Chapter 469

The woman's lips trembled as she stared at the producer's hand, wanting to speak but unable. The minutes dragged on, and her wrist, caught in the invisible hand's grip, began to bruise, as if her bones were being crushed. The force was so immense that she couldn't comprehend how something unseen could possess such power.

The producer kept his gaze fixed on the phantom hand, his own palm pressed firmly against the child's face in the painting. It felt as if he were suffocating a real person, someone struggling desperately to escape.

"Mama, help me," came a chilling voice from the painting.

The woman, as if in a trance, suddenly lunged toward the producer. He staggered backward, nearly losing his balance, but before his hand could slip from the painting, he forcibly pressed it back against the image. In that moment, he felt a trickle of blood seeping from his palm.

His eyes widened in shock, glued to the image as the horrific scene unfolded.

"Let go! What are you doing?!" the woman screamed, completely losing her composure.

In her panic, she lunged at him, but the producer quickly grabbed her, pushing her back with all his strength. His hand screamed in pain; it felt as though something had pierced it. His thoughts flashed to Odalys and her steadfast confidence.

Despite the overwhelming fear, he forced himself to trust Odalys. She had never given him reason to doubt her. She had orchestrated the production, bringing in all the actors, and if something happened to him, it would ruin everything for her as well. There was no way she would harm him.

As the screams from the painting grew weaker, the room fell silent. His phone showed three minutes had passed before he finally released the image. He pulled his hand away, staring at the painting. The child's face had become unrecognizable—twisted, with wide eyes and a mouth contorted in a grotesque expression.

"What… what is this?" the woman gasped, horrified.

The producer didn't respond. He slowly got up, noticing his palm was torn, the skin mangled and bloody. He rushed to the bathroom, his feet feeling as if something invisible were gripping them. He kicked out, desperate to escape.

"What's wrong with you? Are you possessed?" The woman rushed after him, trying to grab him.

Sweat dripped from the producer's body as he struggled to break free. He pushed her hand away and ran toward the bathroom. The woman chased after him.

"Where are you going? Come back!" she shouted, but he slammed the bathroom door shut and leaned against it, gasping for breath. He felt like he had just woken from a nightmare, his mind racing. Without a second thought, he dialed Odalys's number.

The phone rang several times before she answered.

"Odalys, I did what you said. I pressed my hand against the face of the painting. There were screams coming from inside," he said, his voice hoarse. "Then my wife showed up, but it seemed like the child's hand appeared from the painting and grabbed her wrist, leaving a bruise. The child even called out for help—'Mama, save me.'"

The producer paused, shuddering at the memory. The experience had been far more terrifying than anything he had ever filmed, even shooting horror movies at night.

"Anything else?" Odalys asked, her tone calm but attentive.

The producer hesitated. "After that, my wife… her expression changed. She stared at me for a moment, and then suddenly, she lunged at me as if she had lost control."

Chapter 469

Odalys stayed silent, absorbing the information. The producer could feel the seconds ticking by, and his anxiety grew.

"Odalys, are you still there? What should I do now?" The producer's voice cracked with urgency.

"Show me a video. Let me see your palm," Odalys instructed.

The producer quickly switched the call to video mode and held his palm up to the camera. Odalys's face appeared, her brow furrowed as she examined the gory sight.

"Wash it with clean water and see if you can spot any bite marks," Odalys said, her tone precise.

The producer flinched as he remembered the pain. It was as if the child in the painting had bitten him. He didn't dare think further. He quickly turned on the faucet, washing his palm under the water. The blood and remnants of the talisman potion washed away, revealing a distinct bite mark.

"There's a bite mark here," he said, his voice trembling.

Odalys's eyes narrowed. "Count the teeth."

The producer squinted at the mark and began counting. "Eight teeth."

Odalys's voice was calm but serious. "Children usually don't have teeth until they're about four months old, and even earlier in some cases, they start sprouting tiny white tooth tips. By one year old, they'll have eight teeth."

The producer listened carefully, trying to make sense of what Odalys was telling him. He felt strangely comforted by her voice, like an anchor in the storm of terror that had engulfed him. The cry of the child, the sound of suffering, still echoed in his mind, and he couldn't shake the feeling that something dreadful was going to happen.

"One year old… and then what?" the producer asked, eager for answers.

Odalys took a slow sip from her smoothie, exchanging a look with Percival. "That means your wife must have made a wish. She wished for your child to return at one year old, and that's why the child in the painting is likely the spirit of a one-year-old who died prematurely."

"If you want to protect the child your wife is carrying, you need to find her godfather and get the ashes of the child in the painting. There's a debt to be paid. If you made a wish, you have to fulfill it. If you made the wrong wish, you'll have to ask for forgiveness and tell him that you no longer need it. Otherwise, your wife's child won't survive."

"Even if you manage to save the child now, it won't live past one year," Odalys warned.

The producer was struck by a sudden, deep sense of dread. He realized how crucial it was not to make careless wishes, especially when it came to matters concerning the unborn.

"What if I can't find the godfather?" he asked, his voice filled with uncertainty.

Odalys's expression remained unreadable. "Then we'll have to see if you can find him. If not, contact me again."

She paused, glancing at Percival before continuing. "As for the painting, just burn it. The child won't come back. But you need to find the godfather fast."

With that, the line went dead, leaving the producer alone with his thoughts, the weight of the situation pressing down on him.