The Man I Helped Tried to Bury My Child Alive

I brought my husband, Victor Boone, back from the disaster zone and sent the girl I’d raised for six years to become a trainee. That was when he, who had always been cold and restrained, finally snapped.

He took our infant son to the desert’s no-man’s-land. “Tell me where Keith Warner is, or I’ll bury him alive.”

“There are five mounds of sand here. You have five chances.”

Victor placed our son into a shallow pit. The scorching sand instantly seared his delicate skin, and he cried out in pain.

My heart felt as if it had been thrown into boiling oil.

Before I could even beg, he began to shovel sand onto our son.

The first pile—my mind flashed back to little Victor glaring at me: “You’re the orphan my mom adopted? Don’t think living in my house makes you worthy of being my child bride.”

The second—when I was eighteen and had plans to study in Rivergate City, Victor had banged on my door, red-eyed, holding me tightly: “I won’t let you leave. I won’t let you go to Rivergate City.”

The third—on my 20th birthday, Victor proposed to me. “Claire Whitmore, you mean more to me than life itself.”

The fourth—he’d been caught in an earthquake while away on business. When he returned after six months, Vanessa Bright was with him.

From then on, Victor would silently slip from our bed at night to go to hers.

At first, they truly just slept.

Until one day, his body carried the lingering scent of roses—her scent—for three full days.

That’s when I knew everything had changed.

Our son’s cries weakened into strained, choking sobs.

I begged, “He’s your son, too!”

Victor’s face didn’t flinch. “Without Keith, what use do I have for a son?”

As my baby was nearly buried alive, I had no choice but to yield.

I told him where she was.

Without a word, Victor ran to Keith Warner—never looking back.

When I pulled my son from beneath the blistering sand, his tiny body was limp, his cries fading to faint groans.

I called for an ambulance, then dialed another number.

“I’ll join the organization. I’m leaving with my child in a week.”

...

The man who once bought a hundred stars for our son, Ethan Boone, the day he was born…

He’d said then, “Every year on his birthday, he’ll be named after a star. Our son will live a hundred years.”

But now, for Vanessa Bright, he was willing to bury that same child—barely a hundred days old—alive.

I tried to explain, desperate, “She wanted to go. It was her dream!”

“No,” Victor murmured, his eyes briefly softening. “Her dream… is that I sleep soundly.”

“So she’ll never leave me.”

Staring at his deranged expression, I knew—once again—I had no choice but to surrender.

After Victor left, the ambulance rushed us to the hospital.

Ethan’s life wasn’t in immediate danger, but large portions of his skin had been burned and badly infected.

I held him in the hospital bed. His body was feverish, curled tightly, whimpering even in his sleep.

My phone buzzed. A message from Victor.

[I’ve arranged the best doctor. Ethan will recover. I’ll bring Keith back later. As long as you don’t embarrass her, you’ll still be my wife.]

I stared at the screen, my fingertips trembling.

Becoming Victor’s wife had been my dream since I was a teenager.

When I was adopted by the Boone family, he hated me. Cold and aloof, he rarely spoke. But whenever I was bullied at school, he’d appear—fists flying—leaving himself battered to defend me.

When I turned eighteen, he begged me not to leave, cornered me against the wall, and kissed me.

My face burned under his kiss, and when I was gasping for air, he whispered into my ear, “Claire, I fell in love with you the moment I saw you.”

“I just didn’t have the courage to admit it.”

On my birthday that year, he lit fireworks across 18 city landmarks, turning the whole night sky into a spectacle just for me.

When he proposed, he bought me a private island—made me feel like the most cherished woman under the stars.

“Claire, you are more important than my life.”

Back then, I thought that happiness would last forever.

But it only lasted until the end of our honeymoon.

Victor went on a business trip and got caught in an earthquake. He was trapped for 99 hours—starving, weak, surrounded by death. And in that moment of darkness, it was Vanessa Bright’s rose-scented presence he clung to.

Her parents shielded a small space with their bodies, saving only water for the two of them—sacrificing their lives to ensure their children survived.

Before dying, they entrusted Vanessa Bright to Victor.

Six months later, he brought her home.

I never imagined that this so-called debt of gratitude would become a lifelong torment for me.

I kissed the corner of my son’s eye. “I’m sorry, baby. Mama let you suffer.”

“Don’t worry. I won’t let anyone hurt you again.”

I unblocked contact.

“I’ll join the organization. But I have one condition—I’m taking my child with me.”

The voice on the other end was low and amusing. “Your child… he’s just a few months old, right?”

The caller went by the codename Ferryman—leader of a top-tier global hacker syndicate. Once inside, your former identity is erased.

Exactly what I needed.

I said, “You’re well-connected. I want to leave in a week. Can you make that happen?”

“Of course,” he replied, a low chuckle in his voice. “In a week, the Ferryman will personally ferry you.”