Sylvester's heart seized violently.

Vanished into thin air?

How was that possible?

How could a living, breathing person leave behind absolutely no trace?

"Keep looking!" he roared into the phone, "Dig three feet into the ground if you have to, but find her!"

Hanging up the phone, he stood in the hotel lobby, looking out at the azure ocean outside, suddenly feeling a chill run through his entire body.

If Vivian hadn't come to Miami...

If she had nothing to do with that Mr. Logan...

Then what were those "proofs" Sienna had sent him?

A terrifying thought flashed across his mind, but he forcefully suppressed it.

Impossible. Sienna wouldn't lie to him.

She was so innocent, so kind, how could she possibly...

The phone rang again, and this time it was Sienna.

"Sylvester! Have you arrived in Miami? Why haven't you been answering my calls?" Her voice carried a hint of grievance, "I've been waiting for you at the hotel for so long..."

Sylvester remained silent for a few seconds before speaking, "Sienna, those screenshots and photographs you sent me—where exactly did they come from?"

There was a brief pause on the other end of the line.

"What's wrong? Is there an issue?" Sienna's voice remained sweet, "A teacher from Sister Vivian's school sent them to me. She said Sister Vivian and Mr. Logan had an unusual relationship and wanted me to remind you to be careful..."

"What is that teacher's name?"

"That... I don't really remember. It was just someone I added randomly." Sienna's tone began to display a trace of panic, "Sylvester, do you not believe me? I did all of this for your own good..."

Sylvester didn't say another word and hung up the phone directly.

He stared at his phone screen, looking at the "photo of Vivian and Mr. Logan" Sienna had sent, suddenly realizing something was wrong.

He enlarged the photo, examining it closely.

Vivian's smile was radiant, but her eyes... were somewhat hollow.

Mr. Logan's posture also appeared rather stiff.

The background was the beach in Miami, but the angle of the light was incredibly strange.

Sylvester suddenly recalled Vivian once saying that she absolutely hated taking photos because she felt she wasn't photogenic. Therefore, even in their wedding photos, her smiles had been forced.

Yet in this photo, she was smiling so naturally, so happily...

It didn't look like her.

Sylvester's heart began to beat frantically.

He opened his laptop, searched for "photo forgery detection online," and followed the tutorials to analyze the image piece by piece.

The edges were blurred...

The shadows were unnatural...

The pixel consistency was off...

This photo was a composite.

Vivian had never come to Miami with Mr. Logan.

Sienna had lied to him.

This realization was like a bucket of ice water poured over him from head to toe.

Sylvester slumped back into his chair, his entire body turning cold.

If the photo was fake...

If the screenshots were fake...

If Vivian had never run away with another man...

Then where on earth was she right now?

That terrifying thought surfaced in his mind once more, and this time, he could no longer keep it down.

He remembered the words Vivian had spoken last night: "If I told you I was dying, would you believe me?"

He remembered the diagnosis sheet in her hand: "Late-stage pancreatic cancer."

He remembered her silhouette as she finally left—so absolute, so... full of despair.

Sylvester bolted to his feet and rushed out the door.

He had to get back to Seaport City.

Now, immediately, right this instant.

Chapter 5

When he returned to Seaport City, it was already late at night.

Sylvester did not go home; instead, his car took a sharp turn and drove straight toward Vivian's school.

The late-night campus was as empty as a ghost town, with only the lights in the security booth still burning.

He flashed his identification, and after a brief hesitation, the guard pressed the button to open the gate.

Vivian's office was the very last room at the end of the second floor.

Sylvester pushed the door open and flicked on the light switch. Everything inside the office remained exactly as it had been, meticulously arranged, even neater than her study at home.

Thick stacks of lesson plans and student essay notebooks were piled high on the desk, while two pots of pothos grew lushly on the windowsill, their leaves so glossy they looked as if they had just been carefully wiped clean.

Sylvester walked to her desk and pulled open the first drawer.

There were no valuables inside, only several empty aluminum blister packs of painkillers, a sticky note that read "Remember to buy rheumatism patches," and... a physical examination report from five years ago.

He picked up the report, its paper already yellowing with age.

His hands began to tremble uncontrollably.

On the report, the section for "Tumor Marker CA199" was heavily circled in red ink.

The value: 52 U/mL.

Beside it, the normal range was noted in fountain pen: <37 U/mL.

At the very bottom of the report, under the doctor's recommendations, it read: "Abnormal markers, immediate further examination is strongly advised."

And beneath that line was his own flamboyant signature written as her family representative—

"Acknowledge receipt, no major issue. — Sylvester Hurst"

A loud ringing went off in Sylvester's mind, as if something had violently exploded.

Five years ago... on that very afternoon five years ago, he had been in the middle of a video conference when Vivian carefully pushed the door open, walking over to his side with this exact report.

What had he been so irritated about back then?

It seemed Sienna had called him again, weeping about another failed investment.

Without even glancing at the contents of the report, he had flipped directly to the last page, impatiently signed his name, and shoved it back into her hands.

"Don't bother me with minor things like this, can't you see I'm busy?"

He could not even recall the expression she had worn at that moment.

He could not remember if she had said anything at all.

He did not remember... that she had once, so earnestly, cried out to him for help.

"Five years ago..."

Sylvester's voice choked in his throat, completely broken, "The signs were already there five years ago..."

He collapsed onto the freezing tiled floor, the weightless medical report now feeling so heavy he could barely hold it up.

"It was me..."

He stared at that glaring signature, each word cutting into his throat like a blade, "I am the one who failed you..."

Right then, his phone suddenly rang.

It was an unknown number, and the caller ID traced back to Seaport City.

Sylvester answered with a trembling hand, his voice raspy, "Hello?"

"Am I speaking with Mr. Sylvester Hurst?" a serious male voice spoke from the other end, "This is the Coastal Precinct of the Seaport City Police Department."

Sylvester's heart tightened violently, his knuckles turning white around the phone, "Speaking."

"We have recovered a female body from the waters near the coastal park," the officer's voice carried no emotion whatsoever, "Based on the personal items found on the body and an initial comparison of details, we preliminarily believe it may be your wife, Ms. Vivian Hurst."

"Please come down to the station as soon as possible to assist us with the identification."

The phone slipped from his hand, hitting the floor with a sharp clatter.

Sylvester froze in place, the blood in his veins completely turning to ice at that very instant, even his breathing coming to a halt.

He parted his lips, but he could not produce a single sound.

Those few words replayed endlessly in his mind—

Recovered... body... identification...

No.

It was impossible.

Vivian could not be dead.

She was just throwing a tantrum, she was just punishing him, she was just... hiding somewhere he didn't know, waiting for him to find her.

Just like every single time in the past.

The voice on the phone was still asking, "Mr. Hurst? Mr. Hurst, are you still there? Please come as soon as..."

Sylvester mechanically bent down and picked up the phone.

His fingers were shaking so violently that it took him three attempts just to press the speakerphone button.

"The address... give me... the address..."

The officer read out a location.

Sylvester had no memory of how he rushed out of the office.

He stumbled and fell down the stairs, and when he started the car, his hands shook so badly he could not even insert the key properly.

It took three tries before the engine roared to life.

He yanked the steering wheel hard, the tires emitting a piercing screech against the quiet campus pavement before the car launched forward like an arrow released from a bow string.

Sylvester stared fixedly at the road ahead, his eyes so bloodshot they looked ready to weep blood.

Countless images flashed uncontrollably through his mind—

The silhouette of Vivian standing in the kitchen, brewing soup.