Chapter 3

Early the next morning, Ethan made a point of coming home just to drive me to the airport himself.

He stayed glued to my side, making sure I actually boarded the plane.

Meanwhile, in first class, the professors and students connected to the in-flight Wi-Fi and pulled up the livestream of the PhD defense at our university.

The camera panned across the faculty panel.

Everyone saw it—Rosie had been given special permission to sit right next to Ethan. In my seat.

Ethan held the microphone, his dark eyes calm, radiating natural authority.

After reading the standard procedural announcements, he softened his tone.

"Let me just say something unrelated to the defense. My student is sitting in my wife's usual seat for academic discussion purposes. Please don't overthink it or spread rumors—I'd rather not end up sleeping on the couch tonight."

The room erupted in laughter.

Several colleagues and students even texted me playful jokes.

But I sat expressionless, staring at the update Rosie had just posted one minute ago on her couple's account.

June 15, 2025, 8:45 AM.

While Ethan was speaking, hidden beneath the table, a leg in black stockings was gently hooked around his, stroking up and down.

Caption: [Being the wife must be exhausting. The professor's lap is much more comfortable~]

The defense began, and soon it was Rosie's turn.

She opened her PowerPoint and began confidently.

"Distinguished professors, my research aims to address two major bottlenecks in CAR-T cell therapy for solid tumors—off-target effects and tumor microenvironment suppression..."

I watched Ethan's lips curve into a slight smile.

His gaze held an almost reverent indulgence—no eager showing off.

Just a quiet, tender pride that said: See? I knew she was brilliant.

He had never looked at me that way.

When I gave up fertility treatments, willingly exposed myself to radiation damage, and spent countless sleepless nights producing research with groundbreaking implications for cancer treatment—only to face doubt from others—

He stood with them. And lectured me.

"Chloe, you don't have the ability to produce data like this in just one year. Don't do anything that would disappoint me."

Then he took my research report and tossed it into a roadside fire burning crop stubble.

But now, when other professors questioned the precision of Rosie's experimental data and conclusions, Ethan didn't hesitate. He grabbed the microphone and charged to her defense.

"Rosie's research design is highly valuable and extremely innovative. I hope my esteemed colleagues won't let jealousy cloud their judgment."

"She is my star student. It wouldn't surprise me at all if she achieves even greater things in research."

Ethan's voice wasn't loud, but it carried an unquestionable finality.

The room fell silent as everyone watched him stand firmly in front of Rosie, speaking with deliberate conviction.

"In the field of CAR-T cell therapy, no one in this country—or abroad—has achieved more than my wife, Chloe Whitmore."

"If even she were here, she wouldn't raise a single objection to this dissertation!"

The audience was stunned into silence. The other professors, intimidated by the reputation and authority Ethan and I held in academic circles, didn't dare say another word.

Just as everyone was about to unanimously approve Rosie's dissertation defense and congratulate her on her imminent publication in a major journal and faculty position—

A steady voice rang out from the audience.

"I have an objection."

The flattery died mid-sentence. Heads turned instinctively toward the source of the voice.

Ethan's expression turned cold. He picked up the microphone, his tone dismissive.

"And you are?"

I rose from my seat in the back corner—the person who was supposed to be leading a research trip in Beijing.

I raised an eyebrow slightly and gave a polite wave to the gasping students.

Then I met Ethan's stunned gaze head-on.

"I'm Dr. Chloe Whitmore. Distinguished Professor with lifetime tenure at this university."

"And I have an objection."