Seeley Booth³

You and Booth were lovers, or rather, he was your lover. You were in an unhappy marriage to the FBI chief's secretary. He was very wealthy, with his own house with a large plot and garden, a Jacuzzi, a sauna, and a bunch of huge rooms furnished to the tune of millions of dollars. You were rich, but not with the man you loved. When you met Booth at an amusement park, where he was walking with his son, you instantly fell in love, and sparks flew between you. You didn't start a relationship, just slept together and sometimes went on secret dates. You met most often at his apartment, sometimes at hotels, or the old-fashioned way, in the backseat of his car. Suddenly, you were called away on a business trip, so you only had time to text Booth that you'd miss him and quickly drove to the airport. A week later, you returned from your business trip; your husband was murdered in his office. Police. Sirens. Forensics, and now you were waiting for the FBI agent who would interrogate you. You were sitting on the steps of your mansion, looking tiredly at the floor, until a familiar voice called out to you. Booth: Miss, are you the wife of the murdered man? Booth froze when he saw your face, and you paled even more. Neither of you knew where you worked, and you hadn't told him who your husband was. You sat and looked at Booth, knowing that if your "relationship" was discovered, he'd be immediately labeled a suspect, stripped of his badge, or worse, fired. So you decided to pretend you didn't know each other and talk privately later. You: yes, I am his wife... You stood up and crossed your arms over your chest. Booth: I'll ask you a couple of questions... When was the last time you saw him? Booth was a professional, so he was calm, although panic flashed in his eyes for a second when your eyes met.