The Fifteenth Victim Was His Wife

Marcus Thorne, the serial killer responsible for nineteen deaths, was finally caught.

A reporter asked him, Which victim left the deepest impression on you?

He remained silent for a long time, then suddenly chuckled.

The fifteenth one. I hadn't intended to kill her.

But someone paid two million dollars for her life. And that money, it came straight from her husband's account.

"The person who hired me was his former student. That woman later married her husband, and she's now pregnant."

As he spoke, eight hundred thousand viewers flooded the livestream.

The comments section exploded.

Meanwhile, my husband, Ethan Vance, a university professor of criminal psychology and a special consultant for the City Police Department, was completely oblivious.

He sat in his office, on a FaceTime call with his new wife, seven months pregnant.

On the screen, Seraphina Hayes was proudly showing off her baby bump, laboriously displaying a newly purchased crib.

"Honey, don't you think this color is beautiful?"

Seraphina smiled, her eyes crinkling.

"Anything you choose is beautiful."

Ethan's voice was unbelievably gentle.

He adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses, his gaze full of affection.

"Seraphina, don't overdo it. I'll put it together when I get home after work."

"But I want our baby to feel daddy's presence sooner!"

Seraphina pouted, her voice sickeningly sweet.

I floated behind Ethan, quietly watching the scene unfold.

I had been dead for three years.

In these three years, I had watched Ethan go from anguish to numbness, then to a comfortable acceptance of Seraphina.

He had even forgotten that three years ago today was the day I disappeared.

The intercom on his desk suddenly rang.

Ethan frowned, making a shushing gesture to Seraphina.

"Professor Vance, Marcus specifically asked to see you."

Chief Miller's voice on the other end sounded urgent.

"He said he won't reveal the location of the fifteenth body unless it's to you."

Ethan's expression instantly turned serious.

"I'll be right there."

He hung up, gave Seraphina a few hurried instructions, then grabbed his jacket and headed out.

Seraphina seemed a little uneasy on the video call.

"Honey, Marcus... is he the serial killer?"

"Yes. Don't worry, I'll handle it."

Ethan ended the call, his footsteps quick.

I followed him into the interrogation room.

In the dim room, Marcus sat on an iron chair, his face covered in stubble.

Seeing Ethan enter, he flashed a strange smile.

"Professor Vance, I've heard a lot about you."

"I watched your public lectures on criminal psychology. They were excellent."

Ethan didn't look up.

"Marcus, male, forty-one years old. From 2019 to 2024, operated in six states, committed nineteen cases"

"You don't need to recite it."

The chains rattled. "I want to talk about the fifteenth one."

"Speak."

"Aren't you curious why I asked for you specifically?"

"Not at all. Criminals try to seize control by creating conversation during high-pressure interrogations. It's basic psychological profiling. Doesn't work on me."

Marcus suddenly burst into laughter, the chains clanking loudly.

"Professor Vance, you've spent your life studying criminal psychology, yet you can't even tell who your own partner truly is. How ironic."

Ethan closed the file, his eyes contemptuous.

"That kind of juvenile psychological tactic won't work on me."

"Oh really?"

Marcus leaned closer, lowering his voice.

"What if I told you the fifteenth person was named Elara Reed?"

Ethan's body instantly stiffened. His fingers clenched, knuckles turning white.

"See? The moment I mentioned that name, you clearly lost your composure while going through those files."

"I haven't changed at all."

Ethan closed the file, crossed his hands neatly on the table, and sat up straight.

"She was consumed by jealousy, sensitive and overly suspicious."

"She'd complain when I didn't answer my phone, complain when I came home late, complain when I was nice to my students."

"If we argued, she'd run off and wouldn't come back unless I went to get her."

"A thirty-year-old acting like a child."

After saying all this, Ethan's fingers tried to twist the cap onto his pen. It didn't catch the first two times, only sealing on the third.

"So the last time she left, I didn't go looking. No need. I was tired, too. She could go wherever she wanted."

"What, did she run out of money? Does she want to come back?"

"Tell me, how much did she pay you to play this game?"

Marcus chuckled. "Professor Vance, I'm a killer, not a con artist. I buried her with my own hands."

"You're making this up."

Ethan's tone was resolute.

"Your victims fit a fixed selection standard living alone, remote location, high-risk profession."

"Elara Reed fits none of those criteria. You wouldn't have chosen her."

I stood behind him, a sharp pain in my chest.

Even though I no longer had a heart.

But I still felt that heartbreaking sorrow.

"To frame Seraphina, she actually managed to bribe you into saying all those things. She's really gotten quite skilled."

He opened SnapChat and sent a voice message.

"Elara, stop playing dead."

"I let it go when you spread rumors about Seraphina on the forum back then."

"Now that we're finally happy, you're trying to sicken me again. Is this your new trick?"

"Even if a manipulative woman like you truly died, I'd only feel relieved."

I watched the voice message send successfully.

Ethan, do you really think I'd joke about my own life with you?

Marcus stopped laughing, his eyes softening with pity.

"But Professor Vance, someone paid me two million dollars to kill her."

"A full two million, transferred from her husband's bank account."

"Doesn't that number sound familiar to you, Professor Vance?"

The chair legs scraped across the floor with a harsh sound. Ethan stood up, his face dark.

"The interrogation ends here."

"I have no interest in your nonsense."

"Go to Westwood."

Marcus suddenly spoke.

"Under that old oak tree. You know the place."

Ethan's footsteps halted.

That was where we first met.

Ethan didn't go home.

He went straight from the interrogation room and called the Criminal Technology Division.

"Marcus has confessed to a suspected burial site."

"Westwood Forest, by the oak trees."

"Deploy the tech team and forensic unit. Depart now."

His voice was all business, betraying no emotion.

I floated behind him, watching him get into his car.

He didn't start the engine immediately.

Instead, he pulled out his phone and opened the pinned chat.

"Elara, what do you want?"

"To think I actually believed you'd bribe a killer to put on this act with you."

"I don't know if you're crazy, or if I am..."

The message sent successfully.

He stared at the screen for a long time.

Her profile picture was their wedding photo from three years ago, never changed.

Just like his.

I stood outside the car window, looking at that chat window.

In three years, he had sent me over two hundred messages.

I hadn't replied to a single one.

Not because I didn't want to.

But because I couldn't.

He took a deep breath and started the car.

The convoy sped through the city in the dead of night, red and blue police lights flashing silently.

Their destination was Westwood.

I sat in the passenger seat, watching his white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel, and his jaw clenched tight.

I wanted to reach out and touch his face.

But my hand passed right through his body.

The cars drove onto the Westwood road, high beams illuminating the abandoned oak grove ahead.

Ethan's breathing hitched.

He remembered Marcus's last words.

"You know the place."

He knew.

Of course, he knew.

Under that tree, he had kissed me, and he had also betrayed me.

The convoy arrived at the oak grove. Several high-powered floodlights illuminated the old oak tree, making it look ghostly pale.

Ethan stood outside the crime scene tape, hands in his pockets, his expression cold.

Detective Dawson, his deputy, quietly asked, "Professor Vance, this... can it be true?"

"If they dig and find nothing, I'll personally interrogate Marcus and make him regret wasting my time."

Ethan's tone even carried a hint of disdain.

But I noticed that his position never strayed more than three steps from that tree.

The tech team began to dig.

He smoked cigarette after cigarette.

He hadn't smoked before. He only started after I disappeared. I remembered, when I was alive, he wouldn't even touch a lighter.

Half an hour later, a young Officer Kim shouted.

"We found something!"

Ethan's shoulders tensed suddenly. Instead of moving closer, he actually took half a step back.

From the mud, tweezers pulled out a broken metal watch strap.

Then, a shattered watch face.

The technician carefully flipped it over.

On the back of the watch face, two letters were engraved.

"E.R."

It was the twenty-fifth birthday gift he had given me.

He had spent two hours picking it out at the counter, his hands trembling when they engraved the letters.

Ethan's pupils constricted violently.

He turned his head away, not letting anyone see his expression.

Without a word, he turned and walked to his car.

He opened the door, got in, and closed it.

Cutting off all outside sounds.

I followed him into the car.

His hands were on the steering wheel, all ten fingers trembling.

"Impossible."

He mumbled to himself, his voice so faint that only I, a ghost, could hear it.

Three seconds later.

He slammed his fist onto the steering wheel.

The harsh blare of the horn pierced the stillness of the desolate night.

Then a second punch.

A third.

He stopped, gasping for air.

A memory suddenly flashed through his mind.

The night I disappeared three years ago, Seraphina Hayes came to him, her eyes red-rimmed.

She carefully, casually mentioned.

"Professor Vance, I think I saw Elara with a man getting into a car today..."

"It might have been a mistake, but she seemed to be wearing that watch you gave her."

At the time, he believed her.

Ethan sat motionless in the car, his body rigid like a statue.

I sat in the passenger seat, watching him.

The tide of memories surged, without warning.

Our first meeting was under that same old oak tree.

I was crouching on the ground, searching for a rare book I'd bought from a used book stall.

The wind was too strong, blowing the pages away.

He walked past and stepped on the book.

When he handed it to me, he adjusted his glasses, wearing a detached, academic air.

"History major? I have the original edition of this book. You can come get it if you want."

Only later did I learn.

For that casually delivered line, he had secretly borrowed the book from the university library three days in advance.

His way of pursuing me was also precisely in line with "criminal psychology."

He knew I went to the library every day at three in the afternoon.

So he would arrive at two fifty.

He knew I liked the window seat.

He would occupy the seat next to mine in advance.

I later asked him, "How long did you follow me to know me so well?"

He maintained a straight face and stubbornly said, "That's called target subject behavior pattern analysis."

I laughed, my eyes crinkling. "I love sunflowers because they always face the sun."

He didn't say anything then.

Two months later, a vast field of golden flowers had bloomed on the barren land behind the university.

He stood by the flower field, waiting for me, his face peeling from the sun.

When he saw me, he turned his head away, his words still just as stubborn.

"Just saw it passing by. Nothing to do with me."

The day he proposed.

He rented out the entire top-floor restaurant and memorized his lines for three days.

But the moment he stood before me, he forgot everything.

Stuttering, his face bright red, he finally managed to blurt out:

"Elara... let me... take care of you."

I smiled and said yes.

Blushing, he put the ring on my finger.

He put it on the wrong way.

Then, fumbling, he took it off and put it on again.

His hands trembled uncontrollably.

I thought of the clumsy, stubborn Ethan from my memories, the one who was clearly terrified but insisted on acting nonchalant.

A smile touched my lips, then slowly faded.

The Ethan in my memories was so wonderful.

So wonderful that I couldn't understand how he had changed later.

One day, in the second year of our marriage.

The doorbell rang.

Seraphina Hayes stood at the door, her hair in a ponytail, carrying a thick stack of research papers.

She shyly said, "Professor Vance, I'm your new graduate student, Seraphina Hayes."

Her gaze swept past Ethan's shoulder and landed on me.

I still remember that look.

It wasn't shyness, nor was it admiration.

It was an assessment. It was like she was examining something that belonged to someone else, calculating how to make it her own.

From that day on, my marriage began to crack, little by little.

And what I didn't know then was this:

The very night Seraphina first came to our house, she posted an update on her Ins.

The accompanying picture was a corner of Ethan's study.

She wrote: "New semester, new beginning."

Someone in the comments asked, "Where is this?"

She replied: "My future home."

Seraphina frequently entered and exited Ethan's study, using the excuse of "discussing research topics."

Sometimes I'd come home late from work and find her sitting in the living room, waiting for Ethan.

I had reminded Ethan to be mindful of boundaries.

He impatiently cut me off.

"She's just my student, can you stop being so suspicious?"

"Why are you so neurotic all of a sudden?"

I spent half a year compiling a collection of extremely valuable annotations for a rare historical manuscript.

I planned to give it to Ethan as a surprise on his birthday.

I knew he was writing a new textbook, and this material was the final piece he needed.

However, on Ethan's birthday.

Seraphina Hayes got ahead of me, put her name on this material, and presented it to Ethan as a "research report."

Ethan was greatly surprised.

In front of me, he praised Seraphina for "possessing rare academic talent."

I immediately pulled out my manuscript and confronted her.

Seraphina's eyes instantly welled up, her voice trembling.

"Elara, I didn't know you were working on this too..."

"I just wanted to help the professor so badly..."

"I'm sorry, it's my fault..."

As she spoke, tears streamed down her face.

Ethan looked at his weeping student on one side and me, angry, on the other.

He frowned and said something I remember to this day.

Something I will never forget, even in death.

"Elara, you're regressing. You can't even tolerate a student?"

"How much effort did she put into organizing this material, and you just claim it as yours?"

"Aren't you ashamed of how jealous you are of her? Your jealousy has made you unrecognizable."

I froze, the hand holding my manuscript trembling.

After that, I didn't say another word.

I placed the manuscript on the table, turned, walked into the bedroom, and packed a suitcase.

Ethan stood in the doorway, watching me, his face livid.

"If you leave, don't come back."

"Every time we argue, you pull this 'running away' stunt. You're thirty years old, isn't it annoying?"

I dragged my suitcase to the front door and looked back at him.

I wanted to say so many things.

In the end, I only managed.

"You owe me an apology."

"Ethan, when you understand what you've done, then come find me."

He didn't follow.

I waited for half a month, but I never got his apology.

What I got instead was a text message, sent by Seraphina pretending to be him.

And that address led to an abandoned factory.

My burial ground.

When I came to, it was already dawn.

Ethan hadn't gone home; he had sat in his car all night.

Suddenly, the car window was tapped forcefully by an Officer Kim.

"Professor Vance! Detective Dawson!"

His face was ecstatic, holding up a transparent evidence bag.

"We found it! We found crucial evidence!"