Chapter 468

The producer nodded immediately after hearing Odalys's words.

“What you have in your hand is a talisman—it’s protective. It will ensure nothing bad happens to you,” Odalys said, noticing his anxious expression and trying to reassure him.

Upon hearing that, the producer visibly calmed down, as if he’d just taken a dose of medicine to soothe his nerves. He seemed to regain his composure.

“Thank you, Odalys. I’m heading home right now,” he said, sounding a bit steadier.

He pulled out his phone and quickly called Kenny, letting him know he had to leave early. Once the call ended, he hurriedly started his car, leaving Film Capital behind.

Odalys watched him drive off before turning her attention back to the peaceful surroundings. Soon, Percival walked over from a distance and sat down beside her by the riverbank.

“Did you hear everything?” Odalys asked, her gaze focused on the water.

Percival nodded and, with a quiet smile, handed her a small cake. She accepted it and took a small bite, while Percival effortlessly took the smoothie from her hand.

“I heard. This seems connected to what you mentioned before about people using unborn children for rituals—kind of like raising little spirits?” Percival mused, his voice filled with curiosity. The concept seemed familiar, and he couldn’t help but draw parallels.

“Exactly. That’s why I wanted Sophia to fake her pregnancy. I wanted to see how Windsor and the others would react.”

“However, this producer… there’s an unmistakable trace of Oliver’s energy on him. I suspect the godfather his wife adopted is actually Oliver. And after she adopted him, she became pregnant.”

“Oliver must’ve predicted that the producer’s wife would conceive this year and used that opportunity to get closer to her. This suggests that their astrological signs are compatible.”

“If her signs have negative energy, then the child she carries, if miscarried, would pass on that same negative energy. It’s a powerful force that can kill without a trace. I suspect the plan here is to use this energy to control powerful, wealthy families,” Odalys speculated, her expression serious.

Percival was silent for a moment, weighing her words. While unsure of the full truth, he couldn’t deny the unsettling possibility.

“Should we go over and check it out?” he asked, though he wasn’t sure it was necessary.

Odalys shook her head, enjoying a piece of cake with a pleasant smile. “No need. I want him to come to me on his own.”

Percival watched her with a soft, adoring gaze. Her confidence was palpable, and he couldn’t help but feel pride.

Before he could respond, Odalys spoke again, her tone playful. “What’s this? Did Mr. Stewart message Freya and ask her to admit I’m her lawyer? Are you worried that people might think your private life is too chaotic?”

Percival chuckled softly, a little surprised by the comment. He cleared his throat, trying to explain himself.

“That’s not what I meant. I just don’t want people misunderstanding you. Honestly, I don’t want anyone giving you a strange look. You’re Odalys to Freya, and that’s all that matters.”

“I also have no connection with her in that sense. Nothing messy will happen, and I don’t want anyone jumping to conclusions,” Percival said frankly, his gaze steady. To him, it was important to keep boundaries clear, especially when it came to people.

Odalys smiled, clearly appreciating his straightforwardness. “No wonder Freya looks up to you. To her, you’re a man of purity.”

She understood now why Freya never took advantage of their relationship—she knew that Percival, like her, was a person of integrity. Freya was the kind of woman who would always stop just short of crossing a line, because she knew they both shared similar values.

The two sat there chatting, and Odalys took off her socks, dipping her feet into the cool river water. It was autumn, and the water was a bit chilly, but she didn’t mind. Her fair feet gently swayed in the water, sending ripples across the surface.

Chapter 468

“Has everything at your company been taken care of?” she asked, noticing Percival’s relaxed demeanor despite his high position. He never seemed too busy when he was around her.

“All done. Anything else, Callum will handle,” Percival replied, handing her the smoothie again. She took a sip, enjoying the sweet taste.

Percival couldn’t help but watch her, his eyes softening. She looked so cute as she drank, her cheeks puffed up slightly like a child enjoying a treat.

Suddenly, her phone vibrated. Glancing at the unfamiliar number on the screen, she exchanged a brief look with Percival before answering.

Time rewinds 30 minutes….

The producer was driving frantically toward home, feeling a sense of panic creeping in. The traffic lights seemed to take forever, and he wiped the sweat from his palms nervously, trying not to ruin the talisman he had been given.

“Come on, hurry up,” he muttered under his breath.

After waiting through nine red lights, he finally arrived at his house, but something immediately felt off. Despite the bright midday sun outside, the air inside the house was uncomfortably cold, and the curtains were drawn shut.

He rushed into the living room, pulling open the curtains. The sunlight poured in, but he couldn’t afford to waste any time. He hurried to the bedroom and burst through the door, only to find his wife kneeling by the bed, staring intently at the painting on the wall.

“Honey, you’re back?” She looked startled, clearly caught off guard by his sudden appearance.

Without waiting for her response, the producer lunged forward, tearing the image from the wall with a sharp “rip!” His wife froze, eyes wide in disbelief, unable to comprehend what was happening.

“What are you doing? Why are you tearing the painting?” she cried, but the producer ignored her, focused entirely on removing the image. He couldn’t speak, and he didn’t want to. All he cared about was getting rid of that cursed painting.

A strange sound echoed—a hiss—and suddenly, white smoke began to seep out of the child’s face in the painting. The producer froze, feeling an odd pain in his palm, as if something invisible had bitten him. He clutched the image even tighter, not daring to let go.

“What are you doing! Why are you burning the painting?” his wife screamed, rushing toward him.

But as she reached out, something horrifying happened: the child in the painting seemed to move. A transparent, ghostly hand shot out and grabbed her wrist, pulling her toward the image.

“Ah! What is this? Why is it grabbing me?” she screamed, terror evident in her voice. She struggled and tried to pull away, but the hand gripped her so tightly it felt as though her wrist would snap. The hand was nearly transparent, like a ghostly apparition—but it was real enough to be terrifying.

Panicking, she looked at her husband, her eyes wide with fear. The producer shook his head at her, signaling her to stay silent. He pressed his hand to his lips, urging her not to speak.

In her panic, the woman stumbled backward, her eyes locked on the painting. The hand still held her wrist with a crushing force, leaving a deep red mark.

Faint, tortured cries echoed from within the painting—screams of pain and sorrow, followed by the sound of a child crying, growing louder and closer, then fading away again. The cries seemed to come from all around them, as though they were trapped inside the painting itself.

“Who… who is it? Who’s making that sound?” she gasped, horrified. She tried to run, but found herself frozen, unable to tear her eyes away from the picture. The producer, still holding the image in place with his hand, felt the weight of the eerie cries filling the air with an overwhelming sense of dread.