The Forensic Bride's Revenge Exposing Her Billionaire Ex

Five years ago, Luke Gilbertthe golden heir of the Capital's elite circlewas 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 stunningso 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 womanand 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 itema 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 beforeI'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.

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.