The sound of dishes clinking echoed through the empty kitchen as I stood at the sink, scrubbing bits of food off a porcelain plate. The air smelled like leftover dinner and dish soap, a cruel reminder of what was happening in the next room. Laughter spilled in from the living room—carefree, mocking. My fingers, wrinkled from hours of washing, ached with every movement, but I kept going. I had no choice. From where I stood, I could hear them—my wife, Eleanor, and her friends. Their voices were light, full of amusement. Their laughter was sharp, like broken glass. I wasn’t welcome in that room. Not unless I was serving them. In this house, I was never a husband. I was a servant. Eleanor had made sure of that. Months ago, she fired all the maids, saying they were incompetent. But I knew the truth. She never replaced them because she didn’t want to. She liked watching me do everything—scrubbing floors, washing dishes, cooking meals. It made her feel powerful. It gave her satisfactio

The distant hum of engines rolled through the estate’s gates, growing louder as the cars approached the mansion. My stomach twisted. I didn’t need to look outside to know who had arrived. Mr. and Mrs. Prestwick. Christopher smirked, the sharp edge of his amusement returning as he tilted his head toward the entrance. “Perfect timing,” he mused. “Mother’s going to be furious when she finds out you’re refusing to sign.” He let out a soft chuckle, as if he was already savoring what was about to unfold. I clenched my jaw, my hands tightening into fists at my sides. He wasn’t lying. Mrs. Prestwick hated me. Despised me, even. From the moment Eleanor had married me, she had made her feelings clear—I was nothing. A stain on their family name. An embarrassment she wished she could erase. If given the chance, she wouldn’t just throw me out of the house; she’d have me locked away somewhere, completely erased from Eleanor’s life. The only reason I was still here was because of her h

I slowly opened my eyes, the brightness of the room piercing through my consciousness like a blade. A groan escaped my lips as I shifted, my body feeling heavy, my mind foggy. The light was harsh, almost blinding, and I squinted against it, trying to make sense of my surroundings. The first thing I saw was a golden chandelier hanging above me, its crystals catching the light and scattering it in a thousand tiny rainbows across the ceiling. It was beautiful, opulent, and entirely unfamiliar.I blinked, my mind struggling to catch up. Where was I? What had happened? My thoughts were a jumbled mess, fragments of memories swirling like shards of glass in a storm. And then, like a bolt of lightning, it all came rushing back.Christopher. The drinks. The car ride. The gun.My eyes widened as the memories flooded in, sharp and vivid. Christopher had shot me. Three times. I remembered the sound of the gunshots, the searing pain, the way my body had crumpled to the ground. I remembered the blo

I stood there, staring at my reflection, my hands gripping the edge of the sink so tightly my knuckles turned white. The face staring back at me was mine again, but it felt different now. Tainted. Changed. The weight of Lucifer’s words hung heavy in the air, and I could feel something stirring inside me—something dark, something primal. Something that had been buried deep within me, waiting for the right moment to rise.Revenge. Power. Darkness. The thoughts swirled in my mind like a storm, each one more intoxicating than the last. The Prestwicks. Eleanor. Christopher. Mrs. Prestwick. They had taken everything from me. My dignity. My love. My life. And now, I had the power to make them pay. To make them suffer. To make them regret ever crossing me.But it wasn’t just about revenge anymore. Lucifer’s words echoed in my head, a dark promise of something greater. *Together, we could rule.* The idea was terrifying, but it was also… thrilling. The thought of wielding that kind of power,

I took a deep breath, forcing the fire in my veins to cool. The flames on the television flickered and died, leaving behind only a charred, smoldering ruin. The scent of burnt metal and melted plastic hung in the air, but my rage had settled into something colder, sharper—calculated. Lilith stepped around me, her crimson gown whispering against the marble floor. She picked up one of the drinks she had poured and handed it to me, her fingers brushing mine deliberately. The glass was cool in my grip, the liquid inside swirling like molten gold. "The perfect revenge," she mused, tilting her head, "isn’t just about killing them, darling. It’s about making them suffer. Making them know it’s you. And then, when they’re broken and begging, you take everything." I took a slow sip, the liquor burning down my throat like hellfire. "Tell me," I said, my voice low, steady. She grinned, her fangs glinting in the dim light. "First—they think you’re dead. That’s your greatest advantage. You