The Bond Between Us novel Chapter 849

Malia wouldn’t stop nagging, her voice chirping endlessly as she bustled around the kitchen. At first, Alisa ignored her. After all, she’d spent years playing the part of the perfect daughter-in-law in front of her in-laws, always eager to please.

It had become second nature, a habit she couldn’t shake.

But Malia’s words got meaner and meaner, her tone turning downright vicious. Finally, she jabbed a finger into Alisa’s forehead. “Look at you. No wonder you can’t keep a man. I practically handed him to you in bed and you still couldn’t hold on. Useless. Maybe you’re the reason my son is always sick. All these years pretending to be sweet—bet you just want the house.”

Alisa couldn’t hold it in any longer. Something inside her snapped. She shoved Malia away.

Malia staggered back, grabbing the sideboard for balance. “You’ve lost your mind, Alisa! Trying to kill me now? You dare lay a hand on me? Daniel! Daniel, get out here! Your wife just hit me!” she shrieked.

Daniel shuffled out of the bedroom, still half-asleep. Before he could say a word, Alisa grabbed a stool and slammed it down at their feet. The crash rang out, leaving both her in-laws frozen in shock.

Alisa glared at them, shaking with anger. “Your son was lucky to marry me, not the other way around. I never complained he was lazy, or sick, did I? I’ve looked after you for years, and you’ve treated me like dirt. Well, I’m done. If you can’t treat me like a human being, don’t expect me to stick around. I’m through.”

The old couple shrank back, too stunned to speak. Alisa, breathing hard, stormed off to her room.

Her daughter, Isla, had woken up from the commotion, but she just squeezed her eyes shut and pretended to sleep.

Right now, Alisa felt like she had nothing left to lose. She could do anything, even kill, if it came to it. What else was there to be afraid of?

For someone at the bottom like her, whatever she wanted, she’d have to fight for herself.

The next morning.

A jogger found a body on the banks of the Golden River.

The police showed up fast. Jason was in charge—again.

This was victim number seven.

The scene was sealed off, the investigation routine by now.

But Jason already knew the killer’s tricks—no usable evidence, nothing solid to go on. Just some fish scales in the victim’s hair, left there on purpose, like a calling card.

The victim fit the usual pattern: young, into social media, living dangerously.

Jason plucked the scales and handed them to his partner. “See what kind of fish this is.”

His partner laughed. “Jason, that’s just a regular carp. You can get these anywhere.”