Over the days that followed, Penelope underwent daily brain rehabilitation treatment.

Twice a day, transcranial direct-current stimulation sessions left her in agony so severe she wanted to die.

But she never made a sound. She clenched her teeth and endured.

Outside her room, nurses often whispered among themselves.

"Isn't she Mr. Gilbert's wife? She's been hospitalized for days, and he hasn't visited once."

"He's next door, looking after that Miss Henson. Sits by her bed all day, doting on her hand and foot. The woman has a tiny cut on her arm, and he insisted the doctor admit her."

"Wait, seriously? He's got someone new?"

"Shh, keep it down."

Penelope swallowed the pills in her hand. The pain in her head surged again, sharp and relentless, like someone driving a drill bit into the base of her skull.

She closed her eyes and waited for the wave to pass.

Then she got up on her own and walked toward the treatment room.

As she passed Crystal's room, the door was cracked open. She stopped.

Luke sat at Crystal's bedside, holding a bowl of porridge. He blew on a spoonful, then lifted it to Crystal's lips.

Band-Aids were wrapped around several of his fingers. That detail was familiar.

It was the same way he used to look, standing outside the precinct every day with a packed meal waiting for her.

"Luke, you really shouldn't cook for me yourself anymore. It hurts me to see you get hurt," Crystal murmured, her voice impossibly soft.

"Taking care of you is something I'll always want to do."

Luke held her hand and tucked it gently against his chest to keep it warm.

"But shouldn't you go check on Mrs. Gilbert too? I'm worried she'll be upset and take it out on me..."

Luke laughed. He reached out and pinched Crystal's pale cheek.

"She works with dead bodies for a living. You think she can't handle a little pain? She had you locked up at the precinct for three whole hours. Of course I'm going to make it up to you."

Every word was a blade dipped in ice, driven straight into Penelope's skull.

She pressed her hand against her head, fighting through the bone-deep pain.

Her phone lit up in her pocket. A message from Homer.

[Penelope, I found something. The lumber supplier confirmed he specifically warned Crystal that the wood contained fungal spores and that full sterilization was mandatory before using it for fragrance production.]

[But we checked the sterilization equipment logs in her workshop. She lowered the original parameters by two-thirds. She deliberately preserved most of the fungal contamination.]

[Also, it looks like she and the victim had a romantic history. She lied about him being a stranger.]

A theory began to take shape in Penelope's mind.

She typed back: [Pull her hospital records from the past six months.]

She turned off the screen. She didn't look back at the tender scene inside the room. She walked away.

Two weeks later, Penelope was discharged and went home.

She hadn't even finished changing her shoes at the door when she heard giggling and playful whining coming from the master bedroom.

"Luke, you're so mean—"

Penelope didn't pause. She changed into her house shoes and went upstairs.

In the bedroom, Crystal was lying on their marital bed, laughing as she pinched Luke's waist.

Luke turned when he heard the footsteps.

"You're back?"

Penelope looked at him. "What is she doing here?"

Luke stood and walked over to her. His expression was open, almost indifferently so.

"Someone trashed Crystal's shop. She had nowhere to go, so I brought her here to stay for a few days."

Crystal rose from the bed, and only then did Penelope see what she was wearing.

Her pajamas.

Crystal stood behind Luke, her face arranged into the perfect picture of fragile vulnerability.

"Miss Simmons, I'm sorry to impose. If it bothers you, I'll leave right now..."

Luke stepped in front of her, shielding her with his body.

"I know this makes you uncomfortable, but—"

Penelope cut him off before he could finish.

"It doesn't."

She turned and walked away, leaving Luke staring after her, visibly thrown.

Her indifference seemed to irritate him more than anger would have. He stepped into her path and blocked her.

"What kind of act is this? You think playing it cool gives you leverage over me?"

Penelope looked at him. Her eyes were cold and still, like a frozen lake with no light beneath the surface.

"Do whatever makes you happy. I don't care."

She moved to leave. Luke seized her arm.

"'Don't care'? Fine. Crystal has a delicate constitution, and you reek of death from that morgue of yours. It might affect her health. I'll have someone cleanse the bad luck off you."

He ordered his bodyguards forward. They carried thick branches of pomelo leaves.

"Whip her. Beat every last trace of that stench out of her."

Penelope stepped back.

"Luke, have you lost your mind? I just got out of the hospital."

"Crystal just got out of the hospital too. You're tougher than she is. You can take it."

The bodyguards grabbed Penelope by the shoulders and forced her to the ground. They raised the thick pomelo branches and brought them down across her back.

Crack. Crack.

Her skin split open on impact.

Luke watched her grit her teeth and endure it. A flicker of irritation crossed his face. He walked into the study and shut the door.

Crystal stepped forward with a smile. "Don't blame Luke, Miss Simmons. You do have a certain... smell on you, and he's worried it might affect me. After all, he says the scent he loves most in this world is mine."

Penelope lifted her head and stared at her, eyes blazing with defiance and fury.

The intensity of that glare unsettled Crystal. She turned to the bodyguards.

"Dip the branches in salt water. If you're going to cleanse her, do it thoroughly."

Salt water seared into the torn flesh, setting every nerve ending on fire.

After ninety-nine lashes, Penelope collapsed to the floor.

Penelope clenched her teeth and dragged herself back to the guest room, her body a map of fresh wounds.

She touched the hidden camera pinned beneath her collar, her gaze razor-sharp.

Ever since the last time he'd hurt her, she had been collecting evidence of Luke's deliberate abuse.

Five years ago, she had gotten him out of prison.

Five years from now, she could put him right back in.

That night, a high fever set in.

She curled up on the bed, shaking uncontrollably, the pain in her head returning with a vengeance. She fumbled for the painkillers the doctor had prescribed, shook two into her palm, and swallowed them dry.

She closed her eyes and waited for the medication to take hold.

Get through this. Get the divorce papers signed.

Then she and Luke Gilbert would have nothing to do with each other ever again.

She drifted into a fitful, feverish sleep.

In the middle of the night, the blanket was ripped away. The biting cold jolted her awake.

Before she could see who it was, a hand clamped around her shoulder and hauled her off the bed.

"Penelope, how could you do something so vicious to Crystal?!"

The grip tore at her wounds. She gasped. "What are you talking about..."

"Someone slashed her arm." Luke's voice ground out from deep in his chest. "The cut matches your forensic scalpel exactly. You're the only one with a key to the master bedroom!"

"It wasn't me. I didn't do it..."

"If not you, then who?! Those scalpels are covered in bacteria from corpses. Crystal is pregnant! Are you trying to kill the baby inside her?!"

Her pupils contracted. The strength she'd been using to struggle drained out of her all at once.

A crushing wave of helplessness flooded through her, gnawing at every wound that covered her body.

The ones on her skin. The ones on her heart.

Every single one hurt enough to shatter a person whole.

Crystal rushed into the guest room, clutching a gash on her arm several inches long, blood seeping between her fingers.

She sobbed so hard she could barely breathe, then dropped to her knees directly in front of Penelope.

"Miss Simmons, if you're angry, take it out on me. Don't hurt my baby. He's only three months along. He's innocent..."

Luke gathered her into his arms, his face twisted with anguish, his voice soft and soothing.

"Don't be scared. I won't let anything happen to our child."

Then he turned his head, and every trace of tenderness vanished, replaced by something savage.

"Penelope, I've never been more disappointed in you. Attacking a woman and her unborn child!"

"I didn't do it." Penelope's voice was raw. "Check my forensic field kit. None of the scalpels have blood on them."

Luke let out a cold laugh.

"You had the nerve to do it, so of course you cleaned the evidence. Are you saying Crystal cut herself just to frame you? She's a mother. She would never gamble with her own child's life!"

He lifted Crystal and carried her toward the door, not once looking back as he issued his order to the guards flanking the hallway.

"Since my wife refuses to confess, let her find out what it feels like to be cut with a forensic scalpel. Every blade in her kit. Use them all on her. Every single one."

Penelope stared after him, her voice breaking.

"Luke, you can't do this to me! I saved your life!"

Luke didn't flinch. The cold light in his eyes only sharpened.

"You're not the righteous, kindhearted Penelope you used to be. You used your own scalpels to hurt someone. Don't you dare talk to me about debts of gratitude."

He left with Crystal in his arms.

Draped against Luke's chest, Crystal's lips curved into a smile so faint it was almost invisible.

A smile laced with the quiet thrill of victory.

Penelope pressed herself into the corner of the room, but there was nowhere left to retreat.

The fever and the pounding in her skull made her thoughts heavy as lead, but she fought to stay conscious.

"Don't touch me! Stay back!"

The guards retrieved her forensic field kit, unlatched it, and laid out the blades one by one, each gleaming under the light.

Different sizes, different shapes. Fifty-seven in total. Every last one honed to a wicked edge.

Penelope's whole body began to tremble. The color drained from her face.

Two guards pinned her arms. Two more picked up the scalpels.

A slice. A stab.

"Ahhh—"

The scream tore out of her. Tears slid down her ashen cheeks before she could stop them.

The cuts weren't deep enough to kill, but they were deep enough to make every nerve in her body scream.

The second blade. The third. The fourth. The fifth.

One after another, until all fifty-seven scalpels had been used.

Her back, her arms, her thighs were carved with wound after wound, blood soaking through her clothes until the fabric turned red.

She lay on the floor, her entire body burning as though set aflame.

The Luke who had once thrown himself over her to shield her from a collapsing beam.

The Luke who had risked his own life to protect hers.

That same man had now, for the sake of another woman, dragged her into hell.

The room fell still. Nothing remained but the thin, ragged sound of her breathing.

Her phone screen lit up. A text from Homer.

Crystal visited an OB-GYN four months ago. She was confirmed six weeks pregnant at the time. Surveillance footage shows the man who accompanied her to the hospital was the victim from the perfume case.

Penelope stared at the message, and she laughed.

Luke had met Crystal four months ago. By then, she was already six weeks along.

Whose baby she was carrying needed no further explanation.

Penelope dragged herself up from the blood-slicked floor, shaking, and removed the hidden camera. She uploaded every piece of footage to her computer.

Backed up. Archived.

She felt as though she had died and come back.

When despair ran deep enough, the heart went still.

After receiving Penelope's call, Homer rushed her to the hospital as fast as he could.

As she was lifted onto the hospital bed, she pressed the USB drive containing the surveillance footage into his hand.

"After the verdict comes down, release the videos."

Homer read the resolve in Penelope's eyes and gave a firm nod.

Penelope closed her eyes and lost consciousness.

When she opened them again, the sharp smell of disinfectant filled her nostrils.

"Miss Simmons, you're finally awake. You've been in a coma for three days since the surgery."

Her voice came out raw and hoarse. "What's today's date?"

"March twentieth."

Penelope counted the days. Three more, and the divorce papers would arrive.

Her phone buzzed. A message from her supervisor.

Application approved. You leave in three days.

Three more days, and she would be free of Luke Gilbert for good.

She was finally getting out of this hell.

The door swung open, and Luke walked in.

A faint trace of perfume drifted in with him.

He stood beside her bed, his gaze sweeping over the bandages covering her body. Something flickered in his eyes, a flash of distress and panic, gone almost before it registered.

"What happened this time is behind us now. As long as you don't hurt Crystal or her child again, I won't punish you."

Penelope's exhausted eyes shifted slightly.

"Punish?"

"Yes. You weren't like this before." Luke's voice was flat, certain. "Back then you were righteous and kind. All you wanted was to protect the wrongly accused. Now jealousy and resentment have twisted you into someone who hurts the vulnerable."

Penelope laughed. Her bloodless face remained cold and unyielding.

Jealousy and resentment?

So that was what Luke believed. That she was eaten up with envy. That she hated out of love.

In her entire life, Penelope Simmons had never stooped to betraying her conscience over a man.

And she never would. Not for anyone. She would never let a man taint the ideals and convictions she held sacred.

"Crystal's baby is fine, fortunately," Luke added. "Otherwise, you would have paid a far steeper price."

Penelope's lips moved. She finally spoke.

"I do have regrets."

A trace of satisfaction crossed Luke's face.

"So you finally regret hurting people?"

"I haven't hurt anyone. What I regret is ever knowing you."

The satisfaction froze on his face.

Penelope looked straight at him, enunciating every word.

"Back then, you weren't a killer. But now? You've become one."

Luke's expression darkened. He drew a deep breath to rein in his temper and stared down at her from his full height.

"You still don't think you've done anything wrong?"

"I've always remembered that you saved my life back then. But over these years, I've given you more than enough in return. That debt is paid in full."

"I fell in love with someone else, but she's done nothing wrong. The one thing you should never have done was hurt the woman I love."

Penelope let out a cold, derisive laugh.

Given her more than enough. That was what he called betraying five years of devotion.

That was what he called flaunting his affair in front of her, moving his mistress into their marital home for all the world to see.

That was what he called tormenting her until she wished she were dead, until she nearly was.

Luke's eyes churned with something complicated. His tone softened.

"As long as you stop causing harm, I'll let you keep the title of Mrs. Gilbert."

"And to keep the bad luck from your work with corpses away from Crystal during her pregnancy, you'll move to the housekeeper's quarters when you get home. Stay away from her."

When she said nothing, he took her silence for agreement and turned to leave.

At the door, he paused.

"Rest and heal. I've already arranged the best doctors and treatment plan for you. There won't be any scars."

The door closed behind him.

Three days later, Penelope discharged herself and took a cab home.

The moment she stepped inside, the housekeeper hurried over, looking uncomfortable.

"Ma'am, Mr. Gilbert is... at Miss Henson's prenatal appointment."

Penelope's expression didn't change. She gave a small nod.

"I see."

She walked into the bedroom and began packing. A few everyday clothes. Her forensic examiner's license and other professional credentials.

It wasn't much. Everything fit into a single suitcase.

Her phone buzzed again. A message from Old Mr. Gilbert's assistant.

Miss Simmons, the elder Mr. Gilbert asked me to bring something to you.

She went downstairs and took the document envelope from the assistant's hands.

Inside were two copies of the divorce certificate.

She kept one and slipped the other back into the envelope, handing it to the housekeeper.

"Give this to him when he gets back."

With that, she picked up her suitcase, walked out the door, and took a cab straight to the airport.

Security. Boarding. She found her seat and sat down.

Sunlight blazed through the cabin window.

But inside Penelope's chest, there was nothing but relief. A lightness she had never known before.

From here on, the road stretched far and wide, and they would never cross paths again.