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The Mystery of My Wife's (Faked) Death
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In the late stages of her pregnancy, my wife slipped away into the mountains with her childhood sweetheart, seeking some reckless thrill under the open sky. Fate, however, had other plans. She suffered a massive hemorrhage, and the two were rushed to the hospital. As a doctor, I took one glance at her condition and instructed the nurse to prepare for the cremation. In my previous life, I had risked everything to save her. On that very operating table, she and the child inside her perished together. Her childhood sweetheart, overcome with grief and fury, rallied others to accuse me of seeking personal revenge. Their rage was relentless, and they broke my hands. "A butcher like you, without medical ethics, deserves nothing less than eternal damnation!" they shouted, their words burning like brands on my soul. Yet I distinctly remembered—the surgery had been a success. Her vital signs had stabilized. Clinging to hope, I begged my in-laws to conduct an autopsy, to uncover the truth buried beneath the accusations. Instead, they called the police, who swiftly charged me with performing surgery under the influence of alcohol. Stripped of my rights, I was thrown into prison, where suffering became my only companion. Years later, upon release, I stumbled across a sight that tore what was left of my heart to shreds—my wife, alive and well, behind the wheel of a luxury car, accompanied by her childhood sweetheart and their child, living off the fortune I had worked tirelessly to build. Their betrayal didn't end there. Coldly and methodically, they lured me into a trap, casting me into a cement mixer to erase every trace of my existence. When I next opened my eyes, time had rewound itself. I was back on that fateful day, the one when her hemorrhage began.
Voir plusChapitre 1
Chapter 1
I walk the streets among the mortals, cold winds whipping snow flakes into my face as I scour the street. I pick up a barrage of interesting scents. I catch fear, anger, misery, lust, envy even. I can work with these, any of these. I'm starving. I feel particularly ravenous today. I want blood today. I need it. My body aches as the hunger intensifies. I want quick, easy prey.
"Are you tired Henry? Do you hurt?"
"Yes. I'm sick. I have been for a while. I-I think I'm dying. Who are you?"
"I'm God, Henry. I've heard your plights and seen your suffering. I come to make you whole, to bring you home, Henry." He staggers towards me and I materialize and kneel to his height.
"I knew you would come. I knew you hadn't forgotten me. I prayed..." He falls to his knees and sobs. "I prayed every day for the past seven years. Even on the streets, I never lost faith in you." I scoop him up and hold him to me.
"I would never forget you. I love all my children. Each is special." He hugs me and I grin. I run my talons through his hair, his head is down so he does not see what I really am. I lull him into a peaceful, blank state and he melts into my body. His anguish and misery travels through my finger tips and thrums into my veins. Delicious. I keep him tranced, while I finish. I lean into his neck, and I drink him dry in less than a minute. I hear his last thoughts in my mind, as his life fades.
"I'm coming home Lorna. I'll see you again in the kingdom of God. I'll hold you once more in the golden streets. I'll never suffer again. I'll never be hungry..."
"And neither will I." I drop him gently to the ground. "Thanks for your service, Henry." That relieved the worst of my hunger, but still it lingers. I feel unsatisfied, unsettled. I leave the alley and continue walking the busy street. I'm not sure exactly what I'm looking for, but I'll know when I find it I suppose.
My body hums as I read the energy around me. I take it all in. The lustful glances of women as they take me in, eyes lingering south. I wink at them mischievously and their weak litt li e hearts thud faster. I don't want them though. I had a woman yesterday. I need something more. I don't even know what I want. I'm restless. I see men look up to me uncomfortably, they can sense it, but what no idea why they are put off by me. It's the body's natural response to danger. Street vendors emit their positive, hopeful aura as they present themselves to me as I pass in hopes to gain a customer. An old lady smiles softly at me, glasses falling down her nose as her husband wheels her into a baby boutique. I can feel her joy radiating. She's about to meet her first grandbaby. She can't believe at her age she survived cancer, to see her first grandchild.
"Oh!" I hear the old man exclaim in shock as the wheelchair catches on a large crack in concrete. I stand to watch the show for a moment, others have yet to notice. The woman is thrown onto her knees as the chair spills over. The old man trips in his angst to get to his wife. Nobody slows down. Nobody bats an eye.
A quick flash of emerald green catches my eye and I watch as a young woman with green hair rushes to their aid. The man is back on his feet, and the woman lifts the grandma up, into her chair with ease.
"Get off me. Freak." The ungrateful grandma scolds the woman. The woman lowers her head and saunters off. Not even dignifying the insult with a response. I quickly tap into her thoughts and I quickly learned that she had spilled her lunch in fright as she ran to help the ingrates. Her belly growls and I stalk her from a distance as she retreats. This girl is interesting. Her mind is utter chaos, her demeanor soft and helpful.
The light grey leggings she's wearing display a sizable, plump ass and thick legs as she bounds away. Her shoes are flat heeled boots that lace. A practical woman, I muse. A chunky cream sweater obscures the top half of her figure from view. She turns into a department store and I follow her in, quickly making myself invisible to the naked eye as I step behind her while she clocks in at the kiosk. Her hair raises and she whips back, looking through me in confusion. Green lined eyes wide. The action amuses me, and I brush her hair with the faintest touch. She squeals and does the motions one would after walking through a spider web.
Composing herself, she gallops to the back and begins loading boxes onto the cart to stock. I watch her as she easily lifts the heavy boxes with little effort. A strong, sturdy little creature this. one. She rolls her cart out, stepping infront of it, pressing her full bottom into the door to hold it as she guides the cart through with her arms. She bounces on her feet behind the cart again in a show of victory. My grin widens. There is something about her that just draws you in.
I watch her for hours, occassionally toying with her, enjoying the surprise I can elicit. She sticks dutifully, ignoring horny customers who heckle her and an asshole boss who has jumped her for as little as nothing. I contemplate what to do as I watch her. What do I need from her? What is it about her that I desire. Obviously, her body. There's something more though, something I cannot quite pinpoint. She snaps me back to reality as I hear her shuffle away. It is dark outside now as she clocks out to leave. I, of course, follow her home. It'll be a fun night for us.
Dernier chapitre
The Mystery of My Wife's (Faked) Death Chapter 9
The flood of online comments poured in relentlessly, one after another, their venom unmistakable even through the screen. [And those vile in-laws—have old people always been this wicked, or is this a new development?][Even a tiger doesn't eat its cubs! That woman is a disgrace to the sacred name of 'mother'—her death is far too lenient!][Curse this entire family to reincarnate as beasts in their next lives!] Reading these vitriolic words, I couldn't help but recall the past life where the tide of public outrage had turned against me instead. A bitter smile tugged at my lips. To let Clara escape so easily through death—how laughably merciful I was. No, she didn't deserve such a simple end. She should have lived on. Only by staying alive could she taste the full extent of the anguish and despair I had endured in my previous life. As for Simon, his punishment for "intentional framing" resulted in a five-year prison sentence. While that was only a third of the suffering I had
The Mystery of My Wife's (Faked) Death Chapter 8
"It's easy for him to make baseless accusations. It's not like my poor dead Clara could defend herself at this point," Georgie spat.I chuckled. "Georgie, don't get so worked up just yet. Let's wait until Leslie presents all the evidence. If you still have questions then, feel free to ask." Leslie remained unaffected by the outburst, proceeding methodically to reveal the second piece of evidence: a surveillance recording from the cameras installed in my home. The footage was clear and damning, showing Clara pouring vodka into the bottle of nutritional supplement. As the recording played, the expressions on Simon's and my in-laws' faces grew darker with each passing second. Still clinging to his defiance, Simon gritted his teeth and said, "If it really was Clara, why would she do it so blatantly under surveillance? And why wouldn't she delete the footage afterward? Wasn't she afraid you'd discover it?"I scoffed. "Because she knew I never check the surveillance footage at home.
The Mystery of My Wife's (Faked) Death Chapter 7
"Ben, if you had confessed earlier, perhaps this matter wouldn't have blown up on the internet. In the press conference later, you'd better show some genuine remorse. Who knows? Maybe you'll win a shred of public sympathy," Simon said sarcastically. I didn't respond. I merely observed him with a cold detachment. Inside, though, I was laughing—darkly, bitterly.Last time, in the life I left behind, Clara and Simon had orchestrated the same scheme. They used the internet to ruin me, dragging my name through the mud until I became a pariah. Every whisper of scandal they manufactured clung to me like oil, ensuring my social and professional annihilation. Not content with my public disgrace, they also pressured the courts, leaving me with a harsh prison sentence. Even behind bars, the nightmare continued. Fellow inmates despised me; the guards turned a blind eye to my suffering. By the end, I was hollow, barely human. Not this time. This time, I would make sure the poison they ha
The Mystery of My Wife's (Faked) Death Chapter 6
The police escorted me to have my blood tested. During the wait for the results, my mother-in-law unexpectedly approached me and sat down beside me. Her tone had shed the sharpness of the morning, replaced by an unusual warmth and sincerity. "Ben," she began softly, "listen to me. Before the results come out, confess voluntarily. About Clara and the baby—I know you didn't mean for things to turn out this way." Her voice faltered for a moment before steadying. "Don't worry. As long as you confess, your father-in-law and I will write a letter of forgiveness for you." I turned to look at her, my eyes searching hers. Her plea echoed words she'd spoken in another lifetime—another me, another her, before the results had come back. Back then, I was frantic but steadfast in my refusal to admit to something I hadn't done. I knew I hadn't been drinking and trusted that the test would clear me. This time, my resolve was even stronger. But there was a question gnawing at me now that ha
The Mystery of My Wife's (Faked) Death Chapter 4
I quickly spotted something suspicious. Pointing at the issuing institution on the death certificate, I said calmly, "Simon, the patient passed away in our hospital. The death certificate should have been issued by us. Even if you distrust this hospital, you'd at least need to consult another top-ti
The Mystery of My Wife's (Faked) Death Chapter 3
The pale, lifeless figure of Clara lay on the bed before me, her face ashen and still. My chest tightened involuntarily at the sight. For years, I had treated her like a precious gem, indulging her every whim and desire. Yet, for Simon, she had faked her death and turned her schemes against me wit
The Mystery of My Wife's (Faked) Death Chapter 2
The surge of anger that had erupted within me burned away any restraint. Without thinking, I stormed forward to confront the woman who had single-handedly ruined my life. But instead, I found myself overpowered—pushed into a cement pool by Clara and Simon. The suffocating sensation of cement flood
The Mystery of My Wife's (Faked) Death Chapter 1
"Dr. Kingsley, an emergency case just came in—severe hemorrhage in a pregnant woman. Please head to the operating room immediately." The voice of the on-call nurse jolted me, sending a chill down my spine. I turned to glance at the electronic clock in the hospital corridor. It was the exact time
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