No one in the Civil Registry moved.

The bride stared at the photograph in the officer’s hand as though it belonged to someone else.

Then she looked at her fiancé.

Back at the photograph.

Then at him again.

“…No.”

Her voice cracked.

“No… that’s impossible.”

The groom didn’t deny it.

He didn’t even glance at the photographs.

Instead, he looked directly at me.

His smile slowly disappeared.

“You have an extraordinary nose,” he said quietly.

The words sent a chill through my spine.

“You knew exactly what you were carrying,” the police captain snapped, tightening her grip on her weapon.

He remained perfectly calm.

“I carried nothing illegal.”

The forensic technician shook his head.

“The compound hasn’t been classified yet because it’s experimental.”

He carefully held up the evidence bag.

“But we already know what it does.”

He tapped the portable analyzer.

“The chemicals penetrate through the skin during fingerprinting. The victim loses consciousness within minutes, suffers severe short-term memory disruption, and becomes highly suggestible for several hours.”

The bride’s face drained of color.

“You… you wanted to drug me?”

The man finally turned toward her.

His expression was almost sympathetic.

“You wouldn’t have remembered being frightened.”

She stumbled backward.

“You told me the special ink represented eternal love.”

“It did.”

His answer came without emotion.

“Just not yours.”

The room fell silent.

One of the detectives rushed inside carrying a laptop.

“Captain.”

He connected it to a nearby monitor.

Security footage filled the screen.

Different cities.

Different registry offices.

Different dates.

Three different brides.

Each groom smiled at the camera.

Each bride pressed her fingerprints into a nearly identical red ink box.

Within minutes, every woman appeared dizzy.

One fainted while signing.

Another leaned heavily against her husband.

The third had to be carried outside because she was “overcome with emotion.”

None of the employees had suspected anything.

“They all disappeared within seventy-two hours,” the detective said.

“No bodies?”

“None.”

The bride covered her mouth.

“Oh my God…”

The deputy director slowly sat down.

Her face had become completely white.

“I approved two of those marriages.”

The technician zoomed in on one frame.

“Look closely.”

Everyone leaned toward the screen.

The groom wasn’t exactly the same man.

His hair changed.

His beard changed.

His glasses changed.

But the facial structure…

The ears…

The scar beneath his jaw…

Were identical.

“He used professional prosthetics,” the detective explained.

“Different identities. Different names. Different districts.”

The police captain looked at the man sitting across the table.

“So who are you really?”

He smiled again.

“You’ve been asking the wrong question.”

“And what question should we ask?”

“Ask why none of the women were ever found.”

The answer sent a wave of unease through the room.

Before anyone could respond, another officer burst through the entrance.

“Captain!”

“We searched his vehicle.”

“What did you find?”

“A medical transport van parked two blocks away.”

The officer swallowed.

“There are restraints inside.”

The bride let out a broken scream.

“No…”

“There are also forged passports… three wedding dresses…”

He hesitated.

“And four empty red wooden ink boxes.”

The captain’s expression hardened.

“Cuff him.”

Two officers stepped forward.

This time, the groom slowly raised his hands.

He didn’t resist.

As the handcuffs clicked into place, he looked straight at me.

“You know what the funniest part is?”

I didn’t answer.

“If you had ignored the smell like everyone else would have…”

His smile widened.

“…she would already be my fourth missing wife.”

The bride collapsed into a chair, shaking uncontrollably.

An ambulance crew rushed to examine her, while another forensic technician carefully collected every document from the marriage file.

Just as the officers began escorting the suspect toward the exit, one detective’s phone rang.

He answered.

His expression changed instantly.

“Captain…”

“What is it?”

“The laboratory compared the biological marker.”

“And?”

“It wasn’t designed to erase memories.”

Everyone froze.

“What was it designed for?” the captain asked.

The detective looked toward the handcuffed groom.

His voice became almost a whisper.

“It marks the victim.”

“For what?”

The detective slowly lowered the phone.

“Another agency just identified the compound.”

“It was developed for human trafficking operations.”

Every eye turned toward the groom.

He laughed.

A cold, hollow laugh that echoed through the registry hall.

“You’ve only caught the collector,” he said.

“The buyers are still waiting.”

And at that exact moment, every officer’s radio erupted at once with the same urgent transmission.