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Chapter 1 - The Night Everything Burned

Maya's POV

The champagne glass in my hand is shaking.

I tell myself it's excitement. Tonight, I'm presenting the discovery that will change everything—the Temporal Ankh, an artifact so impossible that it shouldn't exist. Ten years of digging in the desert, ten years of late nights and bleeding fingers and eating ramen because I couldn't afford real food. All of it leading to this moment.

But something feels wrong.

Sebastian's hand presses against my lower back, his fingers digging in too hard. "Smile, darling," he whispers in my ear. "Everyone's watching."

I force my lips to curve upward. The museum's grand hall is packed with journalists, professors, and wealthy donors in expensive suits. Cameras flash. People whisper behind their hands. The golden ankh sits on a velvet pillow under bright lights, its strange symbols seeming to shift when no one's looking directly at it.

Dr. Patricia Zhao, my mentor, stands near the back. She won't look at me. That's weird. Patricia always winks or gives me a thumbs-up before big presentations. Tonight, her eyes stay glued to her phone.

The museum director, Mr. Harrison, climbs the stage. My stomach twists. He's supposed to introduce me, but his face is pale and his smile looks painted on.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he says into the microphone. "We appreciate you coming tonight. However, before we proceed with the presentation, there's been a... development."

My heart stops.

Sebastian's hand tightens on my back. Not supportive. Holding me in place.

"Evidence has come to light," Mr. Harrison continues, and his voice sounds like it's coming from underwater. "Serious evidence regarding the authenticity of Dr. Hartwell's research."

The room explodes into whispers. I try to step forward, but Sebastian's grip is iron.

"That's not—" I start to say.

"Dr. Sebastian Ashworth has brought forward documentation," Mr. Harrison talks over me, "showing significant irregularities in the carbon dating, falsified site reports, and evidence that the research was stolen from his own work."

My brain can't process the words. Stolen? Falsified? I did everything myself. I spent three summers in Egypt, burned my skin under the sun, cataloged every piece of pottery with my own hands.

Sebastian releases me and steps forward, his face arranged in perfect sadness. "I didn't want to believe it either," he tells the crowd, his voice breaking. "Maya and I were supposed to get married next month. I tried to protect her, tried to help her fix the mistakes, but I can't hide the truth anymore."

"You're lying!" The words rip out of my throat. "I found that ankh! I translated those symbols! You didn't even believe the site was worth investigating!"

"Maya, please." Sebastian looks at me with fake pity. "Don't make this harder than it already is."

A security guard appears at my elbow. Then another.

"No, wait—" I spin toward Patricia. "Dr. Zhao, tell them! You know I wouldn't—"

Patricia finally meets my eyes. What I see there freezes my blood. Not surprise. Not concern. Just cold calculation, like she's watching an experiment reach its expected conclusion.

"I'm sorry, Maya," she says quietly. "But the evidence is quite clear."

The betrayal hits harder than any physical blow. Patricia was like a mother to me after my parents died. She recommended me for this position. She celebrated every small victory in my research.

She planned this.

Cameras flash in my face, blinding. Reporters shout questions. The security guards grab my arms.

"Dr. Hartwell, did you fake the discovery for fame?"

"How long have you been committing fraud?"

"Is it true you plagiarized your entire dissertation?"

I'm dragged backward through the crowd. People I've known for years turn away. Colleagues I trusted won't look at me. The ankh stays on its pillow under the lights, the most important discovery of the century, and I'm being thrown out like garbage.

Sebastian watches me go with tears running down his face. Fake tears. He's good at this. He's been practicing.

The guards shove me out the side door into the cold night air. The heavy door slams shut, cutting off the noise of the gala. My phone immediately starts buzzing—notifications flooding in. News alerts. Emails. Text messages.

I open Twitter with trembling fingers. My name is trending.

#MayaHartwell caught in massive archaeological fraud

BREAKING: Museum researcher faked ancient Egyptian discovery

Dr. Sebastian Ashworth exposes fiancée's decade of lies

My legs give out. I sit hard on the concrete steps, my beautiful black dress pooling around me like spilled ink. Ten years of work. Gone in minutes. My reputation destroyed. My career ended. My life shattered.

And Sebastian gets to keep everything. The discovery, the credit, probably my research notes too.

I try calling Patricia. Voicemail. I try Marcus, my best friend from grad school. It rings and rings before he picks up.

"Maya?" His voice is careful. "I'm seeing some crazy stuff online. Tell me it's not true."

"It's not," I choke out. "Marcus, they set me up. Sebastian and Patricia, they—"

"I believe you," he says immediately, and I almost sob with relief. "Whatever you need, I'm here."

But believing me won't fix this. Nothing will fix this.

I hang up and stare at my phone as more notifications pour in. My professional email account has been frozen. My university credentials revoked. An eviction notice from my landlord—Sebastian's family owns my building, of course they do.

They didn't just destroy my career. They destroyed everything.

I sit on those cold steps for hours, watching my life fall apart in real-time on a phone screen. When I finally stand up, my dress is ruined and my feet are numb.

I have one thought, crystallizing like ice in my chest: I need to see the ankh one more time. My discovery. My life's work. Even if everyone thinks I stole it, I know the truth.

The museum storage facility is across town. Security will be tight after tonight's disaster.

I don't care.

I'm going to see that ankh again, even if I have to break in to do it.

And when I do, everything—everything—is going to change.

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