It's late at night, but Alexander still hadn't returned.

Victoria told Chloe to wake her when he arrived.

I floated out of the room and drifted through the estate.

Alexander was in his study, staring at a small painting.

I drifted closer. The painting was of me—a portrait he'd commissioned in our first year of marriage.

He'd never displayed it. I didn't even know it existed.

His finger traced the edge of the frame.

"You changed your perfume," he murmured. "You've never changed anything in three years."

He set the painting down. Opened a drawer. Inside: a dried pear blossom.

From our courtyard. From the tree that had bloomed the day I arrived.

He'd kept it.

Alexander closed the drawer and walked to the window.

"Something is wrong," he said to the empty room. "And I will find out what."

My soul trembled. He knew. He didn't know what—but he knew.