Alexandria slipped into the room, silent as a ghost. She hovered in the doorway, watching Callahan’s trembling shoulders and the diary gripped tightly in his hands.

A flash of jealousy flickered in her eyes, but she banked it instantly, replacing it with a fragile, tear-stricken mask.

"Callahan… Maya’s just overwhelmed," she whispered, her voice trembling. "She probably went for a drive to clear her head, that’s all. She’ll be back soon."

"Clear her head?" Callahan spun around, eyes bloodshot, voice raw. "She took the separation papers and the annulment agreement to clear her head?"

He stalked toward her, his gaze razor-sharp. For the first time, he looked at the woman he’d once shielded with cold, scrutinizing judgment—and felt something dangerously close to contempt.

"I’m asking you about the industrial freezer. The car accident. The injuries you claimed to have." He enunciated every word, his tone ice-cold. "Alexandria, look me in the eye and tell me: have you really not lied to me once?"

Alexandria went pale, instinctively stepping back as tears streamed down her face.

"Callahan… are you questioning me? Even you don’t believe me anymore?"

"Callahan!"

Martha Cole burst into the room, shielding Alexandria behind her, glaring at Callahan with open hostility.

"How could you talk to her like that! Maya chose to leave on her own—what does that have to do with Alexandria? She’s just emotionally unstable and overly dramatic; who else could she possibly blame?"

Callahan looked at the "mother and daughter" clinging to each other, then at Peter Cole standing in the doorway. Peter looked as though he wanted to intervene, but he ultimately turned his gaze away.

It all felt like a sick, twisted farce.

For five years, what kind of charade had he been living?

What had he done to the woman who truly loved him? The woman who waited for him for five years, only for him to drive her into a breakdown with his own hands?

"Get out," he said, pointing at the door. His voice was devoid of warmth. "Everyone. Get out."

Martha was startled by the raw intensity in his eyes. She opened her mouth to argue, but Peter pulled her back. With a complicated look at the frantic-looking Callahan, Peter sighed and led the sobbing Alexandria and the disgruntled Martha out of the room.

The door clicked shut.

Callahan slumped against the wall, sliding down to the floor. He clutched the ultrasound scan and the diary so tightly his knuckles turned white.

Suddenly, a realization struck him. He fumbled for his phone and dialed a number.

"It’s me. I need you to pull the security footage from the Hillcrest villa complex and every traffic camera along the route from the detention center to the Cole residence this afternoon. Yes, now. Immediately!"

His voice was jagged with urgency and panic. He paced the empty room like a trapped beast, his chest tight enough to burst.

He had never felt such sheer terror—not even when the Meyer Group faced its greatest crisis and stood on the brink of bankruptcy.

Every second of waiting was agony.

At 2:00 AM, the phone finally rang.

"Mr. Meyer, we found it. Ms. Cole left the villa alone with her suitcase around 5:00 PM today. She stood at the gate for about three minutes, looked back once, and then climbed into a hired car. The plate number is—"

"Where was she headed!" Callahan demanded.

"—The international airport, for a flight to Canada."

Callahan’s mind went blank.

He grabbed his keys and bolted. The late-night streets were deserted, and he floored the accelerator, racing toward the terminal.

The airport was still bright and bustling. He rushed to the service desk, flashed his ID, and demanded the passenger list for all international departures. The manager on duty was intimidated by his bloodshot eyes and terrifying intensity; he didn’t dare stall, immediately assisting with the search.

"Mr. Meyer, tonight… actually, just hours ago, there was only one flight to Canada. It departed at 9:40 PM, a direct flight to Toronto. On the passenger manifest… there is a Maya Cole."