The company’s annual spring retreat was supposed to be a team-building exercise. After a democratic vote—which I suspect was rigged by the HR department’s obsession with "mindfulness"—we ended up at St. Jude’s Mission, a sprawling, historic estate famous for its ancient chapel and a massive, decommissioned bronze bell. But ten minutes into the tour, my husband and his personal assistant were nowhere to be found. I scanned the courtyard, my heart doing that slow, nauseating crawl it always did when Preston went missing. Suddenly, my phone buzzed. Our company’s "Culture Trip" livestream was blowing up. I looked down, and a series of chat bubbles scrolled across the screen like a digital Greek chorus: [God, the female lead is so bold. Suggesting they hide under the Old Jubilee Bell for a quickie? No wonder he’s obsessed with her!] [Under the bell? That’s terrifying. If someone actually rang it, they’d be deafened in seconds.] I froze. The air in the courtyard turned brittle. My husband, Preston, and his "indispensable" assistant, Celine, hadn’t just wandered off to look at the architecture. They were right there, ten feet away from me, hidden in the hollow, dark womb of that rusted bronze monster. I felt a sudden wave of vertigo. I reached out, steadying myself against the cold, pitted surface of the bell. It vibrated ever so slightly under my palm. The livestream chat went nuclear: [OMG, she’s touching the bell! The tension! I can’t breathe!] "Nina? Are you okay?" Kaylee, the front desk girl, walked up to me with a saccharine smile. "We’re all heading into the chapel to light some candles for 'corporate prosperity.' Do you want to join us?" I pulled my hand back, feeling the ghost of the vibration in my marrow. I looked at Kaylee. She was the one who had accidentally-on-purpose showed me a "leaked" photo of Preston at a jewelry store two months ago. She was playing both sides, acting as the confidante for the affair while pretending to be my loyal employee. I smiled at her. It was the sharpest thing I’d ever done. "No candles for me, Kaylee," I said, my voice steady. "Actually, go find the groundskeeper. Or the Father. Whoever is in charge of the ceremonial tolls." "The tolls?" Kaylee blinked, her smile faltering. "I want to make a legacy donation," I continued, projecting my voice so the nearby staff could hear. "A hundred and eight tolls of the Jubilee Bell to 'cleanse the company’s spirit.' If they do it, I’ll personally fund the entire restoration of the Mission’s sanctuary." Kaylee froze. The livestream comments stopped scrolling for a beat of pure, digital shock. One hundred and eight tolls. In the old traditions, that was a cleansing. In reality, for those trapped inside? It was a death sentence. … I didn't look away from Kaylee’s pale face. Was she really that surprised? I wasn't just going to pay for the tolls; I was going to invite every passerby to take a turn at the rope. I wanted the whole world to participate in the "cleansing." It was the only way to do justice to the two people currently tangled together in the dark beneath us. Kaylee had once sent "accidental" thirst traps to Preston’s work phone. I’d caught her, of course. She’d sobbed in my office, telling me about her sick mother and her younger siblings who depended on her paycheck. I’d been soft. I’d let her stay. I hadn't realized she’d immediately pivoted to becoming Celine’s little spy. Now, she was trying to lure me into the chapel so her "real" boss and my husband could crawl out from under that bell and fix their clothes. "Did you hear me?" I asked, my voice dropping an octave. "Go get the bell ringer. Why are you still standing there?" "Nina... it’s a decommissioned bell," Kaylee stammered. "It’s... it’s not meant to be rung like that. It’s bad luck. It’s superstition!" I laughed, a dry, hollow sound. "Wasn't this retreat your idea, Kaylee? 'Connecting with our roots'? You didn't seem to care about superstition when you were booking the bus." An elderly woman, a local parishioner leaning on a heavy oak cane, shuffled toward us. "Who says it’s superstition?" the woman barked. Her voice was surprisingly resonant. "A bell is a sacred vessel. It clears the air of filth and wakes the soul. It’s a blessing, child. I’ve lived by the sound of this bell since I was a girl. Even if it’s old, its voice is still holy." She raised her heavy cane and struck the side of the bell. CLANG. CLANG. CLANG. The sound was massive. It wasn't just a noise; it was a physical weight that rolled over us, making the very ground shudder. The livestream exploded: [HOLY SHIT! She actually did it!] [It’s over. They’re cooked. Kaylee, you fake bitch, do something! Save them!] [Wait... did the male lead just go limp??] I turned to the gathering crowd of employees. I patted the bronze side of the bell like it was a prized stallion. "Anyone can ring it today," I announced. "One thousand dollars per toll. Cash, Venmo, Zelle—on the spot." The crowd erupted. Greed is a much more powerful motivator than 'corporate mindfulness.' Kaylee rushed forward, her arms outspread as if she could shield the entire circumference of the bell. "No! Stop! This is a historical artifact! If you crack it, you’ll be sued for millions!" I looked at her, my eyes cold. "I’m paying for the restoration of the whole Mission, Kaylee. I think I can afford a cracked bell." "Besides," a junior analyst shouted, pushing past her, "The boss's wife said it’s okay! Move it, Kaylee! That’s a mortgage payment for one swing!" The resentment toward Kaylee—the teacher’s pet, the office snitch—poured out like a broken dam. They shoved her aside. She stood there, face flushed, looking at the vibrating bronze with a look of pure, unadulterated terror. "Ring it!" I commanded. "Every one of you. I’ve set aside ten million dollars for 'performance bonuses' today. Let’s see how much of it you can take." Kaylee’s jaw dropped. She looked at her colleagues jostling for the rope, then back at the bell. "Wait! Stop!" she screamed. "Nina, that money belongs to the estate! It’s marital property! You can’t just give it away without Preston’s consent! He’ll fire everyone! He’ll sue you!" The crowd hesitated. The mention of Preston—the man who held their health insurance in his hands—acted like a bucket of ice water. The chat feed mirrored their fear: [The 'best friend' is smart! That’s a legal checkmate!] [But a thousand bucks a swing... God, the temptation.] [The villainess is so cruel. She’s literally using money to vibrate them to death.] I didn't argue. I simply turned toward the group of tourists who were watching the drama from the edge of the courtyard. "A thousand dollars a toll," I shouted to the strangers. "Scan the code, get the money instantly. Who wants to go first?" The silence lasted three seconds. "Is this for real?" a burly man in a flannel shirt asked, stepping forward. I held up my phone, my banking app open. "Try me." "Hell," the man said, grinning. "I don’t work for your husband. I like money." He grabbed a heavy ornamental stone from the garden bed, stepped up, and slammed it against the bronze with every bit of his strength. BOOM—! The sound was deafening. My vision blurred for a split second from the sheer pressure of the sound wave. I didn't flinch. I scanned his phone. Ding. The sound of a successful transfer echoed in the sudden silence. "She’s legit! A grand! Right there!" the man roared. The floodgates opened. It was a riot of 'blessings.' Tourists and the bolder employees dived for the bell. They used stones, they used their fists, they kicked it. The sound became a chaotic, rhythmic assault. Clang. Boom. Thud. Clang. I stood there, a statue of calm in the middle of a sonic storm, scanning codes and hitting 'Send.' The livestream was a blur of fire emojis and "RIP" messages. [She’s a psycho! He’s going to divorce her for every penny!] [Look! In the video—is Preston covering Celine’s ears? He really does love her! This is so tragic!] [Wait, is the bell moving? Are they trying to push it up? The sound must be hell in there.] I raised my phone again, smiling at the crowd. "Everyone, get your phones out," I said. "Max volume. Pull up 'The Great Litany of Deliverance' on Spotify. The heavy choral version." "The loudest phone gets a ten-thousand-dollar bonus," I added. For a moment, there was a vacuum of sound. Then— SCREECH— The wailing, low-frequency chant began to pour from fifty different speakers at once. The courtyard transformed into a wall of noise—monastic chanting layered over the relentless, bone-shaking battering of the bell. I signaled the burly man from before. "One more favor," I yelled over the din. "Go to the rectory. Find the Head Priest. Tell him I need the ceremonial strikers. The heavy wooden beams." I scanned his phone for another two thousand. "Run." He didn't need to be told twice. He bolted toward the back of the Mission like a sprinter. Kaylee was paralyzed. A few minutes later, the man returned, dragging a bewildered, elderly priest in heavy robes. Behind them, two younger groundskeepers carried the ceremonial ram—a massive, iron-shod wooden beam used for holiday celebrations. The priest looked at the chaos—the chanting phones, the people throwing rocks at the bell—with utter confusion. I stepped forward and bowed slightly. "Father, I apologize for the disturbance. I wish to perform the full hundred-and-eight-toll cleansing. For my family’s sins." I pointed to the bell. "I have the donation ready. Upon completion, I will sign the endowment for the new sanctuary." "Bless you, my child," the priest said, his eyes widening at the mention of the endowment. He turned to his assistants. "Get the striker into position. Call the others. If this woman wants to cleanse her house, we shall give her the voice of God." The striker. The heavy, swinging ram that required four men to operate. That wouldn't just make noise. That would create a resonant frequency capable of liquefying internal organs if you were close enough. It would turn that bell into a pressurized chamber of agony. I looked at the bell. It was shaking now, visibly vibrating against the stone plinth. Enjoy the baptism, you two. The chat went into a frenzy: [The ram?! That thing is the size of a redwood trunk!] [They’re going to be turned into jelly. This is literal physical exorcism.] [The villainess is too much! Where is the hero to save them?!] Kaylee lunged forward again, grabbing the priest’s sleeve. "Father! You can't! The noise... it’s disturbing the peace! It’s a public nuisance! God wouldn't want this!" Before I could speak, the burly man roared, "Shut up! It sounds like heaven to me!" "Yeah! Let her pray!" another tourist yelled. The priest gently uncoupled Kaylee’s hand. "Child, the voice of the bell is never a nuisance. It is a reminder of our mortality. If this woman wishes to hear it, who are we to deny the call to repentance?" Kaylee’s face turned a sickly shade of grey. I stepped closer to her. "You’ve tried everything, haven't you, Kaylee?" "Superstition. Legal threats. Public nuisance. You’re really working hard for a 'friend' who isn't even here." I leaned in, whispering so only she could hear. "You’re fired, Kaylee. Pack your things. If I see you on company property after today, I’ll have you arrested for trespassing. Get out of my sight." Kaylee collapsed onto the cobblestones, weeping. [Kaylee is finished. The villainess just wiped her out.] [Look at the base of the bell! Is that... is that blood? Oh my god, are they dying?!] [They’re the leads! They can't die! They’re going to come out and make her pay!] Would they? I watched the monks take their positions. I felt no pity. Only a cold, crystalline sense of justice. When I first met Preston, he was a middle-manager with a silver tongue and a bankrupt bank account. My father had seen "potential" in him. My father had given him the connections, the seed money, the house we lived in. I had spent a decade building his image, smoothing over his mistakes, and playing the perfect corporate wife. And Kaylee? I’d fed her. I’d given her my old designer bags and paid for her mother’s dental work. This was their "thank you." THOOM—!!! The first strike of the ram hit. The sound didn't just vibrate; it tore through the air. Suddenly, a screeching voice cut through the reverberation from the courtyard entrance. “NINA! YOU INSANE BITCH! STOP THIS AT ONCE!" The crowd parted. A woman in a garish, leopard-print wrap dress, dripping in tacky gold jewelry, stormed toward us. Her hair was a bleached-blonde nest, and her face was contorted in a permanent sneer of "New Money" arrogance. Preston’s mother. My mother-in-law. Mrs. Beaumont had arrived. "How dare you throw away my son’s money on this... this clanging garbage! Ten million dollars?! Have you lost your mind?!" "I told him! I told him to dump you years ago! You’re a curse on this family! You spend like a drunken sailor and you don't even have the decency to give me a grandson!" I stood my ground, watching her scream. She was the woman who had lived off my father’s "gifts" for ten years while calling my family "boring" behind our backs. I saw Kaylee look up, a spark of hope in her eyes. She’d called the cavalry. I walked over to Mrs. Beaumont and took her arm, my voice dripping with fake concern. "Mother, please. You’ve misunderstood." "This isn't Preston’s money. This is my inheritance. The trust my father left me that I’ve never touched." "Your inheritance?" Her greed immediately fought with her rage. "Well... that’s still Beaumont money now! You’re married! What’s yours is his!" "Of course, Mother. You’re absolutely right." I lowered my voice, acting fragile. "That’s why I’m doing this. The Father told me this bell has ancient power. A hundred and eight tolls to clear the family’s 'karmic debt.' I’m doing this for Preston. To ensure his next deal goes through. To ensure your health and longevity." Mrs. Beaumont paused, her eyes darting to the priest. "Longevity?" "A hundred and eight tolls," I whispered. "It’s a blessing that lasts a lifetime." She puffed out her chest, adjusting her gold bracelets. "Well. Why didn't you say so? If it’s for my son’s success..." She turned to the monks. "What are you waiting for?! Ring the damn thing! Harder!"
? Continue the story here ?? ? Download the "MotoNovel" app ? search for "397453", and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel