Chapter 1

Four years after my death, my skull was unearthed from the foundation of an abandoned construction site.

My husband, Cole, was summoned to reconstruct it.

He was the state bureau's top facial reconstruction expert.

He stared at the mud-caked bone.

His tone was detached and icy. "Victim, female. Suffered severe blunt force trauma prior to death. Massive facial depression, suspected torture."

Cursing the corpse for bringing bad luck, he used sculpting clay to build up muscle tissue layer by layer, slowly restoring the features.

Until he shaped the nose.

It was a silhouette he knew better than his own.

On the left bridge of the nose was a minuscule bony ridge—a callus left behind after he accidentally bumped into it and fractured it on our wedding night.

Cole's hand trembled.

He had hated me for half his life.

He thought I had stolen five million dollars meant for his life-saving surgery and eloped with a lover.

Until now.

Now, he held my skull.

I drifted in the air, watching this man—always so composed, so unyielding—frantically try to piece together the skull with only half its face restored.

Cole, stop sculpting.

No matter how perfectly you rebuild it, I'm never coming back.

I hovered above Cole's studio.

This was his inner sanctum. Shelves lined the four walls, filled with plaster casts and facial reconstructions of the dead.

Cole wore a black canvas apron and protective goggles, holding a delicate sculpting knife.

After four years, he looked steadier. And much gloomier.

The brooding darkness between his brows was like indelible ink.

"Dr. Vance, this case is urgent."

The detective who brought the case in was a young man named Parker.

He placed a sealed evidence case onto the worktable, speaking with utmost care.

"These remains were found buried in the foundation of the unfinished development in the south district. Poured concrete. The body is completely skeletonized, no personal effects or ID. Only the skull remained relatively intact."

Cole didn't look up, quietly wiping down his scalpel. "You know my rate?"

"Yeah. Flat fee. Fifty thousand."

Cole let out a cold sneer. "Price went up. Eighty thousand."

Parker blinked. "Dr. Vance, this is from the department's budget."

"Then take it back."

Cole tossed the tool onto the steel table with a sharp clatter, his voice frigid.

"Wasting three days of my time on some nameless Jane Doe? Eighty thousand is already doing Captain Miller a favor."

I watched him.

I looked at this man who, years ago, lived on instant ramen for an entire month just to save up enough money to buy me a hearing aid.

Now, he was haggling over thousands of dollars with a detective.

He had changed.

He had become mercenary. Merciless.

Ever since I supposedly "ran off with his money" four years ago, he had become this hollow shell.

Parker gritted his teeth. "Fine. Eighty thousand it is. Captain Miller said identifying the victim is our top priority. This is tied to that old demolition case."

Cole slipped on a pair of black nitrile gloves and popped the latches on the sealed case.

A foul, damp reek of rot and soil drifted into the room.

Inside lay a grayish, battered skull.

Bits of dry concrete still clung to its surface.

That was me.

Mia.