Five years ago, Luke Gilbert—the golden heir of the Capital's elite circle—was caught up in a murder case and taken into custody as the prime suspect.

Just when everyone in the city had written the Gilberts off for good, forensic doctor Penelope Simmons spent three days and three nights performing a painstaking autopsy, ultimately uncovering the crucial evidence that cracked the case.

The real killer was arrested. Luke Gilbert walked free.

From that day forward, Luke became Penelope's most devoted admirer.

He transformed himself into the perfect suitor, laying his heart and everything he owned at her feet.

After two years of dating, they married. The wedding was a grand, headline-making affair, the kind people called a fairy tale.

Everyone said Penelope Simmons had accumulated eight lifetimes' worth of good fortune. With a single forensic scalpel, she'd cleared Luke Gilbert's name and carved open a path to a life of wealth and privilege.

But all of that shattered at a charity gala.

"Ma'am, Mr. Gilbert said he'll attend on his own." The assistant's face held a trace of awkwardness.

"He's just worried I've been too tired lately. It's fine."

Penelope changed into an evening gown and headed to the address the assistant had given her.

In three years of marriage, she had always been the one on Luke's arm at these events. It was only recently, while she'd been buried in a new case, that he'd stopped asking her to come.

She had just reached the doors of the ballroom when voices drifted out from inside.

"Mr. Gilbert, is this Mrs. Gilbert? She's absolutely stunning—so elegant and radiant."

Penelope's hand froze on the door handle.

A familiar voice answered. Luke's voice.

"This is my friend, Miss Crystal Henson. She's a perfumer. As for my wife..." He paused, and a note of contempt crept into his tone. "She's a forensic doctor. Spends her days around corpses. You can't exactly bring someone who deals with the dead to a charity gala for children with congenital diseases, can you? Bad luck."

Outside the door, Penelope stood rooted to the spot, the words hitting her like a thunderclap.

There had been a time when one of Luke's business partners had mocked her profession, saying she reeked of death.

Luke had punched the man on the spot, breaking four of his ribs, and severed all business ties with him.

"Penelope Simmons is my woman—and the woman who saved me. Her work is sacred and just. She speaks for the dead who can no longer speak for themselves. Anyone who disrespects her is making an enemy of me."

After that, no one had ever dared say a word against Penelope's career.

But now, those same cruel, cutting words were coming from Luke's own mouth.

Something cracked open inside Penelope's chest, and a bitter cold wind poured through.

She was freezing all over, numb, until the sound from inside the ballroom dragged her back.

"Tonight's premier auction item—a sixteen-carat pink diamond ring. Congratulations to Mr. Gilbert on his winning bid of two hundred million dollars."

The gavel struck. Penelope moved through the crowd just in time to see Luke slide the diamond ring onto Crystal Henson's finger.

His eyes were full of tenderness as he leaned close to Crystal's ear. "You smell incredible. Can I breathe you in again tonight?"

Crystal smiled shyly and gave him a gentle push.

One minute later, Penelope's phone buzzed.

Something came up at the office tonight. Won't be home. Get some rest.

She lifted her gaze toward the two figures climbing into a car together in the darkness, and the tears she'd been holding back finally spilled over.

Once, Luke had looked at her with that same depth of devotion.

But in just five years, everything had changed.

Five years ago, the scandal had sent the Gilbert Group's market value plummeting overnight. The stock crashed. Capital fled. All those sycophants who'd once bowed and scraped before Luke couldn't distance themselves fast enough.

Old Mr. Gilbert had called an emergency meeting that very night to select an alternate heir. The message was unmistakable: Luke was being cast aside.

Just when even Luke himself believed there was no coming back, Penelope Simmons changed what everyone had already accepted as a foregone conclusion.

Once his name was cleared, Luke had eyes for no one but Penelope.

An endless stream of jewelry, even luxury cars worth small fortunes, all delivered to the front steps of the police bureau.

Penelope turned down every last gift. "We have rules. Don't make trouble for me."

Faced with this indifferent woman, Luke refused to give up.

A man who had never set foot in a kitchen started asking around about Penelope's favorite foods. He taught himself to cook, and all ten of his fingers were covered in cuts.

Rain or shine, even canceling contracts worth hundreds of millions, he showed up at the bureau entrance on time with a homemade lunch box and waited.

Penelope remained unmoved.

Until the day she was conducting a preliminary examination of victims at the scene of an explosion, and the site suddenly collapsed again and reignited.

Penelope, absorbed in her work, didn't notice. Luke, standing beyond the safety perimeter, charged in without a second thought and threw himself over her.

A burning beam crashed down on him. Blood sprayed from his mouth, but even after losing consciousness, he held his body over hers like a shield.

After that, Penelope finally relented.

"Let's try dating and see how it goes."

The moment Luke heard those words, he swept her up and spun her around, heedless of his stitches tearing open, grinning like a child.

After two years of passionate courtship, Luke filled the sky above the city with fireworks for three straight nights and proposed.

Penelope said yes, feeling as though she were walking on clouds.

On their wedding day, Old Mr. Henry Gilbert personally placed a bank card loaded with a billion dollars into her hands.

She didn't take it. She simply said, her voice calm and even:

"Dad, I'm not marrying Luke for money."

Seeing how resolute she was, the old man replied:

"If it weren't for you, the Gilberts would have gone under. From now on, if there's ever anything you want, just ask. This family owes you."

The memories flickered and faded. She dialed Henry Gilbert's number.

"Dad, I'd like to cash in on that promise you made. I want a divorce from Luke."

Silence on the other end. Then: "You're sure about this?"

"Yes."

"All right. You'll have the papers in a month."

Luke didn't come home that night.

The next morning, Penelope sat at the dining table, eating breakfast in no particular hurry, when the front door swung open.

Luke was still wearing yesterday's suit. The only difference was the faint trace of perfume clinging to him.

Penelope was allergic to perfume. In all their years together, there had never been a single bottle in the house.

Luke walked over and rested his chin in the curve of her shoulder. Even his breath carried an unfamiliar scent.

"Were you out working a case again last night? Don't push yourself too hard."

Penelope gave a quiet "Mm" and said nothing more.

"Let me go grab a shower. The client I met yesterday was drenched in perfume. Don't want it rubbing off on you."

He stood and headed for the bathroom without a flicker of guilt.

Penelope picked up her napkin and brushed the nauseating smell from her shoulder.

Her phone rang. It was the bureau.

"Dr. Simmons, 38 Greenstone Street. We need you on scene."

She grabbed her forensic field kit and left.

Greenstone Street was one of the city's premier commercial strips, where every square foot of real estate cost a fortune.

Crystal's Perfumery.

When Penelope saw the shop name, she went still for two seconds.

She pushed through the door. The victim was a man in his mid-forties, collapsed beside the fragrance testing station, his face a mottled blue-purple.

On the sofa, a woman wept like a wilting flower, answering questions from the officers on scene.

It was Crystal.

A beat later, hurried footsteps pounded toward the entrance.

"Crystal, don't be scared. I'm here."

That voice.

Penelope's hand froze on the handle of her field kit.

Luke hadn't noticed her at all. He went straight to Crystal.

He pulled the fragile, pitiful woman into his arms, one hand pressed to her back, the other gently stroking the crown of her head.

He dipped his chin, his voice as tender as if he were soothing a child.

"I'm here. Everything's going to be okay."

The worry in his eyes, the ache, the protectiveness. Penelope had never once seen any of it.

Several officers from the bureau recognized Luke. One by one, their gazes drifted to Penelope.

Luke followed their line of sight.

Their eyes met.

His expression locked up. The arm around Crystal loosened instinctively.

But Crystal's sobbing grew louder, and he tightened his hold again, murmuring comfort. He didn't look at Penelope a second time.

Penelope only blinked. She pulled on her mask and gloves, crouched beside the body, and got to work.

"Preliminary assessment suggests the victim died of a blood infection. The exact cause of death will require a full autopsy back at the bureau."

She packed up her kit and turned to leave, but Luke seized her arm.

"Make sure you clear Crystal's name. She's timid. She scares easily."

Penelope pulled free. "Determining cause of death is a forensic examiner's duty, Mr. Gilbert. I don't need you to tell me how to do my job."

Six hours later, the autopsy results came back.

The victim had been exposed to perfume containing a high concentration of fungal spores. Once the spores entered his bloodstream, they triggered a cerebral infection, resulting in sudden death.

Penelope passed the interrogation room and caught fragments of Crystal's conversation with the police.

That was how she learned the perfume shop had been a gift from Luke.

After she finished decontaminating and cleaning up, Penelope went home.

The moment she stepped through the door, Luke rushed her, pinning her against the wall.

His eyes were cold. Scrutinizing.

"You're the one who said Crystal was guilty of negligent homicide?"

Penelope looked up at him. "I'm responsible for examining the body. Building the case is the detectives' job."

"You did this on purpose!" Luke's face twisted with anger. "You found out about her and me, and you're framing her!"

Penelope smiled. Her gaze was ice.

"Crystal used fungus-contaminated wood as a raw ingredient but failed to sterilize it properly, which caused a fatal blood infection in her customer. All I did was uncover the truth. I didn't frame anyone."

Luke's fury erupted. "She had no idea that batch of wood was contaminated! I've only known her four months, but she's gentle and kind. She would never hurt a soul!"

Penelope closed her eyes. A sudden, bone-deep exhaustion washed over her.

"Fine," Luke said, staring at her. "Since you claim perfume can kill someone, why don't you test that theory yourself?"

Her eyes flew open. A cold dread flickered through her chest.

"What are you doing?"

"Get in here!" Luke called out with a wave of his hand. "Lock my wife in the confinement room. Buy a thousand bottles of perfume and pour them in."

"Luke, you know I'm allergic to perfume!"

Luke looked at her, his expression devoid of warmth, and stood by as two bodyguards dragged her into the confinement room.

The perfume arrived. Bottle after bottle of the reeking liquid was splashed inside.

Penelope pounded on the door, but her throat was already beginning to swell shut.

She couldn't make a sound. She could barely breathe.

"Think about what you've done. I'll let you out in an hour."

Luke said those words, picked up his suit jacket, and walked out the door.

Penelope knew where he was going. He was rushing to the police station to save the woman who held his heart.

She slid down the wall to the floor, eyes brimming with tears.

She couldn't tell if it was the allergy or the heartbreak.

Her throat felt stuffed with cotton, every airway sealed shut.

Red welts erupted across her skin, burning and itching at once.

She knew she couldn't wait for Luke to come back. An allergic reaction could kill in minutes.

Penelope grabbed her phone and dialed 911, then called the police.

Her consciousness began to slip. A voice echoed from somewhere far away, from a long time ago.

I take Penelope Simmons to be my wife. I will love her and protect her for the rest of my life. I will never let her suffer a moment of pain or harm.

She collapsed to the floor and closed her eyes.

The rest of my life. How short that turned out to be.

When she woke, the heart monitor beeped in a steady rhythm.

Penelope lay in a hospital bed, an oxygen mask strapped over her face, an IV needle taped to the back of her hand.

Homer James sat in the chair beside her bed.

"By the time we got there, you were in severe oxygen deprivation. There's brain damage." He paused, his jaw tight. "The doctors said you'll experience frequent headaches, nausea, memory decline. It could affect your ability to work. You'll need long-term rehabilitation."

Homer hesitated before continuing.

"Crystal was bailed out by Luke. He pulled every string he had. Even the higher-ups at the bureau got calls. Back when he was wrapped up in that murder case himself, he didn't go this hard..."

"He got her out around one in the morning. Made a whole production of it."

One in the morning.

So Luke had never come back to the villa. He'd forgotten entirely about the woman dying in his confinement room.

Penelope spoke, her voice raw and shredded.

"Send me a copy of the witness statements from the perfume death case."

Homer nodded and headed back to the station.

The door to her room swung open. Luke walked in, Crystal trailing behind him, looking timid and small.

He approached the bed and took in her ashen face, his brow creasing.

He reached out to touch her forehead. Penelope knocked his hand away.

His lips pressed into a thin line. He withdrew his hand, and when he spoke, there was an edge of accusation in his voice.

"You called the police? Did you even consider what kind of damage that could do to the Gilberts' reputation?"

Penelope looked at him. This man she'd spent five years of her life with.

"If I hadn't called the police," she said at last, "was I supposed to just lie there and die?"

Luke faltered for a second. "A little perfume isn't going to kill anyone."

Crystal set a fruit basket on the nightstand, her expression wounded and meek.

"Miss Simmons, please don't blame Luke. He was just worried I'd be wrongly accused, and he panicked. It's all my fault. I'm just so stupid..."

Luke pulled Crystal against his side, his arm around her shoulders, his gaze soft with concern.

"Don't blame yourself. None of this is your fault."

He turned back to Penelope on the hospital bed. His tone was flat, detached.

"What happened last night should serve as a lesson. Don't let your personal grudges drive you to hurt other people again."

"Crystal scraped her arm at the station. I'm taking her to get it treated. Get some rest."

He turned and guided Crystal toward the door, his arm still around her.

At the threshold, Penelope caught Crystal glancing back over her shoulder. A thin smile played on her lips, laced with triumph.

Penelope stared at the ceiling. Pain lanced through her skull, but her eyes were sharp and clear.

A chime. Her inbox.

Homer had sent the case transcripts.

Penelope read through them with painstaking care, sifting every line for anything out of place.

Her gaze sharpened. She picked up her phone and called Homer.

"Pull Crystal's communication records with the lumber supplier. And look into her relationship with the victim. I don't think she was unaware the wood was contaminated with fungus. I think she deliberately left the sterilization incomplete to make it look like an accident."

"Got it," Homer said.

Penelope opened her messages and found Chief Morrison's thread.

Chief Morrison, due to a medical condition, I may not be able to continue fieldwork in the near term. The international DNA identification project for disaster victims you mentioned before—I'd like to apply. I hope you'll approve my request.

She sent it. Three minutes later, her phone buzzed.

That project requires three years in Germany. Are you sure?

I'm sure.

All right. Focus on healing. I'll handle the paperwork.

Penelope set her phone down.

Outside the window, daylight flooded the sky.

Her heart was still. Quiet as a lake without wind.