He Kept Me Hidden Then Pushed Me To Date Others Chapter 04
The next day, I came in to organize my handover. I passed my experimental data to my assistant. My transfer request had been approved—the new lab needed people.
Gemma appeared beside me out of nowhere. “Claire? You weren’t at dinner yesterday. What happened?”
I kept it professional. “I had other plans.”
She let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “Other plans? Or did you just not want to watch Ethan confess to me?”
I frowned. Gemma’s hostility was right there, undisguised. She curled her red lips. “After all, while I was gone, you were playing Ethan’s mistress, weren’t you?”
Heads turned. Eyes full of curiosity, confusion, contempt.
I blurted, “That’s not true!”
Gemma pulled out her phone and played a voice message from one of Ethan’s friends.
“Claire Brennan? Yeah, she’s been taking care of Ethan’s needs for the last five years.”
“The day Gemma left, she practically threw herself into his bed. Everyone in our circle knows Ethan and Gemma are meant to be. She’s the only one shameless enough to keep forcing herself in between.”
The recording cut off.
The sneers hit my nerves like needles. Gemma raised an eyebrow. “Still denying it, Claire?”
Now the whispers were thick with disgust.
“Wouldn’t have guessed. Dr. Brennan by day, the dean’s side piece by night.”
“Who knows how many times she’s done this? Probably slept her way through grad school too.”
“No wonder the dean always kept his distance. He knew she was trash.”
My fists clenched. I forced my voice steady. “I was not a mistress. I was just—”
A few colleagues who’d never liked me rolled their eyes. “Just what? The voice message says it all. You crawled into his bed the moment Gemma left, and now you want to pretend nothing happened?”
“Someone like that doesn’t deserve to work in this lab. She shouldn’t even transfer—she should just be fired.”
I dug my nails into my palm and tried to defend myself. “Ethan and I were in a normal relationship.”
At that moment, Ethan hurried over, his face tight with concern. I turned to him, hoping, “Ethan, perfect timing. Tell them—we’ve been together for five years, right?”
But he walked straight past me to Gemma. “Are you okay?”
The laughter grew louder.
“Claire, that’s your proof of a relationship?”
“Really?”
“Or not?”
One of them pointed at Gemma, then at me. “Look where the dean went. Did he even glance your way?”
I refused to believe it. I kept staring at Ethan.
His expression flickered with something like reluctance, but then he opened his mouth.
“There’s nothing between me and her. Gemma and I grew up together. How could I possibly be involved with Claire?”
The mockery hit like a wave.
“Hear that, Claire? Your so-called relationship was all in your head.”
“Dean didn’t even know what you were talking about.”
I bit my lip to hold back tears. My mouth tasted like blood. When my eyes met Ethan’s, he flinched as if burned. He turned away and coldly canceled my transfer request.
“Claire, you’re suspended. Effective immediately. Go home.”
I pulled my lips into a bitter smile and said, one word at a time, “Ethan. We are never seeing each other again.”
The colleagues sneered behind me.
“Oh, ‘never seeing each other again.’ Sure.”
“The dean’s just unlucky you latched onto him with your lies.”
I didn’t respond. I packed my things quietly and left.
After I was gone, Ethan pulled Gemma into his lab. His tone was unusually cold. “Gemma, you said the confession was just so you could fit in with my coworkers. Why did you go after Claire?”
Gemma pouted. “Ethan, I was just trying to test her for you! If she was willing to come back to you, wouldn’t that prove she really loves you?”
He sighed at her explanation and didn’t push further.
A week passed. Then two. No word from me.
Ethan finally couldn’t take it. He called me. All he heard on the other end was noise—firecrackers, cheers, and then a clear voice, “Claire, how could you forget your phone on the wedding limo?”
Ethan froze, pressing the phone closer. “Wedding limo? What wedding limo?”
No one answered.
He looked at the screen. The call had already dropped.
Claire got married? Impossible. Derek Vance had a terrible reputation. She’d never agree to marry him.
But even knowing that, his heart wouldn’t settle. In half an hour, he messed up his lab notes over a dozen times. He rushed to check my Instagram—blocked. He called again—no answer. He checked Derek’s feed instead.
Bright red flooded his screen.
[Just Married]
Photos of the venue, the invitations—all with today’s date.
He couldn’t wait for the end of the workday. He grabbed his keys and drove straight to the hotel.
The bride wore a veil, walking down the aisle with Derek, a white silk ribbon linking their hands.
Ethan lost it. He ran up and grabbed her hand. “I object!”
“Claire, how could you marry him? We were together for five years! You’re going to throw that away over one misunderstanding? Didn’t you hear he’s got a string of STDs? Are you really going to ruin yourself just to spite me?”
Derek swung at him, furious. “Ethan, what the hell are you saying at my wedding? Claire has nothing to do with this!”
Ethan took the punch without fighting back. He turned to the bride and ripped off her veil.
When he saw her face, he let out a quiet breath of relief.
His shoulders dropped. He muttered an apology and fled.
Behind him, the bride’s family erupted.
“What did he say about STDs?”
“Derek Vance, you hid your medical records from us?”
“Wedding’s off! We’re done!”
The groom’s begging and the bride’s outrage blended into chaos.
Ethan stared at all the red décor. Something still nagged at him. He ignored the noise and left.
Back in his car, the panic slowly faded. Right. Claire wouldn’t marry someone else. She’d loved him for five years. She’d stayed quiet, patient, undemanding.
Even when he made her move out for Gemma, she didn’t complain. Just because he’d drawn a line in public, she wouldn’t run off with a stranger.
He relaxed, driving toward the Westbrook apartment. She was probably waiting for him to make the first move. He could do that.
He picked up her favorite lemon tart from the bakery and ordered dinner from her go-to restaurant.
“Claire, I got your favorite—”
He pushed open the door.
The tart slipped from his hand and smashed on the floor.
The apartment was empty. No trace that anyone had ever lived there.
That was when the real panic hit.
She’d blocked his number. He ran next door and borrowed a neighbor’s phone, his voice shaking.
“Claire, where are you right now?”
