Novel & Cerita Harry Potter Mind Control

I am a doctor who specializes in treating infertility. People liked to joke and call me the "Life-Bringer." By day, I worked at the hospital, handling the toughest, most puzzling cases. By night, I used something called the Spirit Bride Rite, a long-lost ritual from ancient times to preserve a man's ability to have children, even after he had just passed. It was a method that went against nature and drained me dry, so I didn't take just any job. I worked for the wealthy. My starting fee was 600 thousand dollars. That day, I had barely taken a sip of champagne at a client's grandson's baby shower before an urgent request came in. If I counted right, this would be my 17th husband.

Nolan Shaw is the big shot on campus that everyone is intimidated by. He's also the guy I've been in love with for a while now. Out of nowhere, a new admirer of his pops out. She bears a striking resemblance to me. When I bring him his water, she beats me to it. When I write him a love letter, she tears it up. Finally, I muster up the courage to be honest with Nolan about my feelings—only for her to rush over and kick over the candles I prepared for the confession. That's when I finally lose my patience. "Just what on earth are you doing?" She ignores me and grabs Nolan's arm before saying, "I'll be frank with you. I'm actually here on a mission. You and Nolan will end up in a bitter marriage, hurting each other. So the system wants me to stop you two from being together." I don't believe a word she says, thinking that she's just lying to separate us. But at the very next second, I hear her thoughts. [Just what on earth did this scumbag do to make the 22-year-old Teresa fall so hopelessly in love with him? I bet she'll be heartbroken if she finds out that in the future, he'll find her boring and end up keeping 18 mistresses on the side. And after the divorce, he'll even make it hard for her to earn a living. She ends up dying of exhaustion, too!]

I suspected my husband was a detached ascetic. Every night, he'd skip to the backyard, muttering prayers under the stars instead of sharing our bed. When I slipped into something slinky, he'd frown and clutch his prayer beads like a lifeline. Now I was done with the cold shoulder, slapping a divorce agreement in his hands. That was when his thoughts started leaking into my head. "She touched me. Her hands are like silk. I'm dying to kiss her. When is she gonna be okay with me being a snake? I just want to cuddle her." "A snake?" I thought. "Does that mean he's packing two things? I have to find out." I leered at his chiseled frame, practically drooling. Before divorcing, I needed to test his things and my limits. I tripped purposefully and fell onto his toned pecs, ready to test the waters. "Whoops!" I gasped, setting the stage.

On the day of the SATs, all the students in the exam hall were asleep. The teachers did not just let them be, but they also told everyone not to write any answers. For the past ten years, every valedictorian in the city had mysteriously died on the very day their scores were released. The police conducted thorough investigations but found that all of them had died by suicide. Students across the city were gripped by fear. Some transferred to other schools, others dropped out. Some even deliberately underperformed on the exam. They were all equally terrified of becoming the top scorer and valedictorian. I was the only one who did not care. I was already at the bottom of my class. I would barely even qualify for a community college, let alone the SATs, which I had left completely blank. But to my surprise, when the results came out, I turned out to be the top scorer!

My husband's childhood sweetheart needed surgery, and he insisted that I be the one to operate on her. I followed every medical protocol, doing everything I could to save her. However, after she was discharged, she accused me of medical malpractice and claimed I’d left her permanently disabled. I turned to my husband, hoping he’d speak up for me, but he curtly said, “I told you not to act recklessly. Now look what’s happened.” To my shock, the hospital surveillance footage also showed that I hadn’t followed the correct surgical procedure. I couldn’t defend myself. In the end, I was stabbed to death by her super-alpha husband. Even as I died, I still couldn’t understand—how did the footage show my surgical steps were wrong? When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day Joanna was admitted for testing.

In my past life, I was trafficked and gave birth to a son. When Noah Barrett turns six, I plan to take him and escape from the mountains. On my first attempt, I map out the route in advance and prepare to flee with him. But in the morning, my mother-in-law, Ruth Whitaker, blocks me at the door. She ties me up and locks me inside the shed. Then, she starves me for three days. On my second try, I secretly buy sleeping pills from an unlicensed village doctor and slip them into dinner. At the table, Ruth flips the table without hesitation and beats me until I am half dead. The third time, I take advantage of a village meeting and escape with Noah again. We hide in a concealed mountain cave. Neither of us makes a sound, yet Ruth finds us with ease. I am dragged back and locked away in the pigpen. Ruth takes a shovel and strikes me with it again and again. "You filthy bitch. You dare run off with my precious grandson!" Her eyes are bloodshot. With the final blow, she uses all her strength and smashes the shovel into my head. I collapse to the ground. My consciousness fades. My blood drains away, and I die. When I open my eyes again, I am back on the day I plan to escape the mountains with Noah. Suddenly, I can hear Noah's thoughts, his voice clear and dripping with viciousness. "Mom can't be allowed to run. Grandma says Mom is our family's slave. She's supposed to serve us for her whole life."

After lights-out, I make my roommates play with an Ouija board with me. Being the scaredy-cat she is, my roommate decides to ask something stupid, "Where did my earphones go?" I almost burst out laughing. I can't believe she's using it to find her earphones. To our surprise, the planchette starts to move. It spells out, "It's under your bed beside the eye." We exchange glances in confusion. What eye? I snort and get out of bed. Using my phone's flashlight, I check under the bed. Nothing is there. Before I can make fun of my roommate for being superstitious, the door slams open. The student who stays next door barges into our room, her face as pale as a sheet. Her voice trembles as she shouts, "Wake up! Everyone on campus is going wild! Someone found an eyeball in our dorm!"

At my eighteenth birthday celebration, my cousin gave me a half-scratched lottery ticket as a coming-of-age gift. When he realized I'd won twenty dollars, he suddenly demanded to buy the ticket from me for two hundred thousand. Something about it felt wrong, and I refused. Then he snapped. Like a man gone mad, he cursed me, wishing me dead, and in front of all the guests, shoved me off the balcony. Dozens of people watched, including my own parents, silently condoning him—joining in, shouting that I deserved to die. And then I opened my eyes… and I was back half an hour earlier. My cousin sneered, tossing the lottery ticket toward me, speaking the same familiar words.

This is the seventh year of my arranged marriage to Frank Jackson, yet he is constantly seeing other women. Because of that, I become known in our circle as the ever-tolerant wife. Everyone is watching and waiting to see when a mistress will finally replace me. But when I unexpectedly get pregnant, I hear a furious voice screaming at me from my belly in my mind. "Mommy, are you some holy saint? In your past life, you kept tolerating everything. That was exactly why my scumbag dad's mistress drove you out and left you for dead on the streets! "That vile woman is practically trampling all over you. How can you not fight back? Slap her! While you're at it, give my fool of a dad a good slap, too! The more you tolerate, the more people push their luck. You need to stand up for yourself and divorce that scumbag!" I swallow nervously, but my hand is already itching to act. Maybe I should try doing what the baby says...

Harry DuBois is the name everyone knows. At 6'4", sharply dressed, with silver at his temples and a velvet voice, he commands attention the moment he enters a room. Owner of DuBois Fine Arts & Jazz Lounge, the town’s cultural heartbeat, he offers a haven for music, poetry, and taste. Women adore him, men envy him, and all assume he’s living the dream. But Harry is haunted. Beneath success lies a past that won’t let him go, a tragedy he never speaks of. For Harry, love isn’t just risky, it’s dangerous. He’s a single father to Naomi, his teenage daughter, the only light he’s allowed to stay. Yet even with her, there are walls. When new art curator Elena Rivera arrives from New York to partner with his lounge on a revival series, a celebration of Black art, music, and history. Harry is drawn to someone he hasn’t been with in decades. But Elena has secrets, and she’s starting to notice cracks in Harry’s perfect image. As past and present collide, Harry is forced to confront the pain he has buried for over 25 years. A love lost, a betrayal unforgiving, and a night that changed everything. The question is: can Harry finally allow himself to feel again, or will the past claim him once and for all?