Dennis froze, his voice carrying a raspy edge of disbelief. “That’s impossible! We had plans to celebrate her birthday. How could
something like this happen to her?”
The assistant’s face was heavy with an unspoken complexity as he murmured, “Mr. Malcolm, the crew said your wife boarded the
yacht alone. She seemed… upset. After that…”
“Impossible!” Dennis cut him off, his voice rising, sharp and frayed. “I don’t believe it! Why would she go alone? Why didn’t the
crew call me?”
The assistant hesitated, then cautiously replied, “Sir, the crew tried calling you all night, but… your phone was turned off.”
Dennis’s gaze snapped down to his phone. The screen was dark. His fingers fumbled to press the power button. As the device
booted up, his eyes shifted to Camille, cold and piercing. “Did you turn it off?”
Camille flinched briefly but quickly composed herself. “Dennis, why would I do that? Maybe it shut down by accident, or the
battery died. You can’t blame me for this,” she said, her voice tinged with contrived innocence and a hint of grievance.
Dennis ignored her entirely. Without another word, he bolted toward the pier.
He ran full tilt, the desperation etched into his features betraying the guilt and unease roiling inside him.
By the time he reached the dock, the yacht had already returned. Police officers were speaking with the crew.
A solemn–faced officer approached him. “Mr. Malcolm, we couldn’t find your wife onboard. Based on the crew’s statements and
security footage, it’s clear she jumped into the water on her own. Unfortunately, the waters in that area are treacherous, and any
search efforts may prove fruitless.”
“She jumped?” Dennis’s voice faltered, his words hardly audible. His eyes lost focus. “That’s not possible… She wouldn’t…”
