His phone rang; it was a text from Sienna.

Opening it, he saw a screenshot of a chat log.

Vivian's profile picture sat prominently on the screen, and her message read:

"See you in Miami, Mr. Logan."

The reply from the other side was: "Alright, Mrs. Hurst. I'll be waiting for you."

Attached beneath the screenshot was a photograph.

In the picture, Vivian was smiling radiantly, standing next to a strange man who wore a well-fitted shirt and looked thoroughly refined and gentle.

Immediately afterward, a voice message from Sienna arrived, her tone lowered with a trace of deliberate, hushed surprise:

"Sylvester, I did a little digging. That man is the head of the literature department at Sister Vivian's school, a guy named Mr. Logan. Apparently, he's still single."

"Sister Vivian's sudden disappearance this time... she couldn't have gone to Miami with him, could she?"

Sylvester zoomed in on the photo, staring at the smile on Vivian's face until it felt utterly blinding.

That smile was incredibly bright, a side of her he had never seen before.

During their twenty-five years of marriage, she had always been submissive, enduring, and even somewhat humble in front of him; she had never smiled so completely without restraint.

"Vivian Hurst, you are ruthless."

He let out a cold sneer, fury swirling in the depths of his eyes.

"Punishing me like this? Thinking that finding a man will make me care about you?"

He would rather believe she was retaliating, deliberately trying to anger him, than believe something had actually happened to her.

Suddenly, the phone rang, the caller ID displaying "The School."

Sylvester frowned and hung up without a second thought.

He was in no mood to deal with anything related to Vivian right now, especially a phone call from her workplace.

He pulled the marriage certificate out of a drawer, looking at Vivian's young face in the photograph.

Back then, her eyes had curved into beautiful crescents, filled with anticipation for the future, completely unlike the lifeless woman she was today.

A wave of inexplicable agitation washed over him, and he slammed his hand down, tearing away a corner of the marriage certificate to vent the frustration in his heart.

Just then, his gaze fell toward the study.

That was the place Vivian frequented most when she was home; aside from grading assignments and preparing lessons, she seemed to have no other hobbies.

Driven by a strange impulse, he stepped into the study.

The desk was arranged neatly, holding a stack of student essay notebooks with a red pen resting beside them.

His eyes swept across the desk, suddenly catching sight of a deep blue diary resting at the corner—the one Vivian used regularly.

He hesitated for a moment before reaching out, picking it up, and flipping it open.

Most of the diary recorded her daily teaching routines, occasionally mentioning their son, Harvey. The mentions of Sylvester himself were incredibly scarce, and each time he was brought up, it was only a few brief lines carrying a subtle sense of disappointment.

"September 1, 2018. Harvey's first day of preschool. He cried his heart out. Sylvester was away on a business trip, saying over the phone, 'Boys shouldn't be so fragile.' But I knew he just didn't want to come back."

"June 7, 2021. Harvey's preschool graduation ceremony. I was the only parent who attended alone. Sylvester said, 'There is no need to go to such a minor event.' But when I saw the other children accompanied by both parents, the look in Harvey's eyes broke my heart."

"September 10, 2028. Teacher's Day. Received blessings from many students, but none from him. He probably forgot that I am a teacher, too."

Sylvester quickly flipped to the very last page, where only a single sentence was written in elegant script, yet it carried an indescribable finality:

"The class is dismissed, and it is time for me, the teacher, to leave as well."

Sylvester's heart dropped instantly.

He suddenly remembered many years ago, Vivian had once said to him:

"Marriage is also a lesson, but unfortunately, both of us are failing students."

At the time, he had only thought she was being overly dramatic, dismissing her words entirely and even mocking her for taking emotions too seriously.

But now, staring at this sentence, he froze.

Could she really have...

The moment the thought surfaced, he forcefully rejected it.

"Playing the victim again."

He snorted coldly, tossing the diary back onto the desk, "Thinking that writing these things will make me feel guilty? Vivian, you are too naive."

Right then, his phone vibrated with an incoming text message from the bank.

"Your account ending in 8879 has received a refund of 500,000 USD. Memo: I have donated the money to the mountain schools. The freedom you wanted, I have given it to you."

The moment he saw the text message, Sylvester blew up like a ignited powder keg. He bolted upright, grabbed the glass ashtray from the desk, and hurled it violently onto the floor.

With a loud shatter, the ashtray fractured into countless shards, sending ash and glass fragments flying everywhere.

"Vivian Hurst!" He roared, his eyes completely bloodshot with crimson rage, "Who permitted you to make decisions on my behalf?! Who permitted you to donate my money?!"

That 500,000 USD was something he had casually wired out after waking up this morning, suddenly remembering it was their silver anniversary.

He admitted it was an act of obligation, but it was still a gesture from him, a "compensation" as her husband.

But what about her?

Not only did she refuse to accept it, but she had sent it right back and even donated it to the mountain schools.

This was a blatant slap to his face, an outright provocation!

A powerful urge to possess and control surged frantically in his heart; he could not tolerate Vivian treating him this way.

She was his wife, and everything about her should be under his control, including her life, her death, her presence, and her departure.

He picked up his phone and once again dialed the private investigator Sienna had introduced to him.

"I want to know every single piece of information on Vivian Hurst and that man named Mr. Logan," his voice was ice-cold, "Find out exactly where they are, what they are doing, and who they have contacted. Investigate everything thoroughly and report back to me immediately!"

Hanging up the phone, he walked over to the window, staring out at the torrential downpour outside.

The rain splattered violently against the glass pane, as if giving voice to an endless sorrow.

Yet, inside Sylvester's heart, there was only rage and defiance. He stared fixedly into the rainy night, his expression grim and menacing.

Vivian Hurst, you better pray I don't find you.

Otherwise, I will make sure you learn exactly what the consequences are for betraying and provoking me.

Chapter 4

At ten o'clock the following morning, Sylvester's flight touched down at Miami International Airport.

He headed straight for the Biscayne Bay Resort Hotel, the low atmospheric pressure radiating from his presence keeping the front desk staff from daring to delay.

"Mr. Hurst, this is the note left behind by Ms. Hurst when she checked in."

The staff member handed over a neatly folded slip of paper. The handwriting was elegant, precisely Vivian's style.

"Do not look for me. Wish you well. — Vivian Hurst"

Those brief words pierced Sylvester's eyes like a needle.

He gripped the note tightly, his knuckles turning white, an absolute fury and defiance churning in his eyes.

"Wish me well? In your dreams."

He growled under his breath, looking as though he wanted to tear the slip of paper to shreds.

He absolutely refused to believe Vivian truly wanted to sever ties with him; it had to be that man, Mr. Logan, who had bewitched her!

"Check the surveillance!" he commanded, "I want to know exactly when she and that man checked in, and when they left!"

The staff member showed a difficult expression, "Mr. Hurst, this... requires authorization from the police."

Sylvester pulled out his checkbook, wrote down a figure, and pushed it in front of the employee, "Is this enough?"

Ten minutes later, he sat in the security room, staring fixedly at the monitors.

The footage flashed by frame by frame—the hotel lobby, the corridors, the restaurant, the pool...

Nothing.

No Vivian, no Mr. Logan, absolutely nothing.

"Impossible..." Sylvester muttered to himself, "Sienna clearly said..."

Just then, his phone rang; it was the private investigator calling.

"Mr. Hurst, we found something. Mr. Logan is indeed in Miami, but he came to attend the National Literature Education Seminar, and he is staying at the convention's designated hotel."

"I checked his room records and the seminar attendance sheet. From yesterday until today, he has been inside the venue the entire time, never leaving."

"As for Ms. Hurst..." The investigator paused, "We haven't found any flight records, hotel bookings, or credit card transactions under her name. It's as if... she vanished into thin air."