Three Years Dead, His Regret

To cover their crime, they spread lies—claiming I had tried to seduce the president for tenure, then disappeared in shame.

Three years passed in a blur.

With my stolen thesis, Vanessa secured a faculty position.

Her true motive for killing me wasn’t only plagiarism—it was also to steal Daniel away.

Now they were married.

With his father-in-law’s support, Daniel was promoted to Associate Professor, the youngest in the entire university, basking in his undeserved glory.

Behind his back, however, colleagues sneered, calling him “a shameless opportunist” and “a kept man.”

The adulterous pair arrived at the scene where my body had been found.

Vanessa, guilty and fearful, dared not approach.

Daniel stepped closer, took one look at my remains—and vomited violently.

“Professor Brooks, we heard you and the victim were once engaged. What was your relationship like?”

“The victim disappeared three years ago. Why didn’t you report it? Instead, you married someone else?”

“Now that Emily Carter’s body has been discovered, what do you have to say?”

The officers fired questions relentlessly, suspicion thick in their voices.

In many past cases, when one partner is murdered, the other is often the prime suspect.

Naturally, Daniel was at the top of their list.

Hearing the implication, Daniel erupted like a wronged man in an old tragedy.

“What do you mean? You suspect me? You think I could kill someone?”

“I’m a PhD who studied abroad!”

“I’m an intellectual! This is an insult to my integrity!”

“I don’t know why Emily died, but it has nothing to do with me! I always thought she had just disappeared!”

“Besides, our relationship was already strained before she vanished. She was too sensitive, always paranoid—it exhausted me! Since when is breaking up a crime?”

Vanessa joined in, feigning outrage.

“Yeah! Are you trying to pin this crime on us just because you can’t solve it?”

“That bitch’s death has nothing to do with Daniel!”

“They were already breaking up! I wasn’t some mistress—we were in a real relationship!”

But she was lying.

She had known all along, shameless and vile.

“That woman wanted tenure and tried to sleep with my dad. He rejected her, and she stormed out. Who knows if she had some secret lover outside? Maybe she was killed during an affair!”

“Oh, and three years ago, the athletic field was under renovation. A lot of construction workers were there. Those men were desperate, you know—maybe they did it! Used her, killed her, then buried her!”

Having regained her composure, Vanessa worked hard to clear her name and mislead the investigation.

Back then, when father and daughter decided to bury me under the track, it was partly because the site was hidden and safer than disposing of my body elsewhere.

But also because, if suspicion ever arose, they could blame the transient construction workers.

Those laborers were hard to track, often moving across the country with incomplete records.

The police could never realistically identify each one.

Without concrete evidence, the officers could only question them routinely.

Just as they were about to take my remains to the forensic center for further autopsy, a furious shout pierced the air.

“You bastard! You killed Ms. Carter!”

“You heartless traitor!”

A handsome young man broke through the crowd and punched Daniel squarely in the nose.