Whenever Victoria and I were intimate, the ghost of a man with wildly unkempt hair would suddenly materialize, his broken form lurking in the shadows of our bedroom, terrifying me to my core. Victoria would patiently comfort me, holding me until the trembling stopped. Still, my nerves were completely frayed. For a long time, I genuinely believed I had developed some severe psychological intimacy disorder. Driven to the brink, I finally went to the hospital for a full neurological evaluation. Instead of a diagnosis for myself, I received entirely different news: Victoria was pregnant. After that, the male ghost still appeared from time to time, but he stopped trying to scare me. He would just stand there, an observer in the dark. Until the day our baby was born. He didn't just appear; he hovered over me, his head lowered, whispering through cracked, bleeding lips. "The baby is going to be taken away by Victoria..." Doubt clawed at my chest. I refused to believe the ramblings of this hallucination. Victoria cherished this pregnancy—cherished me—more than anything. Why on earth would she swap our biological daughter? But later, fighting through a haze of severe hypoglycemia, I forced myself to walk to the nursery. I looked down at the bassinet. The baby sleeping peacefully beneath the pink blanket was flawless. My daughter had a distinct birthmark on her neck. This baby had none. It felt as though I had been struck by lightning. Panic seizing my throat, I frantically scoured every single crib in the maternity ward. Finally, I found her. My real daughter. My eyes dropped to the small, typed card slotted at the foot of the bassinet. Father: Donovan. The blood in my veins turned to ice, rushing backward to my heart. Donovan. My best friend. The man who had been in the delivery room next door, whose child was born on the exact same day as mine. Forcing down the violent hammering of my heart, operating on pure, adrenaline-fueled instinct, I silently swapped the two infants back. When I returned to my hospital room, the ghost was waiting. But this time, I wasn't afraid. I walked right up to him and gently brushed the tangled, filthy hair away from his face. I stared at him, and the floor seemed to drop out from beneath me. His face... was my own. ... The ghost opened his mouth, his chapped, bleeding lips parting as if to speak. Before he could, the door swung open. Victoria stepped in, bringing the scent of expensive perfume and hospital antiseptic. "Just checking in to see if my sweet Oliver is behaving and taking his IV fluids?" She walked over, her eyes entirely focused on me, and affectionately tapped my nose. "You're a father now, darling. How are you still so afraid of needles? If you don't take your medicine like a good boy, I'm going to ignore you." I looked at her. My throat felt like it was coated in glue. Not a single syllable could force its way out. Years ago, when we first fell in love, Victoria had willingly offered to be the kept woman, the secret behind my wealthy family's curtain. Later, terrified that society's gossip would ruin my reputation, she took a meager five hundred dollars and moved overseas to build her empire from scratch. Whenever we FaceTimed, I would see the bruises and cuts on her face and legs from the volatile, war-torn regions where she negotiated her first supply deals. Once, an explosion nearly went off right through the screen of my phone. Even a moment ago, I could have dismissed the ghost's whisper as a fever dream. But the swapped babies were real. Which meant the ghost's words were real, too. A dark, suffocating fire of pure rage ignited in my chest. I dug my fingernails into my palms, desperately searching her face for even a flicker of guilt. She seemed completely oblivious, wrapping her arms around me intimately. "You know, honey," she murmured against my shoulder, "Donovan had a baby today too. But he just doesn't have my husband's luck." A cruel little smile played on her lips. "He doesn't even know who the mother of his kid is. Poor bastard." I heard the disdain in her tone, yet looking closely, the depths of her eyes were swimming with a sickly, profound tenderness. My heart seized. I managed a seamless, careless laugh. "If your heart bleeds for him so much, why don't you go be his baby's mother?" "Only if you want me to," she replied without missing a beat, then immediately pivoted. "Alright, alright, I'm just joking. Be a good boy and rest. I'm going to go check on the soup I had them make for you." I watched her figure hurry out the door. It felt as though my heart had been encased in a block of solid ice; every beat pumped freezing water through my veins. The ghost still stood there, looking erratic, broken. I forced my mouth into an ugly, trembling smile. "Are you going to tell me what happened now?" He didn't speak, but suddenly, the truth crashed over me in a wave of visceral visions. I looked at him—at me. His hair was dry as dead grass, his skin ulcerated and weeping. One pupil was clouded over with a milky white film, entirely blind. All ten of his fingers hung limply, bent at grotesque, unnatural angles, like a monster from a cheap horror flick. Yet, I knew him. He was me. The future me. A tremor started deep in my core. As he finally began to speak, with every word that scraped from his ruined throat, the color drained further from my face. By the end, he threw his head back and let out a manic, despairing laugh. And I understood everything. Two years ago, just days after Victoria went overseas, I casually complained about having a "lack of architectural design inspiration." Donovan, my closest friend, secretly flew out to help me find it. Eventually, he ended up in the same city as Victoria. Every day, he sent me photos, claiming he was keeping an eye on her for me. "Don't worry, Ollie," he'd text. "With me around, your wife won't even make eye contact with another guy!" Every Valentine's Day, every birthday, every Thanksgiving, Donovan would set up a video call to celebrate. At the center of their dining table, they always placed a framed photo of me. Back then, I had been blissfully, sickeningly sweet on the idea that I was the luckiest man alive to have such a devoted wife and such a loyal best friend. But the ghost's words stripped the flesh from my bones. A year ago, they were already sleeping together. No wonder I had occasionally spotted the faint outline of condoms or men's underwear in the background of those daily photos. I had spent nights wide awake, consumed by anxiety that Victoria had found someone else. It was Donovan who had played the hero. He had held a knife to Victoria's throat in one of our calls. "Oliver, if she ever dares betray you, I'll trade my life to get you justice!" Victoria had wept, looking so terribly wronged. "Oliver, do you not love me anymore?" I had let my guard down completely. I gave them the breathing room they needed to destroy me. According to the ghost, my biological daughter was destined to be taken by human traffickers and sold into indentured servitude. Meanwhile, I would raise Donovan's child as my own precious princess for fifteen years. In the end, my relentless search for my missing daughter would cost me an eye and the use of my hands. I would be framed by Donovan and his mother, and an enraged Victoria would lock me in a basement. My mother and sister, in a desperate attempt to save me, would be blown to pieces, their bodies left in the wilderness. At the thought of it, my teeth began to chatter violently. The fury inside me threatened to burn through my skull. Victoria. You ruthless, cold-blooded monster. I had been with her since I was eighteen, and this was how she repaid me. While I sat there frozen in shock, Donovan walked into the room. I hadn't even heard the door open. He reached out and affectionately grabbed my hand. "Ollie, I'm so jealous of you," he cooed. "Having a wife like Victoria, a beautiful little princess. You have no idea—the night you went into labor, it was the first time I've ever seen her cry from fear." Seeing him, the ghost beside me shrieked with absolute malice, lunging forward, only to pass powerlessly right through Donovan's body. "Sigh," Donovan continued, his voice dripping with faux self-pity. "Unlike me. I don't even know who the mother of my little bastard is." Before I could respond, Victoria stepped back into the room. She scoffed, slapping his hand away from me. "That's what happens when you sleep around. You make your bed, you lie in it." "But don't worry," she added smoothly, her eyes darting to me. "Our Oliver is so kind-hearted. Maybe he'll do you a favor and adopt the child for you!" Donovan's eyes lit up with practiced innocence. "Oliver! Really? Would you?" They both leaned in, waiting with bated breath for my reaction. I kept my head down, utterly silent. A self-deprecating smile pulled at the corner of my mouth. It was such an obvious, absurd setup. Yet, the future me hadn't seen through it. "No. I don't agree to that." My tone left absolutely no room for negotiation. Both of them froze. Instantly, Donovan's eyes welled with tears. "Oliver... do even you think my baby is dirty?" Victoria's brow furrowed tightly. "Ollie, you've always been the most compassionate person I know. Did someone say something to you? Did you hear some rumor?" I slowly lifted my eyelids. I glanced at the ghost standing beside them, listening to his hoarse, weeping sobs. A sudden, inexplicable ache pierced my chest. Seeing my continued silence, Victoria quickly tried to smooth things over. "Alright, enough crying, Donovan. Oliver isn't the kind of person you think he is. Go on, get out of here. Let my husband rest!" After they left, I slid out of bed and walked silently to the door. Looking through the crack, I saw Victoria frantically wiping the tears from Donovan's face. "Alright, my little brat, I was just saying that for his benefit. I could never think you were dirty." "Victoria, remember this," Donovan hissed, his voice entirely different now—petulant, demanding. "You begged me to get into your bed! I've been called every name in the book for you. If you regret it, just walk away! I don't care about my pride anymore; I just happen to be in love with my best friend's wife!" Victoria's expression darkened. She grabbed him roughly by the back of the neck and kissed him fiercely. "Don't you dare! Donovan, in this life, you belong to me. Only me." Bile rose hot and bitter in my throat. My hands trembled as I wiped away a stray tear. Victoria. When you were forcefully claiming another man... did you ever stop to think that back then, I had my pick of the most elite, wealthy women in New York? The line to date me wrapped around the block. You were the one who used every manipulative tactic in the book to beg for my love. A short while later, my mother and my sister, Caroline, came to visit. When the ghost saw them, his silent tears flowed even harder. My own eyes reddened uncontrollably. Remembering the gruesome fate that awaited them, I pulled Caroline into the corner of the room. "Care," I whispered, keeping my voice dead steady. "I need you to start drafting divorce papers for me and Victoria." Before she could process that, I pressed on. "Also, secretly transfer all of the Winthrop family's shares and capital out of her company. Move the assets. It has to be done quietly, and it needs to be finished within a month. We're relocating to Seattle." Caroline looked at me with deep suspicion, her mouth opening to question me. I gave her a brief, heavily sanitized version of the betrayal. Her expression instantly turned to frost. "I understand," she said simply. Over the next few days, Victoria didn't bring up the idea of adopting Donovan's child again. While a nurse was changing my IV, she leaned in to gossip. "The father of the baby next door... I walked past earlier and saw him hitting and cursing at his own newborn. Poor little thing was covered in bruises." Hearing that, my arms instinctively tightened around my daughter. It was karma. The suffering my daughter would have endured in the original timeline was a hundred times worse than what he was dishing out to his own flesh and blood. Half a month passed quietly, leading up to the night before our daughter's one-month milestone celebration. Victoria sat on the edge of my bed, looking hesitant. "Ollie... Donovan has been diagnosed with severe postpartum depression. I know you two haven't been as close lately, but he really is quite pitiful right now." "He asked me to ask you if tomorrow..." I furrowed my brow in feigned concern. "Why are you just telling me this now? Of course, let's have him join the party tomorrow!" A flash of joy passed through Victoria's eyes, quickly masked. "What did Donovan do to deserve a friend as incredible as my husband?" My gaze shifted to the ghost's eyes in the corner. My fists clenched so tightly they trembled. The future me. The exact moment he went blind was at this very party, when Donovan threw a tantrum and drove a knife straight into my eye. The banquet hall was dripping in crystal. Victoria had invited every major power player and socialite in New York. Everything went smoothly until the emcee announced the final event of the evening. "We would now like to invite Ms. Astor and her husband to the stage for a toast." Just as I stepped up to the microphone, down on the floor, Donovan intentionally stumbled, spilling his champagne and leaning heavily into the chest of an older, notoriously lecherous female executive. "Ms. Carmichael," Donovan slurred loudly. "I hear you're single. What do you think of me?" The older woman's predatory eyes swept down his torso, her hands shamelessly wandering south. Right as they were getting cozy, Victoria snapped. Her face turned stormy black. She stormed off the stage, grabbed Donovan's wrist, and yanked him back. "You're coming with me!" Donovan feigned drunkenness, pouting like a petulant child. "Oh! It's CEO Astor. What, do you want to get into my bed too?" Interrupted, Ms. Carmichael stomped her foot in irritation. "Victoria, he came onto me first!" Victoria's expression turned murderous. Without a word, she kicked the older executive squarely in the stomach, knocking her to the floor. When Victoria spoke, her voice was chilling. "He is my man." But Donovan wasn't satisfied. He began thrashing wildly, screaming at Victoria. "You bastard! You should be up there taking pictures with your precious husband!" "And what about you, Donovan?!" Victoria screamed back. "Who else do you want to take scandalous photos with?! Last time, Oliver's reputation was dragged through the mud because of you!" I stood on the stage like a stone statue. Dragged through the mud? The ghost's words from yesterday echoed freshly in my mind. He had told me that when Donovan's chaotic, promiscuous lifestyle was exposed by the tabloids, Victoria needed a distraction to clear the trending topics. In the dead of night, she had taken intimate photos of me and leaked them to the paparazzi. My face had been splashed across every screen in the city. For days, Donovan's name was cleared, while the Winthrop family stock plummeted. My brother's hair had turned gray overnight from the stress. I had been harassed and blackmailed by shareholders until I thought I would lose my mind. Back in the present, Victoria hoisted Donovan over her shoulder, turning to storm out. But in the next second, Donovan let out a hysterical scream, grabbed a heavy steak knife from a nearby table, and aimed it at his own chest. "Don't touch me! I'm ruined! Just let me die!" The moment the blade descended, I sprinted off the stage and threw my body in front of his. Agony ripped through my torso. I looked down. The knife was buried halfway into my abdomen, warm blood pulsing rapidly through my shirt. "Oliver—!" Victoria's face drained of color. She dropped to her knees, clutching me, her hands shaking like leaves in a storm. The hall erupted into chaos. The flashbulbs of a dozen reporters went off like a strobe light, all pointed at Donovan. As the darkness edged into my vision, right before I passed out, I saw Victoria. One hand was pressing against my bleeding wound. Her other hand was tightly gripping Donovan, dragging him to safety. When I woke up, two people were kneeling beside my hospital bed. Victoria and Donovan. Donovan's face was streaked with tears. "I'm so sorry, Oliver. I was completely drunk. I almost killed you!" He slapped himself hard across the face, a sharp, echoing crack. "I'm a worthless piece of trash. The things I said... I didn't mean any of it!" Victoria's hands were shaking as she looked at me with what appeared to be genuine heartbreak. Slowly, she picked up a silver fruit knife from the bedside table. "Ollie, I lost complete control of myself today. Please, don't take what I said out there seriously." "Let this knife be my penance to you." Without a second of hesitation, she sliced the blade deep into her own forearm. Drops of blood splattered against the sterile floor, quickly pooling into a vibrant crimson puddle. I laid there, watching their display of unshakeable solidarity. This tragic, star-crossed love. My heart ached worse than the stab wound in my gut. Years ago, Victoria was willing to be blown up in a war zone just to protect my reputation. Now, she was willing to mutilate herself to protect another man. In the end, I offered a weak smile and "forgave" them. I watched as they supported each other out the door to get her arm bandaged. Turning my head, I looked at the ghost beside me. Suddenly, the milky white film over his eye cleared. His pupil became dark, sharp, and brilliant. Thank you, he mouthed. My eyes grew dark and unreadable. "I'm only helping myself." According to the original timeline, that banquet was supposed to cost me my eye. But by taking the initiative, I had actually rewritten the future. I stared at the ghost's mangled hands, falling deep into thought. Over the next few weeks, I recovered from the surgery while simultaneously putting the finishing touches on my portfolio for a prestigious international architectural design competition. On the day the finalists were announced, the ghost and I both cheered. I had made the top tier. I was just picking up my phone to call my mother when the door banged open. Donovan stormed in, holding a dozen of my master sketches—torn to shreds. He threw them aggressively into my face. "Oliver, you still hate me, don't you? Is that why you destroyed my entry portfolio?!" I let out a cold, sharp laugh. "Victoria isn't here. Who exactly are you performing for?" Instantly, his entire demeanor shifted. The aggressive facade melted into a mask of pure terror. "W-what do you mean, Ollie? Please, don't touch me! I'm begging you!" Out of nowhere, he grabbed a heavy glass vase from the table and brought it crashing down onto his own hands. "Aaaaaah!" he shrieked. Right on cue, Victoria rushed into the room. Seeing Donovan's bruised, bloodied hands, her eyes locked onto me. The look in them was lethal. "Oliver. What is the meaning of this?" I heard the repressed hatred in her voice. If I tried to defend myself, she would tear me to pieces on the spot. A numb, dull ache spread through my chest. Keeping my face entirely blank, I replied, "I was angry. I accidentally hit him." Donovan peered at me through his fingers, continuing to sob pitifully. "Ollie, I don't blame you. I just want the truth about the competition! Why did you tear up my work?" It was almost funny. He was a photographer. I was an architect. Why would I ever tear up his work? The lie was so painfully hollow, utterly lacking in logic. But it didn't matter. When someone favors you, you have the absolute audacity to do whatever you want. I stared at the tight knot between Victoria's brows. And then, I smiled. I reached down beneath the hospital bed and pulled out the heavy steel emergency hammer kept by the window. Without a flicker of hesitation, I slammed it down onto my right hand. The agonizing pain tore a scream from my throat, but I bit down on my lip until it bled. Grabbing the hammer with my mangled right hand, I lifted it and smashed it down onto my left. The sharp, sickening sound of bones fracturing echoed loudly in the silent room. Both of them stared at me, paralyzed by the sheer brutality of what I had just done to myself. Robbed of her righteous fury, Victoria could do nothing but scoop up the weeping Donovan and flee the room. The moment they were gone, Caroline's private medical team—who had been on standby—rushed in and surrounded me. My sister's eyes were bloodshot with tears. "Ollie, why? Why would you do this to yourself?!" Gritting my teeth against the blinding pain, tears streaming down my face, I looked past her to the ghost. His hands—the hands that had been twisted and broken in the future timeline—slowly flexed, whole and perfectly healthy. Pale and trembling, I smiled in satisfaction, and finally let the darkness take me. After three days of intense medical care, my hands were stabilized. My brother sent me a single text: Everything is in place. We leave today. I carefully picked up my daughter and walked out the back entrance of the hospital. As I approached the street, a nondescript van idled suspiciously by the curb. A sharp spike of anxiety pierced my chest. I tried to ignore it, but suddenly, someone down the block screamed. "That's the van from the news! They're traffickers! Call the police!" Traffickers! Alarm bells shrieked in my head. I whipped around. Donovan was standing a few feet behind me, a serene, chilling smile on his face. He had heard the screams, yet he just watched me. Suddenly, I realized something was wrong. I ripped open the swaddle in my arms. The baby's neck was bare. The birthmark was gone. This wasn't my child! My mouth fell open in a silent scream. Like a madman, I sprinted toward the van as it screeched away from the curb. The ghost floated beside me, his hoarse weeping overlapping with my own ragged breaths. I couldn't tell if the cries were mine or his. If I didn't catch that van today, the horrific destiny I had tried so hard to avoid would replay itself flawlessly. Extreme terror and adrenaline pushed my body to its absolute limits. I roared in pure agony. The van suddenly slammed on its brakes. A surge of hope lit up my eyes. Then, a heavy blow struck the back of my head. The world went black. When I regained consciousness, the familiar voices of the two of them drifted through the doorway. "Victoria, is it really a good idea? Making Oliver raise our daughter, while we send his away?" Victoria's voice was as cold as dry ice. "He ruined your competition. He permanently damaged your hands. Doesn't he deserve to be punished?" "Besides," she added dismissively. "I only sent his kid to a normal, working-class family. She won't starve." No... Rage detonated in my chest. My eyes burning crimson, I charged out of the room and tackled Donovan to the floor, my hands wrapping violently around his throat. I slapped him across the face, again and again. "Give me back my daughter!" Donovan shrieked, and the ghost beside me begged me to stop. But I was feral. I drove my fists into his face, his eyes, wanting nothing more than to crush the life out of him. But Victoria grabbed me from behind, hurling me violently to the floor. She wrapped her arms protectively around Donovan, finally unleashing a furious scream. "Oliver Winthrop! Have you completely lost your mind?!" "Give me back my daughter!" I screamed back. Victoria stared at me, a cruel, heartless smirk playing on her lips. "Sure. As soon as you pay back every single blow you just gave Donovan." She snapped her fingers. A dozen of her personal security guards stepped out of the shadows, pinning my limbs to the floor. One. Two. Three... They slapped me until my teeth loosened, until the coppery taste of blood flooded my mouth. One hundred times. She still wasn't satisfied. "You nearly blinded him," she whispered. "Did you think I'd just let that go?" The guards approached, holding long, industrial steel needles. I thrashed in sheer terror, scrambling backward as the horrific image of the ghost's ruined body flashed violently through my mind. They grabbed me. The needles pierced my hands. They drove them toward my eyes. I couldn't see. My hands were shattered. Why... Despair swallowed me like a tidal wave. I was dragged down into the darkness of the basement. Just like the future me. Except that was supposed to be fifteen years from now. For three days in the dark, Donovan came down to gloat. He bragged that Victoria had moved him into the Astor family estate. He bragged that she had publicly named him her partner. Everything she had ever built with my family's backing, she handed over to him on a silver platter. I struggled against my restraints, roaring like a wounded animal, but the heavy chain around my neck choked me into submission. When Victoria came to see me, she looked at me with a twisted, helpless affection. "I love you, Ollie. I do. But you need to learn to behave. You and Donovan are on equal footing now. We'll live together, the three of us. Doesn't that sound nice?" "I'd rather burn!" I spat blood at her feet. "Victoria, you make me sick!" All these years, the Winthrop family had elevated her, turning her into the city's most powerful woman. And she was nothing but an ungrateful parasite. Finally, my mother and Caroline found me. They breached the basement and dragged my broken body to a waiting SUV. But halfway to the safe house, Victoria's convoy intercepted us, boxing us in. "Oliver Winthrop," Victoria shouted, stepping out of her car. "Your mother and sister drove Donovan to attempt suicide! He's in a coma! And you think you can just run away?!" My teeth ground together in fury. "Check the cameras! He faked it!" Victoria didn't believe me. She clapped her hands, and her men easily dragged my mother and sister out of the SUV. And then, they strapped heavy, ticking vests to their chests. Explosives. My breath stopped entirely. Victoria just smiled. "Don't panic. I'm just taking a video to show Donovan when he wakes up. The bombs are fake. Nobody's going to die." But I looked at the men holding the detonators. I recognized them instantly. They weren't Victoria's men. They were Donovan's. The countdown started at five seconds. "No!" I shrieked, a sound of absolute, soul-tearing despair. "No!" ... At the last second, I sprinted away from the guards, throwing my body over my mother and sister. A deafening, earth-shattering BOOM ripped through the air. Victoria's pupils dilated in pure horror as the shockwave hit. She screamed at the guards, her voice cracking in disbelief. "Wait! Turn off the timer! Turn it off!"
? Continue the story here ?? ? Download the "MotoNovel" app ? search for "518511", and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel