Chapter 1

I signed the last page and set my pen down.

The divorce papers bore both our names, neat and clean, as if our marriage had never existed.

David Langley pushed the three children into the middle of the living room.

"Pick one to take with you," he said.

Three-year-old Evan Langley clung to my leg. Six-year-old Samuel Langley stood beside the couch, holding the hand of his five-year-old sister, Sophie Langley. The older two had red-rimmed eyes, while Evan simply held on to me in silence.

I bent down, picked Evan up, and headed for the door.

"The other two aren't mine. They should stay with their biological father. I don't need to worry about them anymore," I said.

A flicker of emotion crossed David's face. He called out, "Nora."

I didn't look back.

"Samuel and Sophie have called you Mom for five years," David said.

"Then they should call Claire Mom instead," I shot back.

I opened the door.

David's mother, Eliza Langley, was standing outside with a cup of coffee in her hand, blocking the doorway.

"Nora, where do you think you'll go after the divorce? Without the Langley family, you're nothing," she said.

I carried Evan past her without stopping.

"Just look at her—" Eliza turned to the nanny beside her. "She walked away with nothing. She doesn't even have a decent outfit, yet she's still acting so high and mighty."

I stopped at the front gate. "Mrs. Langley."

She raised an eyebrow.

I said, "For five years, I raised the two children your son's true love had with another man. Formula, preschool tuition, rushing them to the hospital in the middle of the night when they had a fever... I paid for and handled all of it."

"So what?" she replied.

"You're the one who should be thanking me. But don't worry, I don't need your thanks anymore."

I pushed open the iron gate and walked out.

Evan buried her face against my neck and whispered, "Mommy, where are we going?"

I replied, "Home."

"Wasn't this our home?"

"No." I tightened my hold on him. "It never was."

*****

The sunlight was warm, and the road outside was spotless.

I pulled out my phone and made a call.

"James, come pick me up. I'm at the Langley Estate's gate," I said.

There was a brief pause on the other end.

"Finally divorced?" James Carter asked.

"Yeah," I replied.

"I'll be there in twenty minutes."

I stood by the roadside with Evan in my arms, never looked back at the villa.

Three minutes later, Sophie's cries echoed from behind the wall, loud enough to hear ven from outside.

I didn't move.

Two minutes later, David called.

"Nora, Sophie's crying. She wants you," he said.

"Go find Claire," I replied.

"She's not here yet."

"That's your problem."

I hung up.

Evan looked up at me. "Mom, Sophie's crying."

"She has her own mom," I said.

Evan thought for a moment, nodded, and buried his face in my shoulder.

Evan had always been quiet, never fighting for anything, the one nobody ever noticed in that house.

Eliza favored Samuel because he was the eldest grandson.

David doted on Sophie because she looked like Claire.

Evan didn't look like anyone.

He only looked like me.

So nobody cared about him.

But starting today, he was the only one I cared about, the only one I'd ever need to protect.

*****

Eighteen minutes later, a black Maybach rolled up to the curb.

James got out from the driver's seat, looking sharp in his suit. He leaned against the car, all six-foot-one of him, casual and confident.

James grinned, "Ms. Sinclair, welcome to freedom."

I handed Evan over to him.

Evan recognized James right away and reached out, hugging his neck.

"James," Evan said softly.

"Hey, Evan, you've shot up." James gave his cheek a pinch. Then he glanced at me, "Where's your stuff?"

"Didn't bring any," I replied.

"Seriously? Nothing at all?" James asked.

"Not a single thing from Langley Estate," I said.

James let out a laugh and opened the back door for me.

"Good. I kept all your things safe: your lab, your apartment, and that Porsche you haven't touched in three years," he said.

I slid into the car and buckled my seatbelt.

"Did you upgrade the lab equipment?" I asked.

"Yeah, we swapped out a whole batch at the end of last year. The team's still working on the data you left behind," James replied.

"How's it going?"

"We're stuck on the core part. Honestly, we need you back."

I nodded, not saying a word.

The car pulled away, leaving the Langley Estate behind.

In the rearview mirror, the white villa faded into the distance.

I'd spent five years in that house.

Five years ago, when I married into the Langley family, I put all my research on hold. Eliza told me a Langley daughter-in-law didn't need a job, only needed to be a good wife and mother.

I did exactly what she said.

I raised three kids and managed the whole house.

Every time Samuel had a fever, Sophie had stomach troubles, or Evan needed his shots, it was always me, alone, taking care of everything.

David was always at the office, Claire was supposedly overseas, or at least, that was what he claimed.

Until a month ago, when I found two birth certificates in David's study drawer.

Samuel's mother: Claire.

Sophie's mother: Claire.

The two kids I'd raised for five years weren't mine.

I'd spent five years raising the children of David and his true love.

That night, I asked for a divorce.

David didn't agree at first, but then Eliza said, "Let her go. As long as Claire comes back, that's all that matters."

So he finally agreed.

My phone buzzed.

David sent: [Where are you going to stay?]

I didn't answer.

He sent again: [Samuel wants to know when you're coming back.]

I blocked his number right away.

James glanced over at my phone.

"Blocked him?" he asked.

"Yeah," I said.

"Nice move."

Evan was already sleeping in the back seat, his little face pressed against the car seat.

Twenty minutes later, we pulled up in front of a high-end apartment building downtown.

James helped me carry Evan upstairs.

There was three bedrooms, floor-to-ceiling windows, and a stunning river view.

"You bought this place. The deed's in your name. No one from the Langley family knows about it," James said.

I took the keys from him.

"Thanks," I said.

"So, when are you coming back to the lab?" James asked.

"Tomorrow."

"That eager?" He raised an eyebrow.

"I've already wasted five years. I don't want to lose another day."

James looked at me for a moment, then smiled.

"I'll let the team know. Welcome back, Dr. Sinclair," he said.

After he left, I laid Evan on the big bed in the bedroom and tucked him in.

Then I went to the study and opened the safe against the wall.

Inside, everything was lined up neatly. There were over a dozen lab notebooks, three USB drives, and a patent authorization letter.

The patent was for the SN-7 formula.

It was a project I'd poured seven years of my life into.

Five years ago, it got stuck right before clinical trials.

Now, it was finally time to bring it back to life.

*****

Early the next morning, I dropped Evan off at the daycare center downstairs from my apartment.

As I filled out the paperwork, the teacher glanced at my info.

"Who should we list as the emergency contact?" she asked.

"Just me," I replied.

"And the father's section?" She hesitated.

"Leave it blank."

The teacher didn't press any further.

Evan was such a good kid. He waved at me, then followed the teacher inside.

I grabbed a cab and headed to the tech park on the west side of town.

The sign outside still said "NovaBio."

James had helped me set up the company five years ago, and it was still standing.

I pushed open the lab door, and all six people shot to their feet at once.

"Dr. Sinclair!" they called out.

"Take a seat," I said.

I slipped on my lab coat and flipped through the report on the table, scanning three pages.

"Did you solve the solubility problem with the fourth-gen compound?" I asked.

Linda, who handled organic synthesis, shook her head. "We tried seventeen solvent systems, but the best we got was 78%."

"Did you try mixing PEG-400 and ethanol?" I asked.

"Nope. That combo hasn't shown up in any papers," she replied.

"Give it a shot today. Start with a 3:7 ratio," I said.

Linda blinked, then hurried to jot it down.

I moved over to the second team's station.

"How's the animal test data?" I asked.

Jason, the lead, handed me the file.

I skimmed through it for five minutes.

"Liver toxicity's too high. Switch the dosing to every other day and cut the dose by 20%," I said.

"But won't that mess with the efficacy?" Jason asked.

"Nope. You guys underestimated SN-7's half-life," I replied.

I opened my laptop and pulled up the pharmacokinetic model I built five years ago.

"Check out this curve. The half-life isn't six hours like you thought. It's fourteen. Your detection method isn't sensitive enough, so you missed the low concentration data," I explained.

The whole lab went dead silent for three seconds.

James was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching the scene.

"See? That's why you've been spinning your wheels for five years," he said.

"Mr. Carter, what about all the data we've already—" someone asked.

"Scrap it and start fresh," I said. "Give me a week."

At eleven in the morning, my phone rang with an unknown number.

"Is this Ms. Sinclair?" a man's voice asked.

"Who is this?" I replied.

"This is Henry Warren, business director at Harmony Pharmaceuticals. We heard you're back in the lab and wanted to talk about a collaboration."

"I've only been back a day and you already know? That's fast."

"Your influence in the academic world hasn't faded, even after five years."

"So, what kind of collaboration are we talking about?"

"We're interested in the clinical development rights for SN-7. We're offering 60 million dollars upfront, plus 8% of sales after it launches."

"No thanks."

"The price is negotiable—" Henry started.

"It's not about the money. SN-7 is my project, and I'm taking it all the way myself," I cut him off.

I hung up.

James walked over.

"You're seriously turning down 60 million dollars?" he asked.

"You know what SN-7 will be worth once it's on the market, right?" I replied.

"At least 1.5 billion dollars."

"So why would I sell it for 60 million?"

James gave me a thumbs-up.

During lunch, my phone buzzed with a WhatsApp message.

It was an unknown number. The profile pic was a white camellia.

It read: [Nora, it's Claire White. I heard you and Dave got divorced. Samuel and Sophie are with me now. Thanks for taking care of them these five years.]

I stared at the message for three seconds.

I didn't reply, simply deleted it.

Everything I needed to say, I said the day I walked out of the Langley Estate.

At three in the afternoon, Oliver Goodwin called me from overseas.

"Nora, I heard you're back?" he asked.

"Hey, prof," I replied.

"I've been following the SN-7 data from abroad. No one else in the world could pull off that core structure you designed."

"Thanks, prof."

"You deserve the praise. Three days ago at the Global Pharmaceutical Congress, someone presented a new targeted drug approach almost identical to your paper from five years ago. Everyone's been trying to track down the author, N. Sinclair."

"Did they find me?"

"Not yet, but it's only a matter of time."

Oliver paused for a moment.

"Nora, sooner or later, everyone will know your name. Are you ready for that?" he asked.

I glanced out the window.

"Don't worry. This time, nobody's stopping me," I said.