Looking for escape. No way out.) “What… What have you seen? Isabelle, you don’t get it! This is… this is coded info for a top-secret research project! I’m trying to guard it! You’re ruining everything! It could wreck our careers!”
Isabelle: (I pushed his hand away. Hard. From the laptop. My eyes. Burning fiercely. Like scorching fire. My voice. Sharp. Each word is like a knife. Cutting the air.) “Top-secret? Alexander, you dare look me in the eye and say this is a research project? This is a scam! A list of women you used! Including me! You turned my life into a number on your disgusting Excel sheet!” I pointed to the ring on the table. Then to the diamond necklace still on my neck. “This is what you call love? A high-profit ‘investment’? You made love a dirty deal!”
Alexander: (He totally lost control. His voice. Became an angry growl. He lunged. Grabbed my shoulders hard. Squeezing.) “Shut up! You don’t know anything! You’re just a naive fool! A pathetic lab rat! Driven by feelings! Who do you think you are to judge me? I did everything for my career! Do you get it? I have to climb! To win! And you, you were just a step on that ladder! You should be thankful I gave you that opportunity!”
A deafening CRASH OF GLASS echoed. In the room. Tearing through the night. In pure rage and despair, I swung my hand. Knocking over the expensive crystal vase. On the table. Glass shards. Flew everywhere. Showing cracks. In my soul. Water spilled. Soaked the carpet. Like tears. I couldn’t shed.
Isabelle: (I pulled my arm away. Hard. From him. My voice. Shrill. Breaking. But full of wild anger.) “A ladder? I was a ladder for you? You turned me into a joke! A number in your disgusting spreadsheet! You betrayed everything I believed in! Everything I worked for! You stomped on love! On ethics! On every human value! Just to satisfy your greed!” I grabbed the diamond necklace he gave me. Tore it off my neck. Saw the gems. Fall to the floor. Then I hurled it. Hard. Against the opposite wall. Heard a LOUDER CRACK as it hit our framed photo. “I don’t need your filthy things! I don’t need this fake love! You are a monster, Alexander! A monster dressed as a genius!”
Alexander: (He stepped back. I looked at the broken pieces. I looked at my wild eyes. His panic. Changed to cold anger. And pure hate.) “You’re crazy! You’ve ruined everything! Do you know how much this is worth? You’ll pay for this! Your career! Your name! Everything will be smashed if you touch me!” He swung his arm. Punched the wall near the door. Made a deep dent.
Isabelle: (I gave a dry, bitter, painful laugh. With a strange freeing feeling.) “Pay for this? You’re telling me I’ll pay? You took more from me than any stuff you can think of! You took my trust! My innocence! And three years of my youth! You destroyed an entire life! A dream! But I won’t let you destroy me anymore!” I grabbed the USB from the table. Clutched it tight. Felt its weight. The weight of truth. It wasn’t proof of pain anymore. It was my weapon. “And you, Alexander, will be the one to pay. Not me. I will show everyone. I will turn your ‘Project Venus’ into the biggest science scandal of this century! You will lose everything!”
I turned my back and walked away. Each step strong. Walking on shattered crystal. Without a doubt. Behind me, Alexander’s shouts. Desperate. Furious. He’s punching the wall. Stuff crashing. But I didn’t look back. The apartment door slammed shut. A loud sound. Ending everything. Between us.
My life. It totally changed. No going back. But not his way. I broke free. From the glass cage. He put me in.
After that night, no way I went back to Alexander’s flat. Not for a second. I’d packed a small suitcase before. Just my must-haves. Moved into a small flat near the Institute. Simple. Clean. Peaceful. No lies here. I put in for a transfer to a different research project. No more Alexander. No old studies. I just wanted to avoid him. My heart still hurt. A deep wound. Slow to heal. But I knew I had to be strong. Pain was real, yeah. But it couldn’t eat me. Couldn’t tell me who I was.
In the next few weeks, the science world buzzed. News ’bout Dr. Alexander Sterling. Suddenly pulled from a big research project. No public reason. I knew. That was my plan. The first steps. On the path I’d chosen.
I found Dr. Evelyn Reed. A known ethicist. Heard about her work fighting bad behavior in research. Set up a meeting. Discreet cafe. Away from the Institute’s noise. So we could talk. No one listening.
Isabelle: “Dr. Reed,” I said. Sitting there. Quiet cafe. Just the hum of the coffee machine. Pages turning. From other people. My voice steady. Not a tremor. “I’ve got key info about Alexander Sterling. His bad actions. In the gene therapy research project.” I placed a big envelope. On the table. Inside: the USB. Copies of messages. Receipts. Detailed notes on ‘Project Venus’. How he used funders. Personal relationships. Manipulated data. Illegally.
Dr. Reed: (Her sharp eyes. Looked from me to the USB. Voice serious. But caring.) “I’ve heard rumors lately about Alexander Sterling. Money trouble. Suspicious actions. Do you have proof, Isabelle? We need clear evidence. For the Institute to act right. Protect its name.”
Isabelle: “I have proof. Not just his money tricks.” My voice firm. Unwavering. “But he used private project info for his own gain. Hurting research honesty. Work ethics. And he used women. Like me. Emily Hayes. Charlotte Davies. And Sarah Jenkins—he called her a ‘strategic partner’ in his ‘Project Venus’—as tools for his goals. He made us pawns.” I took a deep breath. “This isn’t just personal. It’s a threat to the Institute’s ethics. To the honesty of the whole science community.”
All my proof? Not direct. But it fit. Carefully gathered. With my mind. And hard work. Every piece. Fit together. A full picture of lies. Dr. Reed nodded. Her face showed shock. Anger. “This is very serious, Isabelle. It could ruin Alexander’s career. Really hurt the Institute’s name. You’ve been incredibly brave. To come forward. We will start a full check. And you’ll get protection. You’re not alone in this.”
The check. It lasted months. The Institute kept it quiet. To avoid a huge scandal. Hitting funding. Reputation. But whispers. Still spread. Like a virus. In academic and money circles. From labs. To parties. Alexander Sterling. Once a big name. Now seen with doubt. And disgust. Secret meetings. Constant. Funders started pulling out. His project. Stopped dead. Finally, he had to quit. From his research lead job. Project suspended forever. Because of “money problems and not helping with internal checks.” No public news. Specific reasons. But inside. Everyone knew. Sarah Jenkins. She also vanished from big events. Her PR company suffered. Big clients left. Didn’t want to be linked to a bad ethics story.
I went through a hard time after that. The pain of being cheated. Deep. The scars stayed. But I found strength. Inside myself. I learned a person’s worth. Not about how others see them. Or how much money they spend. But about being honest. And brave. Facing the truth. No matter how cruel.
Years later, I’m still a scientist at the Institute. But higher up. Leading my own research project. Regenerative medicine. Focused on honest, clear ways to treat people. With money from groups. Who truly believed in honest science. I don’t wear the Cartier ring anymore. But a faint mark. On my finger. Reminds me. Of the lesson learned. I learned to trust myself. My intuition. And most importantly. The truth. A truth. That can’t be twisted. Or fooled.
One evening, I was preparing for a big talk. International conference. Ethics in Medicine. An email. From Alexander. Short. Full of regret. And despair. He wrote he lost everything. Career. Name. And he knew. How wrong he’d been. Using my kindness. And other women. He didn’t plainly say sorry. But I felt his fall. And loneliness. In every word. A late confession. I just read it. Then deleted it. His life. No longer tied to mine.
I lost my love. I once thought it was perfect. A dream. Smashed. Into pieces. But I found something better: myself. I escaped the shadow of being too trusting. And deceit. Became a strong, independent, honest woman. I no longer feared the truth. No matter how painful. Because now. I knew. Truth. It’s the greatest power.
At an annual science gala. I stood on stage. Taking a big award. For my great work. Regenerative medicine. Research ethics. I came alone. My dress. Simple. Classy. Not showy. My reputation spoke. Built on truth. And talent.
Isabelle: “In life and in science,” I said. My voice echoed. Through the bright hall. Among admiring faces. “We always look for the truth. Sometimes, truth is very painful. Hard to accept. Like a grim health diagnosis. But only by facing it. By taking it in. Can we truly heal? And grow. Not just alone. But as a group. As a society.”
I raised my champagne glass. Not for a win. Over a liar. But to honor my journey. The scars. That shaped me. The lessons. That made me better. I am Isabelle Dubois. A scientist. A woman who found her truth. And I will never again. Let shadows hide my light. I didn’t let my life be shaped by being cheated. But by my own courage. Drive. And honesty.