The Professor’s Secret Bride

Pieces of a Puzzle

Ivy’s curiosity refused to fade, growing sharper with each passing hour. Every time she tried to focus on something else—class assignments, dinner, even scrolling aimlessly on her phone—her thoughts returned to Dr. Crowe and his cryptic warnings. It was as though his words had lodged themselves in her mind, an unrelenting echo urging her to uncover the truth.

After her strange encounter in the library, she found herself restless and distracted. By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple, she was seated at her desk, the glow of her laptop casting shadows on her bedroom walls. Her fingers flew across the keyboard, searching, probing, digging.

She wasn’t entirely sure what she was looking for. There was no clear objective, no well-defined question. She only knew that something about Dr. Crowe didn’t add up, and she wasn’t the kind of person who could ignore a mystery once it presented itself. So she started with the basics: articles about Whitmore University, faculty profiles, student forums, anything that might hold a clue.

At first, her searches were frustratingly mundane. Dr. Sebastian Crowe appeared to be exactly who Whitmore’s official records claimed he was: a celebrated scholar of philosophy, known for his sharp intellect and reclusive nature. The university website was practically a shrine to his achievements, listing awards, published works, and lectures. He had been a part of Whitmore’s faculty for nearly a decade, and his students—at least the ones who posted on public forums—seemed to regard him with a mix of admiration and fear.

But Ivy wasn’t satisfied with the surface-level narrative. The more she read, the more questions she had. A peculiar unease prickled at the back of her mind, urging her to dig deeper. And the deeper she dug, the more inconsistencies she uncovered.

There was the article from seven years ago, for instance, which celebrated Dr. Crowe’s groundbreaking dissertation. But when Ivy clicked the link to read the full document, she was met with a “404 Not Found” error. She frowned and tried another source, but it, too, led nowhere. Then there were the faculty spotlights on Whitmore’s website. They detailed his research interests and listed several publications—but half of the citations were mysteriously unavailable or incomplete. Even his academic background was oddly vague. The website mentioned that he had studied at a prestigious European university, but there were no specific details, no easily verifiable credentials.

Ivy leaned closer to the screen, her brow furrowed. It was as though someone had carefully edited the narrative of his life, erasing certain pieces while leaving just enough to appear convincing. The realization sent a shiver down her spine. Who would go to such lengths to obscure his past? And more importantly, why?

Just as she was about to close her laptop in frustration, she stumbled upon something that made her pause. It was an old student archive, buried deep in the recesses of Whitmore’s online community. The post, dated five years ago, wasn’t particularly noteworthy on its own—just a collection of photos from campus events. But one of the images caught Ivy’s eye.

The grainy photograph depicted a group of students posing in front of one of Whitmore’s older, ivy-covered buildings. They were smiling, their arms slung around one another in the carefree way of people who hadn’t yet been burdened by life’s complications. At the edge of the group, almost out of frame, stood a familiar figure: Dr. Crowe.

But this wasn’t the Dr. Crowe she knew.

The man in the photo looked younger, his face less lined and his expression softer. He wasn’t wearing the stern, detached mask she had come to associate with him. Instead, he looked relaxed, almost happy. His arm was slung casually around a woman with dark hair and a radiant smile.

Ivy’s heart raced as she read the caption: Whitmore Philosophy Society, 2017.

She stared at the image, her mind racing with questions. Who was the woman? A colleague? A friend? A lover? And why did Dr. Crowe seem like a completely different person?

Her gaze lingered on the woman’s smile, so warm and genuine that it seemed to leap off the screen. Something about her presence felt significant, though Ivy couldn’t quite explain why. Was she the key to understanding who Dr. Crowe really was? And if so, what had happened to her?

As Ivy sat back in her chair, the weight of her discovery settled over her. The Dr. Crowe in the photograph was a stark contrast to the enigmatic figure she’d encountered in the library, the one who had warned her to tread carefully. It was as if the man in the photo and the man she knew now were two entirely different people.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, unsure of what to do next. She felt as though she were standing on the edge of a precipice, staring down into a void filled with unanswered questions. Should she keep digging? Or had she already gone too far?

A nagging voice in the back of her mind urged caution, reminding her of Dr. Crowe’s warning: Some questions are better left unanswered. But Ivy wasn’t one to back down from a challenge. If anything, his cryptic words only fueled her determination. There was a story here, and she was going to uncover it, no matter the cost.

Taking a deep breath, she began typing again, this time searching for anything related to the Whitmore Philosophy Society. She combed through yearbooks, newsletters, and archived event schedules, hoping to find more clues about the group—and the woman in the photo.

But her efforts yielded little. The Philosophy Society seemed to have dissolved shortly after 2017, with no official explanation. The few mentions she did find were brief and unremarkable, offering no insight into its members or activities. It was as though the society had vanished, leaving behind only faint traces of its existence.

Frustrated but undeterred, Ivy decided to broaden her search. She typed in Dr. Crowe’s name again, pairing it with keywords like “2017” and “scandal.” The results were sparse, but one link caught her attention: a forum thread titled “Crowe Scandal or Coincidence?”

Her pulse quickened as she clicked the link. The thread was old and poorly moderated, filled with speculation and half-baked theories. But one post stood out. It mentioned a professor at Whitmore who had taken an abrupt leave of absence in 2017 following a “tragic incident.” The post was vague, offering no concrete details, but the timing aligned with the photo.

Ivy’s mind whirled. Was the “tragic incident” related to the woman in the picture? Had something happened to her that had changed Dr. Crowe so profoundly? The thought sent a chill down her spine.

As she closed her laptop for the night, Ivy couldn’t shake the feeling that she was onto something much bigger than she had anticipated. Dr. Crowe’s life was a puzzle, and she had only just begun to piece it together. But one thing was certain: she wasn’t ready to stop now.