It began on an ordinary night. The only extraordinary thing about it was that Robert wasn't in his lab—he was at an event.
The chandeliers above sparkled like fireflies trapped in glass, casting a golden haze over the grand atrium of the Garnett Convention Center. Polished marble floors echoed under tailored shoes and tapping heels. Every table oozed wealth—silver cutlery, ivory napkins folded into swans, orchids rising from candlelit glass.
"This is a nice change from the lab, don't you think?" someone nearby said, laughter weaving through the hum of voices.
Dr. Robert James adjusted his tie for the third time. His wife, Nicole, reached over and caught his hand.
"You've fixed that thing ten times already," she teased. "At this rate, it'll be a headband, not a tie."
He smiled faintly. Her warmth grounded him.
They sat at Table Nine—the special table. The governor himself was nearby, surrounded by donors and partners. Conversation rippled with polite excitement, but Robert barely heard it. His gaze kept drifting to the stage—to the envelope that held his future.
His name was in that envelope. It had to be.
The Showalter Prize for Research Excellence—"Scientist of the Year." Ten years of work had led him here.
His breakthrough—a new bio-polymer inspired by the regenerative traits of certain animals—had the potential to redefine healing. Artificial skin that merged with the body, vanished over time, left no scars. Science that bordered on a miracle. But miracles required funding, and Robert needed this award to make his dream real.
He tried to ignore the hollow anxiety clawing at his chest. If he lost, the lab might not last another year.
Governor Langley spoke about "innovation" and "supporting scientific minds," and Robert forced himself not to scoff. The city poured millions into its police force but left labs scraping for grants. The hypocrisy stung.
He tugged at his cuff, shifting in his seat. Everything around him felt expensive and empty—the chandeliers, the tuxedos, the quiet orchestra near the bar. It felt like a celebration for the rich, not for the dreamers.
Then a voice broke his thoughts.
"Nervous?"
Dr. Eileen Tran, seated beside him, smiled knowingly.
"Like a grad student defending his thesis," he admitted.
"Oh my, you must be really nervous if you're remembering those days," she laughed.
Her kindness steadied him. For a moment, the tension eased.
"You deserve to win," she said softly.
Robert nodded but didn't answer. Deserve had nothing to do with it.
He wanted it—not for fame, not even for money—but to prove it had all been worth something. That his family's sacrifices had meant something. That he still mattered.
The lights dimmed. Conversation faded. The presenter approached the microphone.
Robert's heart pounded. Sweat dampened his palms.
"And the winner of the 2025 Scientist of the Year…"
Time fractured into a slow beat. Every sound blurred except the thud of his heartbeat.
Then, after what felt like a lifetime, the announcer's lips parted—
"Robert James!"
For a moment, he couldn't breathe. The world erupted into applause, but it felt distant, like he was underwater. He turned to Nicole and whispered, "I can't believe it—I did it. I actually did it."
She smiled, tears in her eyes. "You earned this. Go."
As he walked to the stage, memories of sleepless nights and endless failures collided with pride and disbelief. When the trophy touched his hands, the emotion hit like a wave.
"Wow," he said, voice trembling. "Scientist of the Year. This is… surreal."
He looked out over the audience—the faces, the lights, the glittering illusion of success.
"I owe this to my wife and my kids," he continued. "They've endured more 'one more hour' excuses than anyone should. Without them, I'd probably still be in my lab in a dusty coat."
Laughter rippled through the crowd. He smiled.
"But truly, they're the reason I kept going. The reason I didn't give up. This—" he raised the trophy "—is for them."
The crowd erupted in applause. This was his moment—everything he'd ever dreamed of becoming real.
And yet, somewhere beneath the applause, a quiet voice whispered: At what cost?
Robert lingered onstage just long enough for the governor's assistant to hand him the check. A few more camera flashes, a grin for the press, and the governor slipped out—early, of course.
But the night was far from over.
Two floors up, the afterparty pulsed with life. Music thumped low beneath the sea of clinking glasses and polished shoes. Robert drifted through the crowd with Nicole on his arm and their boys orbiting nearby.
Gabriel and Daniel weren't exactly in awe.
"Pay attention, boys," Robert said, waving the trophy in front of them, half amused, half annoyed.
"Yes, yes," Gabriel replied dryly. "You got a shiny trophy and a check. Does that mean I get a bigger allowance?"
Nicole gave him a warning glance. Robert just grinned, too high on the moment to care.
"Maybe you will."
Daniel chimed in, eyes lighting up. "What about me?"
"Sure, sure—everyone gets a raise," Robert said, already turning toward the next wave of handshakes.
He couldn't move ten feet without someone stopping to congratulate him. Friends, former colleagues, even long-time rivals lined up with smiles—some real, some fake as hell. Robert didn't care. The fake ones were almost better. Watching their tight little grins while they said "well done" through clenched teeth? That was sweeter than the champagne.
Dr. Tran leaned in with a snort. "Did you catch Johnson's face during your speech? Looked like someone made him swallow a lemon whole."
"Damn, I missed that," Robert said, glancing around.
Nicole and Tran both nodded, clearly enjoying the thought.
He straightened his jacket. The navy suit felt unfamiliar, almost too nice. A small golden pin gleamed on his lapel—the symbol of the Scientist of the Year award. Summers himself had pinned it there less than an hour ago.
His fingers brushed the inside pocket of his blazer. The check sat there—thirty thousand dollars. He patted it lightly, just to be sure it was still real. The applause, the lights, the cameras… it all still felt like a dream.
Nicole stood beside him, radiant in a green silk dress that shimmered with every step. She was elegance without effort—her smile kind, her eyes warm, her posture calm and confident. Robert shot her a grateful look. Through every late night, every failed experiment, every funding rejection, she'd been his constant.
Their sons had promised to behave. Gabriel was holding up his end by keeping Daniel in check, and Daniel—thankfully—was glued to a handheld game. Gabriel's job was simple: make sure his little brother didn't zone out so hard he walked into a server tray or offended a diplomat.
They were camped at a nearby table now, sipping sparkling juice and poking at bite-sized desserts. Nicole kept an eye on them, making sure they didn't get bold and try to sneak champagne.
"It's beautiful, Robert," she whispered. "You've earned every dollar."
He squeezed her hand. "Couldn't have done it without you."
A smooth, too-familiar voice cut in. "And yet, you did. With a bleeding-heart idea no one thought would work. Amazing. Really."
Robert turned. Lane Wickers. Slicked-back hair, smug face, champagne glass in hand. That smirk was always there, like it came with the suit.
Wickers raised his glass. Robert, begrudgingly, clinked.
Wickers worked for Bio-DeonTech—the firm notorious for scooping up academic research and twisting it into high-priced government contracts. His job? Find useful ideas and turn them into money.
Robert didn't trust him. Wickers had the vibe of a used car salesman with a PhD.
"Enjoy the spoils of your win for now," Wickers said with a grin. "I'll still be here when it all goes pear-shaped."
Robert exhaled through his nose. Blood-sucking opportunists, all of them.
Nicole cut in smoothly, her smile razor-sharp. "Some ideas just aren't for sale."
Wickers chuckled. "Touché. Still… think of what this little second skin could do, if pointed in the right direction."
"Nothing dangerous, I'm sure," Robert replied flatly.
"Oh, I'm sure that's not true."
"It. Is," Robert said through clenched teeth.
To Wickers' credit, he didn't flinch— he just kept smiling, carrying the look of arrogance like he'd already won.
"You're riding high right now, I get it. But what happens after?"
"After what?"
"After the applause fades. After the money dries up. Maybe we'll see you at Bio-DeonTech."
He raised his glass sipping his drink when the corners of his mouth curved into a malicious smile, throwing one last line over his shoulder. "Anything can be dangerous in the right hands."
Robert watched him go, his jaw tight. That was the cost of recognition—vultures like Wickers sniffing around, waiting for their chance. The party was shiny on the outside, but underneath? It was a battlefield of ideologies.
Some were here to celebrate progress. Others came to shop.
From the corner of his eye, Robert caught sight of Summers and Wickers in deep conversation, already vibing like old friends. It wasn't surprising. Both had millions sunk into their labs. Robert was just trying to stretch thirty thousand dollars long enough to prove his work mattered.
Still, the night had its moments.
He talked shop with Dr. Anneka Vos, whose team was developing a biodegradable microchip, and later with Professor Hanson—his first mentor. The man gripped Robert's hand firmly.
"Scientist of the Year. I'm proud of what you've done," Hanson said.
That one hit different. Deeper. More real than any applause ever could.
Nicole returned with Daniel in tow, his tie covered in crumbs.
"The verdict is in, guys," Daniel announced seriously. "This blueberry cake is the best cake I've ever tasted. Sorry, Mom—it's got yours beat. Hands down."
Robert burst out laughing. Nicole elbowed his side. "Keep it up and you're going to have to marry that shiny trophy of yours."
Daniel shrugged. "Well… I'm gonna leave you guys to it. I need some more of that pie—and the only thing here is that shiny trophy, and I can't eat that."
He darted off toward the dessert table before Gabriel or anyone else could clear it out.
Robert grinned, watching him go. Maybe the night hadn't been perfect—but it damn sure felt close enough.