Chapter 413: Missing Without a Trace
Charles's heart felt as though it was being crushed by an invisible hand, the pain so intense he could barely breathe.
"Emily..." he murmured, walking step by step toward the wreckage. He approached the twisted metal, staring at the charred seats, the blackened frame, the dried pool of blood on the ground.
His gaze fell on the passenger seat—where Emily had been sitting.
Charles reached out, wanting to touch the burnt seat, but his hand trembled in midair, unable to descend.
He didn't dare.
He was afraid that one touch would confirm his worst fear.
An officer approached, his expression grave. "Are you family?"
Charles slowly turned his head, his eyes hollow. "I'm... her husband."
The officer sighed. "Sir, I'm sorry for your loss. The scene was... catastrophic. Simon Johnson and Kate Brown's remains were so badly burned... they're unrecognizable. We can only confirm identities through DNA testing."
"What about Emily?" Charles asked, his voice carrying one last thread of hope. "Where... where is she?"
The officer fell silent for a moment. "When we arrived at the scene, we only found two bodies. Emily is... missing. But given the circumstances, the chances of her survival are... very slim."
"That's impossible!" Charles seized the officer's shoulders. "She must be alive! Keep searching! Search again!"
"Mr. Windsor, please calm down. We've already searched the surrounding area—there's no trace of Emily. And... the passenger seat was severely burned. If she was in the car at the time..."
The officer didn't finish, but the implication was clear.
If Emily had been in the car, she would have burned to death.
Charles released his grip, staggering back two steps.
His gaze returned to the scorched vehicle, to the blackened seats, to the pool of blood on the ground.
Emily...
His Emily...
The woman who had once smiled and said, "Charles, I love you." The woman who had nestled in his arms. The woman who had borne him three children...
Gone? Just like that?
"No... it can't be..." Charles whispered as tears finally fell.
He had never cried before.
Not in his darkest moments, not when the virus ravaged his body, not even when he'd learned he had only years to live.
But now, he wept.
Tears poured out like a broken dam.
"Emily... I'm sorry... I'm so sorry!" He collapsed to his knees, hands covering his face, shoulders shaking violently.
Nathan stood nearby, watching Charles break down, staring at the two charred vehicles, at the pool of Kate's blood on the ground.
His own tears fell silently.
Kate...
He hadn't even gotten to see her one last time.
He hadn't even said goodbye.
"Kate..." Nathan murmured, dropping to his knees and grabbing a handful of scorched earth, clutching it tightly.
That dirt held Kate's blood.
Kate's life.
Nathan raised his head, tears streaking his face, but his eyes were as cold as poisoned blades. "The Rivera family. It must be the Riveras. I'll make them... pay in blood."
Charles stood, wiping the tears from his face.
His eyes had regained clarity, but all that remained in that clarity was murderous intent.
"Nathan."
"Sir."
"Spread the word. Starting today, the Windsor Group makes its move. The Riveras touched Emily. They killed Kate. They will pay the price."
Nathan looked at Charles's icy profile and nodded. "Yes, I'll see to it immediately."
Charles looked once more at the burned vehicles, at the pool of blood.
Emily. Kate. Simon...
I'm sorry. I failed to protect you.
But this time, I swear—I won't let anyone harm those I care about ever again.
Everyone who hurt you will pay a thousandfold.
Even if... it costs me my life.
"Mr. Windsor." A man in black approached, speaking quietly. "We found this at the scene."
He held out an object.
A charred, broken pendant.
Charles took it, his fingers gently tracing the blackened surface.
It was the sapphire necklace Emily's mother had left her.
Now it was scorched and broken—just like their love.
He whispered, pressing the pendant to his chest, "Emily... wherever you are, whether you're alive or dead, I will find you."
"And if... if you're truly gone."
Charles closed his eyes, his voice raw and resolute: "I'll make the entire Rivera family your funeral offering."
The sun set, its dying light bathing the crash site in crimson, gilding the blackened wreckage in blood-red hues.
Like a memorial. Like a prophecy.
A storm of blood and vengeance was coming.
And Emily—where was she?
Alive? Dead?
No one knew.
Only that scorched pendant in Charles's hand gleamed with cold, desperate light.
Three years later. Eldoria, Angrboda. A private estate.
The morning mist hadn't fully lifted yet. Sunlight filtered through the tall oak trees, casting dappled shadows on the damp grass. The air carried the scent of earth, grass, and faint floral notes—mixed with something else, something metallic, like the ghost of rust.
Deep within the estate lay an expansive flower garden. It held rare blooms of every variety: voluptuous roses, aloof irises, bold sunflowers, and mysterious dark magic lilies. The colors were vivid, almost unnatural—meticulously cultivated into something beautiful and vaguely sinister.
At the center of the garden stood a white gazebo. Beneath it, a woman bent over a black tulip, carefully trimming its stem with a small pair of gardening shears.
She wore a simple white linen dress, barefoot, her long hair loosely pinned back with a few strands falling across her cheek. Sunlight fell on her, outlining a slender but upright silhouette. Her movements were slow, focused—as if the plant in her hands wasn't a flower, but something priceless.
Three years seemed to have left little mark on her face. Her skin was still flawless, her features still exquisitely refined. But upon closer inspection, the differences were there.
Those eyes—once full of love, clear as water—were now bottomless pools. Calm. Cold. Unmoved.
Occasionally, the wind would lift her hair, revealing a faint scar on the side of her neck, winding downward and disappearing beneath her collar.
Her lips were habitually pressed into a thin line, no longer holding that warm smile. She was like a statue carved from jade—beautiful, but radiating an unapproachable chill.
She was Emily.
Or rather, the Emily who had risen from the ashes.