13.0
The glass door of the prison visitation room slammed shut.
He didn’t even have time to consider if Seraphina’s words were true or false before he stormed out of the prison like a madman, starting his car while calling his assistant.
“Find out! I want a list of every passenger of Asian descent who departed from nearby ports on the day the ‘Seagull’ went down in Somali waters! Spare no expense!”
Three days later, an email arrived.
The email contained only a name and a flight ticket screenshot: a woman strikingly similar to Elara had boarded a flight from Djibouti Port to Zurich, Switzerland, the day after the maritime disaster.
The plane sliced through the clouds, finally landing at Zurich airport.
Dax wandered the streets like a ghost, without purpose.
As he walked out of a store, carrying a music box he had just bought, a heavy snow blanketed the
entire city.
A familiar silhouette stood ten meters away, under the eaves of a coffee shop, opening a black umbrella. Her waist-length hair was blown by the wind.
She was dressed exactly like how she loved to dress, just as he remembered.
“Elara!”
Elara was really alive!
He was about to chase after her, but the figure got into a car and disappeared into the vast snowfall.
Dax hailed a taxi and instructed, “To Elara’s family’s old estate by Lake Zurich.”
Inside the car, Elara’s face was pale, her hands cold from tension.
She had heard it. Dax’s voice. She didn’t know how Dax had found her here.
But his appearance, for her, was a new disaster.
At this thought, Elara quickly dialed the estate’s number.
“Aunt, Dax is here. He knows I’m alive!”‘
A warm voice came from the other end of the line.
“Don’t worry. I’m here. I won’t let him harm you again.”
Outside the old estate, Elara’s aunt blocked Dax at the iron gate.
“Mr. Lu, please at least make up a believable story. You keep saying Elara is alive, but where’s the proof? Where is it?”
Dax’s expression shifted slightly. He quickly handed her the flight ticket screenshot with the photo.
In the photo, the woman who looked exactly like Elara wore sunglasses, walking through the security checkpoint with her head down.
But Elara’s aunt remained unmoved, her eyes cold.
“Mr. Lu, I don’t know why you’re clinging to the illusion that Elara is alive, but the person in this photo is not her.”
“Besides, didn’t you give up on her long ago?”
The words Dax wanted to say were stuck in his throat: “I…”
Elara’s aunt finished speaking, then turned and closed the door.
Dax instinctively tried to follow, but the heavy gate slammed shut.
He recalled the silhouette that vanished in the wind and snow.
No, he couldn’t be mistaken; that was Elara.
