MTL - Horror Resurgence: Ma’am, Please Respect My Profession - Chapter 282

Ava’s marriage was nothing like she had anticipated. Despite being married to the man she loved, she had endured nothing but humiliation and misery from her husband for the past five years.She put up with everything in the hopes of one day carving out a space in his heart. But her husband ultimately drove her to the breaking point when he handed her the divorce papers on their fifth anniversary, claiming that he loved someone else. He had taken all her family assets her father had left for her.The shocking truth that the man she had been in love with for ten years had caused her father’s death was the blow Ava couldn’t take it.Devastated, Ava didn’t want to give birth to his child in her womb.------“I loved you with all my heart and gave you everything, but you ruined me and my family, Dylan Brooks. I won’t give you this baby. This baby belongs to me and will go with me to the grave. A cruel man like you don’t deserve to be a father,” Ava said as she slit her wrist.“I regret loving you, Dylan. I wish I’ll never see you again in my next life.” These were her last words before she drifted into the lap of death.-------She thought this was the end of her life. But fate had other plans. She woke up in the past, four years ago, on the day of their first wedding anniversary.Since she was given another chance to rectify her mistakes, she vowed to protect her father and the family business. She resolved to cut all ties with her ruthless husband.But wait! Why did Dylan act so possessive and caring? Why did he declare she was the only one he wanted as his wife?Should she believe him and give him another chance? Or should she take revenge on him for what he did in her past life?--------“Please, Ava…come back to me,” Dylan pleaded with Ava on his knees. “I’m ready to atone my mistakes. I’ll do everything to make you happy. Just don’t leave me, okay? Tell me, what can I do to get your forgiveness?”Ava stared coldly at the man who had ruined her in her previous life. “Do you want my forgiveness? Then hand over everything to me, Dylan. I want you to feel the same agony I did.”

Two women visits Dong Fang Ao’s home. Both women claim to be his betrothed. The first woman wants to break off their betrothal but she lost the betrothal gift. The second woman is holding the betrothal gift and demands Dong Fang Ao to marry her.

Dong Fang Ao keeps both women as guests in his home to find out who is his real betrothed. He is curious about the secretive Cao Zi Yun. If she is his real betrothed then he wants to keep her by his side forever. But her secret is capable of separating them forever.

“Coming live to you, from Cerou Street, this is MBP News, and we have an unfolding situation to report. Late last night, at approximately 3:00 AM, an explosive-like sound reverberated through this area, disrupting the sleep of residents and instilling fear in their hearts,” the news anchor, a striking figure, delivered the report with poise, standing before the camera amidst a bustling scene.

In the background, the blaring horns of ambulances and police vehicles disturbed the serenity of the beautiful morning light. Two individuals wearing protective suits, presumably forensic experts, held a stretcher carrying a charred body.

The news anchor, who had been reporting earlier, placed a hand on her ear, fitted with an earpiece, and looked visibly surprised. Her voice filled with urgency as she continued, “We have just received an update from our headquarters regarding the sole fatality in this unexpected incident. The victim of this tragic event is none other than Norman, the famous gigolo of Night palace.”

“My colleague, who was set to cover an event today at Nightplace, obtained this information firsthand from Countess Maria, who held a special place for Norman in her heart. Our focus this morning is on this breaking news,” the female news reporter continued amidst the chaotic scene, while Norman's charred body lay alone in the ambulance.

Meanwhile, in a different world, a young boy lay fast asleep with his head on the table. The sun, seemingly displeased with the boy's carefree slumber, cast its rays directly onto his face. Annoyed by the intrusion, the boy shifted his head in another direction, unwilling to be roused from his deep sleep.

*ZZZr Zzrz Zzrzzr* However, an additional source disturbed his sleep, filling the room with a buzzing sound. The boy furrowed his brows in annoyance, his eyes still closed. He searched his surroundings and discovered a glass-like slab. With closed eyes, he slid his finger across it and placed it near his ear.

“Hello...” he mumbled in his drowsy voice, which carried a hint of depth.

“Hey, Pissed-up Prat, where are you?” a voice laced with disdain emanated from the slab.

The boy, referred to as the “Pissed-up Prat” by the irritating female voice, recognized it as a voice he heard frequently but couldn't recall its owner. With his eyes still closed, he inquired, “Who is this?”

“What do you mean, 'who is this'? Wake up, come home, or eat shit for breakfast if you prefer!” the voice behind the transparent slab retorted before falling silent.

The boy, still not fully awakened, gazed at the half-opened glass slab with a mixture of confusion and surprise. As his eyes darted around the room, he became increasingly shocked.

As he recollected the fragmented memories from the night before he lost consciousness, his gaze fell upon the entrance of the shop. Once old and damp, it now bore a different appearance. While not transformed into a luxurious space, it had undergone improvements compared to its previously dilapidated state.

The shop took on a rectangular shape, with one longer side adorned with wooden shelves intricately patterned. Rows of empty glass jars lined these shelves. On the opposite side, there was another wooden shelf, also displaying empty jars. Towards the beginning of the counter, where the boy had been sleeping, there stood a peculiar machine.

Confusion etched across his face, he murmured to himself, “Whose shop is this?”

In response to his question, a mechanical voice resonated in his mind.

[The Omnistore belongs to you, host.]

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