"Second, I am sick. Late-stage pancreatic cancer. The day I was diagnosed happened to be our silver wedding anniversary. The doctor said I have three months left, at most. I wanted to tell you, but you went to Miami to celebrate Sienna's birthday."

A suppressed cough sounded in the recording.

"Third, Little Harvey asked me last week, 'Mom, Dad treats you so badly. Why don't you get a divorce?' I told him, 'You'll understand when you grow up.' Now he is grown, and it's time for me... to dismiss the class."

Her voice grew fainter, sounding as though it might cut off at any moment.

"That pot of pothos... please water it one more time for me. I've kept it for twenty-five years, unable to bring myself to throw it away, because you once said... never mind, you definitely won't remember."

The recording ended.

Deathly silence enveloped the morgue.

Sylvester knelt on the floor, his forehead pressed against the freezing tiles, his entire body trembling like a leaf in the autumn wind.

The pothos.

He remembered it now.

During their first year of marriage, Vivian had brought home a pot of pothos from the flower market, saying excitedly, "I heard pothos is very easy to care for; it survives on just water. Sylvester, want to make a bet to see how long it can live?"

He had been on the phone at the time, answering carelessly, "Pointless."

Yet she had truly cared for it for twenty-five years. From a tiny seedling, it had grown until its vines draped over half the wall. She watered it weekly and fertilized it monthly. Even when she was ill, she would hold the flowerpot in her arms while receiving her IV drips at the hospital, saying, "I can't let it die too."

And he had never touched that flowerpot once.

Not a single time.

"Mr. Hurst." The examiner's voice pulled him back to reality, "There is one more thing... The autopsy revealed that Mrs. Hurst's pancreatic cancer had already metastasized throughout her entire body, reaching her liver, lungs, and bones. The coroner estimates that during her final months... she must have been in immense pain."

Sylvester snapped his head up, "Immense pain?"

"Yes. Late-stage pancreatic cancer is often called the 'King of Cancers.' Its pain level is the highest possible. Patients usually require massive doses of painkillers just to barely pull through." The examiner pointed at the empty blister packs inside the evidence bag, "We found these in her office drawer; they are high-strength prescription painkillers. Judging by the quantity, she might have been enduring agonizing pain every single day during her last month while continuing to work."

Agonizing pain.

Working.

Sylvester recalled last Wednesday, when he had gone home to retrieve a document and saw Vivian slumped over her desk, her face as white as paper. He had even mocked her at the time: "Have you grown addicted to faking illnesses?"

She hadn't said a word, merely straightening her back slowly to continue grading her students' papers.

Now he knew—she hadn't been faking.

She had been using her very last ounce of strength to fulfill her promise as a teacher.

"Furthermore..." The examiner hesitated briefly, "The stomach was almost entirely empty, containing only a tiny amount of liquid food residue. In other words, she hadn't eaten a proper meal for at least two days before her death."

Sylvester closed his eyes.

He remembered how Vivian had wasted away to skin and bones during her final months, her collarbones protruding terrifyingly. He had assumed she was intentionally trying to lose weight, even mocking her, "What are you making a fuss for at your age?"

It turned out she wasn't dieting.

She simply couldn't eat.

She had literally starved herself to death.

"Ah—!!!"

Sylvester suddenly exploded, slamming his fist violently into the wall.

The sound of fracturing knuckles was sharp and distinct, and blood instantly gushed out, yet he could feel no pain.

Compared to the agony in his heart, what did a minor flesh wound matter?

"Sienna Vance..." He ground his teeth, his eyes entirely bloodshot, "I will make you pay for this with your life!"

Right then, his phone rang.

The name "Sienna Vance" flashed across the screen, accompanied by a photograph—she was wearing revealing silk lingerie, lying on the bed in his master bedroom, with the wedding photo of him and Vivian serving as her background.

The caption read: "Sylvester, now that she is gone, we can finally be together out in the open~ I'm right outside your door, open up~"

Sylvester stared at the photograph and suddenly laughed.

He laughed frantically, laughed with profound desolation.

It turned out that at the moment of his greatest agony, the woman who had driven his wife to her death was lying on his wife's bed, waiting to take her place.

How utterly ironic.

How thoroughly damnable.

Chapter 8

By the time Sylvester drove home, darkness had already fallen completely.

From a distance, he spotted Sienna standing right outside his door. Wearing that silk slip dress, she was shivering violently in the night wind, yet she still didn't forget to adjust her hair while looking into her phone.

The moment the car headlights illuminated her, her eyes lit up, and she trotted over to meet him.

"Sylvester! You're finally back! I've been waiting for you for so long..."

Before she could finish her sentence, Sylvester had already stepped out of the car. He lunged forward, grabbing her by the throat, and slammed her ruthlessly against the door.

"Cough... Sylvester... what are you doing..."

Sienna stared at him in sheer terror, her hands frantically swatting at his arms.

Sylvester leaned in close to her, his voice as cold as ice: "Vivian's diagnosis sheet—did you swap it?"

Sienna’s face turned stark white, "What diagnosis sheet... I don't know..."

"That pixelated CT scan report in her cloud album—did you hack into her account and place it there?"

"I didn't..."

"That 'hotel photo' of you and me—did you photoshop it?"

"Sylvester, let me explain..."

"And!" Sylvester tightened his grip, causing Sienna's face to flush instantly crimson, "You bribed the staff at the Miami hotel to forge the note she supposedly left behind?"

Sienna's tears spilled over, her voice coming in broken gasps:

"I... I only did it because I love you... I just wanted you to see clearly that she isn't worth it at all..."

"Not worth it?"

Sylvester laughed, his tears spilling out alongside his laughter, "Sienna Vance, do you have any idea that she was looking out for me even up until the moment she died?"

"She was terrified of becoming a burden to me, so she hid her illness entirely!"

"She was terrified of impacting my work, so she went to her physicals and went to the hospital all on her own!"

"She was terrified that I would feel guilty, so she wrote her final letters with absolute nonchalance!"

"Even her death... she chose the cleanest, quickest way possible, just to avoid causing me an ounce of trouble!"

He released his grip, and Sienna collapsed onto the ground, clutching her neck as she gasped heavily for air.

Sylvester looked down at her from above, his gaze resembling someone looking at a pile of garbage.

"And what about you, Sienna? What did you do?"

"You forged evidence and sowed discord!"

"You backed her into a corner while she was suffering from a fatal illness!"

"You even... crawled onto her bed before her bones could even turn cold!"

Sienna wept as she crawled forward, wrapping her arms around his leg, "Sylvester, I was wrong... I was truly wrong... I just love you too much... Please, look at the years of history we share..."

"History?" Sylvester kicked her away, "There has never been any history between you and me."

He pulled out his phone and dialed his lawyer's number: "File a lawsuit against Sienna Vance. Defamation, forgery of evidence, invasion of privacy, fraud... hit her with every single chargeable offense possible."

"Furthermore, audit every single dollar she has funneled out of the Hurst Group over the past five years. Recover it completely, down to the last cent."

"And," he stared at the shivering Sienna on the ground, pronouncing each word with absolute finality, "I want her completely ruined. Expose her across the entire internet, have her blacklisted from the industry, and ensure she can never survive in Seaport City again."

The lawyer on the other end gave his confirmation.

Sienna broke down entirely, "Sylvester Hurst! You can't treat me like this! My sister Seraphina saved your life! You promised her you would take care of me for the rest of your life!"

Sylvester knelt down, pinching her chin in a tight grip.

"I did promise Seraphina that I would look after you." His voice was incredibly soft, yet every word cut to the bone, "Which is why I gave you money, gave you resources, and allowed you to live a life better than anyone else."

"But what did you do? You weaponized her death, weaponized my guilt, and pushed your boundaries time and time again."