Back then, I’d refused. The thought of losing Dominic terrified me more than missing a Nobel-worthy breakthrough.
“He’s willing to compromise!” Emily rushed on. “Two months in the lab, two weeks off. You’d still have time for Dominic—”
Dominic.
The name now tasted like rust. My eyes drifted to the desk calendar.
October 10th—once circled in glittery pink—now glared back in harsh red Sharpie.
Fifteen days until my wedding.
Fifteen days until freedom.
“I’ll join,” I cut in, voice steadier than I felt. “No compromises. Full protocol.”
“But your honeymoon—”
“Schedule me for the 10th.”
Silence. Then a soft click as Emily hung up, too tactful to ask why I’d chosen my wedding day.
I traced the calendar’s red ring.
Fifteen days to grieve twenty years of love.
Fifteen days until I vanished into a lab—and Dominic Pearson became a ghost.
