My five ghostly husbands-Chapter 308 Lex Storar

At the same time, far away from the peaceful village, inside a large building owned by that witch’s company, something else was happening.

The threads–made from the supposed Dreadmire flowers were drying under the open sky in the wide factory yard. Long rows of them were spread across bamboo stands and hanging ropes, their pale white color glowing faintly under the sunlight.

A few workers walked between them, checking each strand carefully with their hands. One of the young workers touched a bunch of threads and frowned slightly.

"Don’t you think this one feels... not as silky as before?" she asked, rubbing the fibers between her fingers.

Another witch, older and more confident, looked over and waved her hand lazily. "Come on, it’s just thread. They’re still good quality. Didn’t you see how big those flowers were this time? Boss said it was the best batch so far."

The younger one stayed quiet, but something still felt off.

Still, no one paid much attention. The sun was strong today, and the drying process was going faster than usual.

Within half a day, the threads were already fully dried—something that usually took at least two full days.

The workers were overjoyed.

"Sun is high today!" one of them laughed, wiping sweat from his forehead. "It’s like the weather is working with us."

Another group began carefully rolling the dried threads into large bundles and loading them into wooden carts to be taken inside.

Some workers stayed outside to finish the drying check, while others pushed open the tall factory doors and wheeled the thread bundles into the yarn room.

Inside, the weaving machines were already being prepared. The noise of gears shifting, wheels turning, and belts moving filled the air.

A few workers placed the threads onto the spools and secured the ends into the machine. Sparks flew as the machine started running.

"Let’s begin the fabric cycle," someone said, and everyone nodded, ready to begin another long day of spinning and weaving.

No one noticed—at least not yet that some of the threads looked... strange.

A few had slightly uneven texture. A few were thinner. And some gave off a smell–not bad, but slightly different from the usual flower threads.

But the workers were too excited, too busy, and too focused on finishing fast.

No one had any idea what was coming next.

The weaving machines roared for hours, filling the large hall with their rhythmic noise. Threads spun around metal spools, moved through rollers, and slowly turned into wide sheets of soft white fabric.

The workers stayed focused, checking for any tangles or breaks, but surprisingly... everything looked fine.

The fabric came out clean, neat, and smooth—just like any other batch made from real Dreadmire flowers. It had the right shine, the right softness, and even the scent seemed close enough.

When the machines stopped, the room fell silent for a moment. The last roll of fabric was gently lifted off and placed on a table.

"Done," one of the workers said proudly, wiping her hands.

Another nodded. "Looks perfect."

They looked at each other with relief and smiled. From harvesting the threads to drying them and spinning into cloth—it had all gone smoothly. The hard part was over.

Now, it was time for the final step.

The fabric had to be sent to the inspection lab—a special place in the company where experts checked everything closely. The thread strength, the color quality, softness, stretch, and even how long it would last under heat or water. It was routine, something they did for every batch before sending it to company production.

A cart was prepared with careful hands. The long rolls of white fabric were stacked neatly, tied with silk cords, and covered with clean cloth. Two guards were assigned to escort it to the lab, and a senior worker followed behind with the documents.

"We’ll know by tomorrow," someone whispered, watching the cart leave.

"Yeah... but it looks good," another replied. "I don’t think anything’s wrong."

Still, deep down, a few workers had tiny questions in their minds.

Why did the thread dry so fast?

Why did some parts feel just a little too soft?

But no one said it out loud. Not yet.

Because from the outside, everything looked... perfect.

And so, the cart rolled away, carrying the fake flower fabric toward the inspection lab...

"How is work going?"

A sharp, intimidating voice cut through the air like a blade, startling the workers in the weaving hall. Some of them flinched. One accidentally dropped the small diary in her hand. All heads turned immediately toward the tall figure standing in the doorway.

It was her.

Lex Storar.

The boss. The owner. The witch behind everything.

She stood with her arms crossed, her dark eyes scanning the room with a sharpness that could silence anyone. Her heels clicked softly against the floor as she stepped inside. She was dressed in all black silky robe. Her long, dark hair was tied into a tight ponytail, and her sharp red lipstick only made her presence more fierce.

No one dared to speak until she looked directly at them.

One of the workers stepped forward nervously. "M-Miss Storar, the fabric has been completed. We just sent it to the inspection lab a few minutes ago."

Lex didn’t smile. She simply nodded once and walked over to the worktable, running her perfectly manicured fingers over the edge of the last piece of fabric that hadn’t been packed yet.

It felt smooth under her touch.

She didn’t say anything at first, just kept looking at the threads with her dark expression.

Lex Storar wasn’t just the boss of this fabric company. She was the mind behind it.

Last year, she had started this business from nothing. And in just one year, she had made it rise like wildfire, thanks to one powerful secret: Dreadmire flowers.

She didn’t just sell fabric. She owned another company too, one that turned her cloth into all kinds of products—luxury clothes, waterproof monsoon wear, special socks, soft underlayers for boots, and even designer shoes.

From thread to toe, she had her grip on it all.

And that’s what made her dangerous.

Lex turned around slowly to face the workers.

"I hope everything is perfect," she said, her voice calm but cold. "No mistakes."

Everyone nodded quickly. One man replied, "Yes, ma’am. The drying went faster than usual today, but the quality seems perfect. Inspection results should arrive tomorrow morning."

She didn’t speak right away. Her eyes narrowed just slightly.

"Faster than usual?" she repeated.

—To be continued...🪄

The source of this c𝐨ntent is fre𝒆w(e)bn(o)vel