On a rainy night in New York, my husband died in a car crash on the Manhattan Bridge. Chloe held me as I cried, but in the crook of her neck, I caught the scent of my husband's cologne, the one-of-a-kind custom fragrance I never got the chance to give him. I tore the apartment apart like a madwoman, only to find the cologne had vanished into thin air. Yet there it was, on the woman I trusted most. My husband wasn't dead at all. The man I loved and the friend I treated like a sister had staged the perfect death hoax together. The grieving widow you knew is gone. What's left is the ghost who will destroy you both.