Frederick's POV
The night air was sharp against my skin, but I barely felt it.
The woman you killed.
Those words wouldn't leave me. They echoed through my head again and again, louder each time I thought about them.
I staggered toward the far end of the garden, stopping by the pool. The water shimmered. My reflection looked back at me—pale, tired, broken.
I thought of Deborah.
That name alone was enough to drag me years into the past. The young woman who worked beside me... brilliant and stubborn. The woman who smiled even when we argued over experiments, who believed she could change the world.
I remembered the letter she left behind, written in haste: "There's an emergency. I have to return home. I'll explain everything soon."
That was the last thing I ever heard from her. I searched for months. Sent messages, called in favors. Nothing. I thought she'd left, but I didn't know that all this while she was dead—and I was pinned as the killer.
Poison.
I sent a maid.
