Chapter 5
1013words
The past forty-eight hours had been the most chaotic of his entire life.
He sat outside Savannah's VIP room, massaging his pounding temples.
Fiona was gone.
This fact triggered not grief but a wounded, controlling fury.
How dare she?
That woman—that decorative "trophy" he'd bound to himself with money and contracts, that "enemy's daughter"—had dared to tear up their agreement and walk away with nothing.
She hadn't even cried or made demands. She'd simply… vanished.
His security team found nothing. No credit card trails, no flight manifests, no hotel bookings. She'd evaporated into the New York air like morning dew.
This complete disappearance triggered an unfamiliar panic in Silas.
He squashed this feeling, telling himself she was merely throwing a tantrum and would return. After all, a woman like her couldn't possibly survive without Lancaster protection.
"Silas…"
A weak voice called from within the room.
He pushed the door open and entered.
Savannah gazed at him with "confusion," her head bandaged, her face pale and vulnerable.
"Was I... was I just asleep?" She showed a fragile, dependent smile, "I had a nightmare where you didn't recognize me anymore."
Silas looked at her.
For the past forty-eight hours, he had been playing the role of "husband" as described by Dr. Evans. He fed her water and soothed her emotions.
But beneath the immense pleasure of revenge and his "guilt" toward Savannah, a thread of doubt was quietly creeping up his rationality like poisonous vines.
Savannah's "memory loss"... seemed too selective.
She forgot her parents, forgot her apartment, forgot the car accident.
But she clearly remembered that he, Silas Lancaster, was allergic to wool, and that he only drank Blue Mountain coffee from a specific production area.
"Get some rest." Silas expressionlessly tucked in her blanket, "I'm going out to make a call."
He walked out of the hospital room and dialed his Chief Assistant's number.
"Jackson," his voice was ice-cold, "investigate for me. Dr. Evans, the neurosurgeon who performed surgery on Savannah. I want all his bank
transactions for this month, especially overseas accounts."
He paused, then added: "Also, utilize all our legal resources. I want to reexamine the case from a year ago when Robert Windsor (Fiona's father) 'betrayed' my
father. I want the original files, all of them."
"Sir?" Jackson was somewhat surprised, not understanding why his boss suddenly wanted to revisit an old case.
"Execute."
Silas hung up the phone.
Savannah's lies made him question everything.
He needed to reexamine the foundation of his revenge edifice.
If... if Savannah had lied about the "amnesia," then how much of the crimes she accused Fiona of in that apartment were actually true?
He must take control of the whole situation.
Jackson's efficiency was terrifying.
Three hours later, an encrypted file was transmitted to Silas's personal computer.
The first document was a bank statement.
A transfer of five hundred thousand dollars. Two days before the car accident, it was transferred from an anonymous Swiss account to Dr. Evans's personal account.
And the actual owner of that anonymous account—was Savannah Green.
Silas's blood froze in that moment.
The "amnesia" was fake.
It was premeditated.
Savannah had prepared this grand performance long ago. The car accident was just an unexpected catalyst; she went with the flow, using his "guilt" and "protective instinct" to stage
a perfect "victim" act.
She used him, played him like a fool.
This realization made Silas feel extremely nauseated.
He suppressed the urge to rush into the hospital room and strangle that woman, and opened the second file.
It was an old case file from a year ago.
Thick and complicated.
He went through it page by page, from the initial funding gap to the final court statement. His face grew increasingly pale with each scroll of the mouse.
Then, he found a document hidden in the appendix. A private agreement he had never seen before.
……
After he understood the entire story from beginning to end...
His world collapsed.
"Boom——"
The "hatred" he believed in was false. The "betrayal" he believed in was false. The grand edifice of revenge he had been so proud of, from its very foundation, was built upon a
vile, filthy lie.
He, Silas Lancaster, had been wrong all along.
This wasn't "revenge."
This was "repaying kindness with enmity"!
He married his benefactor's daughter. He tortured her in the most cruel way. He humiliated her as if she were an "enemy."
He suddenly remembered that night.
He remembered Fiona grabbing his hand, telling him "I'm pregnant." He remembered how, in order to chase after Savannah, he had "accidentally" flung her away violently
, causing her to crash into the cold marble. He remembered her hands covered in blood.
He remembered at the hospital entrance, there was only one spot for the ambulance.
He remembered how he had thrown his rightful wife, who was miscarrying, on the cold roadside like garbage.
How he coldly chose "playing the husband" over "terminating the pregnancy."
He...
He had, with his own hands, killed his child.
He had, with his own hands, destroyed the only person who loved him—his benefactor's daughter.
"Ugh—!"
A cry that was unlike any human sound, more like the howl of a wounded beast, erupted from the depths of Silas's throat.
He violently overturned the expensive rosewood desk in front of him. Computer, documents, coffee cup... everything crashed to the floor.
This wasn't the "Crematorium."
This was hell.
He was unforgivable.
Silas Lancaster, the ever-controlling King of New York, was now kneeling amidst the mess on the floor, his entire body trembling.
In those blue eyes of his, for the first time, there was no arrogance or control, only boundless, all-consuming self-destruction.
He grabbed the surviving phone from the floor, his voice as hoarse as a demon from hell.
"Jackson."
"Use every resource we have. Shut down Savannah Green. I want her to pay for everything she's done."
He paused, and despite his efforts to control himself, his voice still carried a hint of pleading.
"And also... Fiona."
"Find her at any cost."
