After I caught my wife, Arabella, and her oldest friend, Pierce, in bed together, a single question—why?—was enough for her to have me committed. Five years in a place they called an “asylum.” When I finally got out, I was quiet. Extremely obedient. If someone told me to walk east, I wouldn't even think about the west. Arabella brought me home, her eyes as cold as the November air. “If you ever speak to Pierce with disrespect again, Cal,” she warned, her voice low and sharp, “I won’t be so lenient next time.” I nodded obediently. Then, I turned and picked up a fruit knife, ramming it into my mouth until my tongue was a mangled mess of flesh and blood. She immediately snatched the knife away, the color draining from her face as she looked at the grotesque wound filling my mouth. Pierce leaned close, his voice a venomous whisper in my ear. “Try another pathetic stunt to win Bella’s attention, and I’ll personally ship you back to the Institute.” Then, with a practiced gasp, he slapped himself hard across the face, stumbled, and fell to the floor. “I’m sorry, Cal. I shouldn’t have gotten in your way. Hit me back. Please, take out your frustration on me.” Arabella walked in just in time to see him on the ground. Her eyes flashed with immediate, furious conviction. She stomped on my hand, grinding her heel into my knuckles. “I brought you home out of the goodness of my heart, and this is how you repay me? Uncaring, ungrateful. Have you completely lost your soul?” I got up, walked to the garage, and obediently laid down on the commercial-grade cutting machine. I found the power switch and pressed it. Bone dust and blood sprayed everywhere. Arabella froze, shaking violently, before finally snapping out of it and shutting the machine off. In the ambulance, I heard Arabella’s voice, trembling as she spoke to the EMT. “I just… I yelled at him. I didn’t tell him to start cutting off his own flesh…” I was convulsing from the pain, but I managed to nod. She hadn’t told me to do it. But five years in that place, five years of endless beatings and torture, had taught me the lesson. Obey the unspoken command. Always. Later, she would ask me to die for Pierce one more time. And when I did as she asked, she would just cry and beg for my forgiveness. … It took three days in surgery just to keep me alive. Arabella looked at me, wrapped head to toe in bandages, and a flicker of something—pity? distress?—crossed her face. Pierce was quick to shift the blame. “Bella, I know Cal wanted me gone, but I never imagined he’d throw himself onto that thing to try and manipulate us,” he whined. “Maybe I should just leave. Who knows what he’ll try to pin on me next!” Arabella instantly pulled him into a hug. “If anyone’s leaving, it’s Callum! Five years hasn't changed him. Look at him! He’s using self-mutilation as a ploy to get attention!” she spat, her gaze never leaving me. “If he really wanted to die, he would have plunged the knife into his heart. He laid on that machine because he knew we could still save him!” I had just opened my eyes enough to hear the words. A cascade of memories—the grinning faces of my torturers, the sting of the whip—slammed into my mind. I couldn't stop the full-body tremor. Panicked, I threw myself off the bed. The stitches in my fresh wounds ripped open, and I was instantly a bloody mess. I barely felt the pain. I scrambled, grabbed a discarded scalpel, and plunged it into my chest, aiming for my heart. A sickening thud as the blade met flesh. Blood spurted across the crisp white sheets. Slumped on the floor, my hand resting on my still-beating heart, I felt a deep disappointment. I’d missed the mark. As I struggled to thrust the blade in again, Arabella snatched the scalpel away. “Callum Forrester, what are you doing now!” I coughed up blood. A pool of it gathered beneath me. Pierce started to speak, but Arabella impatiently cut him off. “Just stop it, both of you. Whatever you’re doing, don’t provoke him right now.” Pierce’s eyes widened in disbelief. She was defending me? He immediately turned his outrage into a weapon. His eyes blazing red, he struck himself, hard, twice across the face. “You’re right! It’s all my fault! I was trying to provoke him, I made him hit me, I forced him to hurt himself!” he wailed, dissolving into theatrical, heartbroken sobs. “Bella, every mistake is mine. Punish me however you see fit.” Arabella’s gaze flickered back and forth between us, torn. Finally, she helped Pierce up, deliberately looking away from me. “Callum,” she said, her voice strained. “Pierce is kind-hearted enough not to press charges. Apologize to him. Right now. And we’ll forget this ever happened.” I looked up at her, weak, dizzy. My body reacted before my mind did. If I was to apologize, I needed to show her the appropriate level of conviction. Before either of them could stop me, I smashed the glass flower vase. The shards dug deep into my knees, shredding the muscle as I knelt before Pierce. I began to hit my forehead against the floor, a rhythmic, bone-jarring thud. Each one was done with maximum force. My vision started to tunnel. I heard a crisp, snapping sound, like a dry twig breaking. I felt the raw scrape of bone on the floor. Finally, the crippling pain consumed me, and I collapsed. Pierce, still in Arabella’s arms, stared down at me, utterly stunned. A moment later, the room erupted into panicked shouts. In the last sliver of consciousness, I saw Arabella running to get a doctor, frantic enough that she’d lost one of her high heels. That night, Arabella played the surveillance footage back for Pierce. The malicious threat, the self-inflicted injury, Pierce’s dramatic performance—it was all laid bare. Pierce’s composure shattered. Tears instantly welled up. “I was so terrified, Bella… Cal went to that place because of me. He must hate me enough to kill me.” “I was just trying to test him. I needed to know if I was safe around him,” he stammered, pulling a small pocket knife from his jacket. “I’m sorry, Bella. If you blame me, I’ll pay him back with my life.” He made a show of pressing the blade to his wrist. Arabella’s anger instantly evaporated, replaced by frantic concern. She snatched the knife away and clutched him to her chest. “I don't blame you! Five years ago, Cal was bullying you. It’s normal that you’d be worried,” she soothed. “Besides,” she added, her eyes hardening as she looked toward my bruised and bloodied body, “what normal human being is so pathologically obedient? No one slices their own tongue or jumps into a grinder just because of a few angry words.” Pierce had completely convinced her. She dug her sharp fingernails into my torn skin. “Callum, is this what you wanted? Was this whole act just a complicated way to plot revenge on Pierce?” she accused. “Your manipulation is so deep, I almost believed you.” The agonizing pain made my lips tremble. “No,” I whispered. “I will be obedient. Even if you told me to die, I would do it.” Arabella didn't believe me. From that night on, her eyes were filled with a cold, perpetual scrutiny. With Arabella’s tacit approval, Pierce’s torment became even more brazen. He deliberately scalded my face with boiling water. Even as the skin blistered and peeled, I didn’t make a sound. Frustrated by my silence, he snatched the antique pocket watch Arabella had given me—my most treasured possession—and smashed it to pieces. Arabella watched, arms crossed, waiting for the once-proud, arrogant Callum Forrester to finally erupt in fury. I didn't even flinch. A flicker of irritation crossed Arabella’s face. “Doesn’t it matter to you at all?” I simply nodded in placid compliance. “If that is what you want, then no. It doesn’t matter to me.” Arabella froze. A dark shadow crossed Pierce’s eyes, quickly replaced by a smug smile. He wrapped his arm around Arabella, his tone deliberately intimate. “Since he’s so accommodating, Bella, I have one more test we can try.” He gave me a challenging look, then lowered his head and kissed Arabella. The wet, intimate sounds echoed in the sterile room. Arabella initially looked flustered, trying to push him away while staring at me. But soon, under his aggressive intensity, she began to respond. When my expression remained utterly blank, Pierce upped the ante, brazenly cupping and fondling her breasts. Arabella let out a soft, low moan, her face flushed with passion. They acted as if I were invisible, shifting positions and intensifying the act. I watched the entire obscene process in silence. When her eyes finally met mine, my calmness seemed to infuriate her. She shoved Pierce away. “Callum, how could you have no reaction?” she demanded, her chest heaving. I saw the angry red marks Pierce’s hands had left on her skin. I lowered my eyes submissively. “I said I would be obedient. I wouldn't interrupt your pleasure.” She must have forgotten. Five years ago, I’d stumbled upon Arabella and Pierce in the throes of their passion. I was consumed by a blinding rage. I attacked Pierce, demanding to know how he could be a homewrecker. Arabella had shielded him, accusing me of being the irrational one. That night, she told everyone I was suffering from a psychotic break and had me locked away for “treatment.” But it wasn’t a hospital. It was the private hell Pierce had meticulously selected for me. I was kept like a dog in a lightless cage. Whips, branding irons, skinning, and even live experiments—I endured every type of torture. Day after day, the relentless cruelty taught me one thing: complete submission. Which is why, no matter the humiliation, I would never resist again. Arabella was red-faced and breathing heavily, a fire in her chest. Pierce saw his opening. His eyes narrowed with malice. “Bella, Cal can endure this? God knows what he’s planning for us. I hired some guys—you know, the kind who ‘train’ guys at underground casinos. Let’s see how long his nerve lasts with them.” Arabella hesitated. She was about to speak, but Pierce gripped her hand and sighed heavily. “Bella, it’s for his own good. If he’s truly compliant, you can trust him to stay at home, right?” With a wave of Pierce’s hand, two menacing thugs instantly grabbed me and dragged me toward the basement door. Arabella, silent, turned and walked away, giving them her silent consent. The moment the door slammed shut, they yanked my hair back and tried to shove my face into a box filled with thousands of tiny steel needles. I beat them to it. I grabbed handfuls of the needles and shoved them into my mouth. I started to swallow them, the pinpoints tearing at my throat and viscera. The agonizing, tearing pain made me convulse, producing only a low, guttural roar. But compared to the five years of nightmares, it was nothing. The thugs stared at me, shocked into inaction. Pierce’s gaze was pure hatred. He shrieked, “Bring in the industrial shredder! There’s no way he can endure this!” He revved the machine to full power, his eyes filled with contempt. He was absolutely sure I would finally break down, either begging for my life or cursing his name. I didn't hesitate. I launched myself into the rapidly spinning blades. My flesh, bones, and sinews were instantly shredded and atomized. My blood and viscera splattered over Pierce, coating him head to toe. He screamed, a high-pitched sound of pure terror, and scrambled out of the basement. In the throes of my unimaginable agony, I managed a final, blood-drenched smile. This time, surely, they would be satisfied. My latest hospital visit made the local news and brought Arabella’s parents—my in-laws—to the hospital. When I woke up, my mother-in-law, Lydia, slapped me hard across the face. She ignored my mutilated, shattered body. “Callum Forrester! You’re a curse! The minute you came back, you ruined my daughter’s reputation! I regret not forcing Bella to divorce you years ago!” “You should have stayed in that damned asylum forever!” My father-in-law held her back, his voice low and serious. “Cal, if you’re still angry about five years ago, we can resolve it. Why turn yourself into a spectacle?” I looked slowly at them. Five years ago, when I begged them to help me, they’d walked away without a backward glance. Resolve it? They wouldn't lift a finger. Arabella walked in. For the first time, tears streamed down her face in genuine distress. “Callum,” she choked out. “I believe you now. Don’t be afraid. I won't let anyone hurt you again…” I looked at her, my face expressionless. My silence only made her sob harder. Lydia suddenly yanked Arabella away, sneering at me. “Bella, don’t fall for his tricks! He’s doing this on purpose to make you feel guilty, to drag you down for the rest of your life!” “I’m filing the divorce papers right now. We’re throwing this garbage out of the Ashworth family for good!” Arabella violently pushed her mother away. “Mom, can’t you see what he’s done to himself? He almost died!” “So what if he did!” Lydia shot back, glaring at me with disgust. “He’s a psychopath! A menace! He doesn’t deserve to be a son-in-law here!” She turned, her face softening instantly as she saw Pierce. “Pierce, honey, don’t worry. We only trust you to be by Bella’s side. No one is going to hurt you.” Pierce offered Lydia a grateful smile, then pulled out a sheet of paper, his face etched with fake concern. “Bella, the doctor sent this. It’s Cal’s psychiatric evaluation.” “The doctor says Cal has XYY Syndrome and Antisocial Personality Disorder.” Lydia’s voice rose to a screech. “Then send him back to that place! Now! Lock him up forever!” She pulled Arabella three feet away from me, as if I were a contagious piece of filth. “If he kills someone, he’ll ruin the family! Why doesn’t he just finish the job and die already!” Arabella’s expression wavered. The words “just die” echoed in my skull. I struggled to rise. While they were distracted, I managed to find a large surgical blade. I raised it to my temple. And as the look of sheer terror flashed across Arabella’s face, I rammed the blade into my own temple. Blood mixed with brain matter instantly coated the room. A piercing shriek tore through the hospital corridor. “Cal!!!”
? Continue the story here ?? ? Download the "MotoNovel" app ? search for "390571", and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel