Alex didn’t remember how he made it home that night.
He barely had the strength to toss his helmet aside before collapsing onto the bed—still fully dressed.
Shock clenched his chest like a vise, and before he could stop them, tears began to fall.
What a fool I am. I hurt her. I was truly, utterly rejected.
He lay awake through the endless night, crushed by regret and self-reproach.
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The next morning, as pale sunlight spilled across his room, he noticed Dr. Ashford’s business card lying on his desk—a stark reminder of the previous evening’s disastrous misunderstanding.
Without hesitation, Alex reached for his phone and dialed the number.
Dr. Ashford answered with characteristic warmth. When Alex explained his wish to speak further, the doctor graciously invited him to meet if he had time.
Alex was dressed and out the door within minutes.
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When they met again at the hotel café, Alex began with a deeply respectful bow.
“I sincerely apologize for my inexcusable rudeness last night.”
Dr. Ashford chuckled, eyes kind. “It’s perfectly all right. I never had children of my own, so it was… enlightening to experience a father’s protective instincts, even if only for a moment.”
He leaned back with an assessing smile. “So—tell me, what exactly is your relationship with her?”
Alex hesitated, then spoke with complete honesty. “I love her. I mean that with every fiber of my being. But… she doesn’t accept my feelings.”
Dr. Ashford studied him thoughtfully. “You must mean a great deal to her. She’s never revealed her condition to anyone—not even those closest to her. And she certainly never lets anyone see her cry.”
He paused, choosing his words. “I don’t think she’s rejecting you, Dr. O’Neill. I think she’s drowning in everything happening around her.”
Alex looked down, his voice low. “She never told me anything about Wexley. I waited for her to trust me… but maybe she doesn’t.”
Dr. Ashford shook his head. “No. This isn’t about trust. She’s deeply grateful to Saint Clarion, and terrified of bringing trouble to anyone there—especially to you.”
His expression grew grave. “Wexley has power—media, lawyers, political reach. She’s trying to shield you from all of it. You’re a rising star in research. She doesn’t want your name caught in their politics.”
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Alex looked up, eyes burning with quiet resolve. “Please… tell me what really happened between her and Wexley.”
Dr. Ashford studied him for a long moment, then gave a small, decisive nod.
“Very well. But this must remain confidential. Officially, you’re not supposed to be involved. If anything suspicious happens, contact Lu or me at once.”
He handed Alex a copy of Dr. Merrick’s research report, along with the investigation committee’s concerns and findings.
Alex sat in focused silence for hours, poring over every page of data with the intensity of a master craftsman studying a complex puzzle.
Dr. Ashford poured fresh coffee and joined him, watching with growing curiosity.
“Well? What’s your professional assessment?”
Alex looked up, certainty in his eyes. “I’m absolutely confident that Nao collected and analyzed the original data. But the assumptions and conclusions drawn from it—they’re not hers. They feel rushed, forced. Like someone trying to make sense of work they never truly understood.”
Dr. Ashford nodded. “That’s exactly what we suspected, but we haven’t found proof.”
A faint smile tugged at Alex’s mouth. “I can provide it.”
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He took two colored markers from his bag and opened the report.
“These formulas,” he said, highlighting the conclusions in bright yellow, “are technically correct. Someone—probably Dr. Merrick—checked them carefully before publication.”
Then he turned to the original data section and marked a similar formula in green.
“Look here. See this sequence? It’s almost identical to the corrected version—but the order of operations is slightly off. Subtle, but mathematically wrong.”
Dr. Ashford leaned in. “That’s a calculation error?”
Alex nodded, smiling faintly. “Yes. Minor—but I’ve seen this exact mistake before.”
His expression softened. “One night, when we were working late in the lab, she was struggling with a complex experiment. I noticed she’d memorized a fundamental formula incorrectly—probably learned it wrong years ago and never corrected it. She fixed it right away when I pointed it out, but I never forgot that tiny pattern of error. It became… endearing to me. Uniquely hers.”
He tapped the green-highlighted section. “This mistake is authentically hers—proof of her genuine work. The perfect formula in the conclusions? That’s not her. That’s Merrick, ‘fixing’ her work without understanding what it meant.”
Dr. Ashford’s eyes widened. “That’s… brilliant detective work.”
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Alex’s voice was steady now. “Please get copies of her full academic record—reports and coursework from Wexley and her earlier schools. If this same error appears across her work, we’ll have undeniable proof she’s the true author.”
Dr. Ashford nodded. “I’ll get everything to Lu right away.”
For the first time in days, the weight lifted from Alex’s face. He had found something real—something that could save her.
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Later that evening, Lu opened the package of academic documents Dr. Ashford had compiled.
She listened as the doctor explained the significance of the formula inconsistency Alex had uncovered.
Lu flipped through the highlighted pages, astonishment growing with every repetition of the same pattern.
“These findings are… extraordinary. But this analysis wasn’t yours, was it?”
Dr. Ashford smiled sheepishly. “Please don’t mention this to her. The credit belongs entirely to someone else.”
Lu blinked, then smiled softly. It must have been him.
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A few days later, at Wexley, Naosa stood before the investigation committee, her composure held together by sheer will.
Her hands trembled. I shouldn’t have come. I should have disappeared entirely…
Lu stood beside her as her legal representative, offering calm support. “It’s going to be fine,” he whispered. “Don’t be scared.”
The hearing began with formal gravity.
At Lu’s request, the committee had already confirmed computational formulas with Dr. Merrick in a preliminary session.
When asked to reproduce the equation, Merrick wrote it flawlessly on the board.
Then the panel turned to Naosa.
“Please write the formula you used in your original data collection.”
Her hand shook as she took the marker. Which version did I use back then…?
She decided to be completely honest—and wrote it exactly as she remembered.
It was mathematically incorrect.
She didn’t understand the purpose behind the request, but the questioning continued.
“Who originally provided the raw data for this research?”
Naosa shook her head. “I can’t say. I don’t have consent to disclose the data provider’s identity.”
“Could you obtain that consent?”
“No. I won’t pursue it. The data was never meant for publication—it was private research for medical purposes. I don’t know how it ended up in official materials.”
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Then, with quiet formality, the committee produced her complete academic record—reports spanning several years.
They compared formulas across her work, murmuring among themselves for several long minutes that felt like hours.
Finally, the chairwoman looked up, her expression grave and clear.
“It appears your personal research was used without your knowledge or consent, and your data was altered and published under institutional authorship.”
She offered a respectful bow. “We sincerely apologize for this grave violation of academic integrity.”
Another member added, “You made the same computational error throughout your earlier work—an error systematically corrected in the final publication. It’s clear your data and conclusions were altered without authorization. We deeply regret this injustice.”
Naosa stood in stunned silence as the words sank in.
And then the tears came—streaming down her cheeks in pure, overwhelming relief.
Thank you, Dr. O’Neill…
As she left the room on unsteady legs, Lu wrapped a protective arm around her shoulders and whispered with quiet pride,
“It’s over. You handled yourself perfectly.”
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