Chapter 2My Husband, the World’s Top Hypnotist

I kicked the door in frustration as the attic was plunged into darkness.

Almost immediately, a wave of discomfort washed over me. The enclosed space felt like drowning, stealing the air from my lungs. I slid down the door, slumping to the floor as the world spun around me. A phantom hand seemed to be squeezing my throat.

“Open the door…” I rasped, weakly pounding on the wood.

The suffocating panic was so overwhelming that I could no longer feel the throbbing pain in my forehead. My eyes fluttered shut, and I fell into unconsciousness.

When I woke up, I was in a hospital. My head was bandaged. A thin, lanky boy was standing over me.

“You’re awake. Do you want some water?”

His eyes were clear and bright as he leaned down. The clothes he wore were faded from countless washings. When he noticed me staring, he grew visibly flustered.

A small smile touched my lips. “Did you save me? Thank you.”

The boy shook his head quickly, stammering, “N-No need. I was just delivering a package and heard a noise from the attic, so I called the police.”

He pointed towards the door, where two police officers were standing.

“Well,” I said, turning back to him, “either way, you’re the one who found me. Thank you for saving my life.”

The boy’s face turned bright red. He waved his hands dismissively and hurried out to get the officers. They explained the situation, I expressed my gratitude, and they left.

I learned that the boy who saved me was eight years old. His name was Sam Lee. His parents had passed away two years ago, and he was supposed to go to an orphanage, but he had run away. He survived by running errands and delivering packages for people in the neighborhood for a few dollars.

I was speechless. After a moment, I looked at him and asked, “Sam, would you like to come home with me?”

He looked up, his eyes wide and hopeful. “Can I?”

“Of course.”

He nodded frantically. “Yes, I want to. I really do.”

“Good. We’ll go home as soon as I’m done here.”

After my IV drip was finished, I took Sam back to the apartment my parents had left me. It was a cozy three-bedroom, not huge, but warm. Sam was a whirlwind of help, carrying boxes and cleaning rooms without a single complaint—a world away from a certain brat I knew. A wave of contentment washed over me. This was the kind of son I should have had.

After we finished unpacking, I went to the kitchen and made a pot of braised pork rib noodles. The rich aroma filled the small apartment, and Sam’s eyes lit up.

“It smells amazing.”

He took a bowl and filled it to the brim with pork ribs, placing it in front of me. “You’re hurt. You need to eat lots of meat to get better.” Then he sat down and served himself a small portion of plain noodles, eating them quietly.

I looked at the stark contrast between our bowls and couldn’t help but ruffle his hair. “I need to recover, but so do you. You’re a growing boy. You need meat even more than I do.”

I spooned a generous helping of ribs into his bowl. Sam let me fuss over him, his face flushing a happy pink as he nodded. “Okay. Thanks, Mom.”

A week passed. I completed the adoption paperwork for Sam and enrolled him in a local school. He was officially Sam Evans now—coincidentally, the same last name as his birth mother. I figured it was fate.

That weekend, I planned to take him shopping for new clothes. But early that morning, my phone began to ring, shrill and insistent.

Adrian’s cursed name flashed across the screen.