Infected Regretevator Novels & Stories

at least not in front of everyone. "Well, let's put it this way. You were almost beastified. The work of the virus serum is to attack and subdue the infected cell. In your case, you are not infected, so it gave you an adverse reaction, attacked your system and tried to turn you into what it was supposed to suppress. Rather than being beastified, in defence, your regenerative genes adapted the beast. You're not Beast-bound, it's more like the beast is bound to you." Corvin let the information settle for a while.

We went. The precinct on West 35th smelled of burnt coffee and floor cleaner and the fluorescent lights made everything look slightly worse than it probably was. Jane and I sat across from an investigator in a small windowless room and he walked us through what had been found on Andre's personal computer in a professional manner that showed he'd done this countless times. He turned the screen toward us.

"That would be hard to explain to the press. Billionaire assaults ex-wife. Not great for stock prices." One of the men stepped forward. He was huge—easily six-foot-four, with hands that had broken bones before. "We don't need to hurt you, Miss Vance. Just take the device." I smiled. "You can't take what you can't find." I had already pressed send. Julian's phone buzzed. Then the second man's phone. Then the third. Julian pulled it out. His face drained of color. On his screen was a notification: "FILE RECEIVED: EVIDENCE_PACKAGE_THORNE.zip from unknown server."

Thousands of medical files flooded Leo’s screen. He ran a keyword search: Cole, Zara. Zero results. Leo frowned. He tried another search: Blackwood, Julian. Project: Venice. One result found. Leo clicked the file. It was a heavily redacted research paper authored by a Monarch bio-engineer. Leo read the executive summary. As his eyes scanned the text, the blood completely drained from his face. The temperature in the server room seemed to plummet. Project Venice Summary: Transdermal delivery of synthetic retrovirus. Triggered by sudden influx of human chorionic gonadotropin (HCG) hormones. Mortality rate upon activation: 100% within 14 days without administration of three-stage counter-serum.

“As his wife. You’re still legally married until the annulment goes through. You have rights to marital assets.” My stomach turned. “I don’t want anything from him.” “Then don’t take it,” she said. “Just get the records. Copy them. Give them to us.” “Okay,” I whispered. “Okay. I’ll do it.” Ms. Reyes exhaled. Like she’d been holding her breath. “Good. There’s one more thing.” She swiped again. A photo. David’s penthouse. Empty. But on the desk, a safe. “We think he kept everything there. Original documents. The real hospital records from 2023. The surveillance footage. Everything.”

I said. "Old wound?" He laughed, his hands slipping off my waist. "It's still feels as fresh as yesterday, I can never forget the hurt, the betrayal I felt, the disappointment and the insults I received that day, unable to take it anymore, I left." I remained quiet watching him. "Well, I'm back now, I want to try to.. heal." His voice trailed off. I felt as though that was the last reason he came back, those eyes of his held another reason, perhaps was he back for revenge?

] Larry: [Who among you wants to be blacklisted by the company for this trivial matter and then get fired for incompatible values? The group chat fell into complete silence. These refined self-serving opportunists immediately decided what would benefit them when their personal interests were directly and seriously threatened. Their so-called group was incredibly fragile in the face of their impending job loss. After a dozen minutes of silence, one of the most active employees weakly posted in the group chat. [I... I'll sign it. I still have $30,000 remaining on my mortgage that is due next month.] Once that was said, it was unstoppable, like a dam bursting.

I ask, letting go of his hand, which is now red from being squeezed. “I can’t explain it to you entirely. But I do have someone who can help you stabilize your powers and the new things yet to come,” he mutters instead of answering my question. Since he saved my life from such a hellish ache, I decide not to bother him for a clearer explanation. “How long do I need to face this?” I enquire, curious as to how long I would have to go through this while carrying a Valtor pup. “Roughly three months.”

But now, here I was facing the consequences of my own choices. And as much as I wanted to vomit again, as much as I hated myself for what I had done, a part of me didn’t regret it. It was sick. It was twisted. But I didn’t regret it. Noah had broken me long before I found solace in another man's arms. He had stripped away my sense of self-worth, and now I was just as much a cheater as he was. My stomach twisted again, but this time it wasn’t from guilt. It was from the realization that maybe, just maybe, I was never going to go back to being the woman I used to be.

It was accompanied by a wave of heavy, crushing static that made Scarlett flinch, her hand flying to her ear. ​"Xavier! Scarlett! Do you copy me?" Margot’s voice was fracturing, competing with a rhythmic, low-frequency hum that sounded like a generator failing deep underground. "The logic bomb... it’s digging in, but it’s hitting resistance. This infrastructure is too massive. It’s like trying to flush an entire ocean through a single drainpipe. I’m seeing a localized hardware lag at the gatehouse server backbone. It’s not a clean wipe—it’s a fracture!"