Alex Seclair: Master of Vengeance

"Robert! Andrea! What in God’s name is this?” 

Carlos’s voice thundered through the walls of the luxurious suite like a bolt of raw anguish and betrayal. 

He stood at the doorway—halfway into the room, halfway out of his old life—clutching the still-warm delivery bag in one hand, the scent of takeout barely clinging to his nostrils as the room’s new reality crushed his senses.

On the king-sized bed, tangled in silk sheets and guiltless expressions, were the last two people he thought would betray him.

Robert Dane. Andrea Moretti.

His best friend. His lover.

They stared at him—unflinching and unbothered. Andrea sat up slowly while her hair tousled in ways Carlos knew too well, not even reaching for a robe to hide her treachery.

“Dude…” Robert exhaled, scratching his head lazily,

 “...not the best time.”

Carlos couldn’t move.

“What the hell is going on here?” His voice cracked, not from weakness, but from the weight of his crumbling world. 

“How could you, Andrea, how could you? And you, Robert! I trusted you with everything! Everything!” His voice quaked. But Andrea simply smirked.

 “Carlos,” she said coldly, 

“Don't embarrass yourself. It’s not like this is new.”

Carlos dropped the bag and with each step he took toward them, the years of loyalty, sacrifice and love burned to ashes in his chest. His fist clenched involuntarily. 

“You were my brother, Robert,” his breath weakened with pain while his eyes gleamed.

“And you... I was planning to marry you, Andrea!”

“You?” Andrea snapped with a scoff, wrapping a sheet around her.

“You can’t even pay your rent on time. You’re a delivery boy, Carlos. A nobody."

Robert stood then, shirtless, with that same smirk Carlos had once mistaken for charm but now, a condescension. 

“Relax, man. You think this is betrayal? Grow up.”

Carlos lunged at him. His fists flew like thunderclaps. 

Robert tried to parry, but Carlos had too much pain, too much betrayal, too much fury coursing through him. 

Every punch was powered by every moment they laughed together, every time Robert swore he’d always have his back. 

Blood spattered as bone met flesh with brutal clarity. 

Robert stumbled backward, collapsing into a heap of bruises and breathless groans.

“STOP IT!” Andrea shrieked, throwing a vase at Carlos which he missed by inches.

Carlos turned to her with hollow eyes filled with devastation. 

“Tell me it was a mistake,” he begged, voice softening for a fraction. 

“Tell me this wasn’t all fake.”

Andrea straightened boldly, fully robed and proud. 

“You live in a fantasy, Carlos. You think love survives on dreams and kindness? I need a man, not a liability. Robert is a man. A man who can afford me.” She laughed with a bitter, daggered sound. 

“You should thank us. You’d never have survived a woman like me.” She snapped at him and turned, offering a helping hand to Axel from the floor.

He stared long and hard at what once was love.

Then turned to depart without a word and without a backward glance. 

But Robert’s fury wasn’t about to be settled any minute soon as it burned deep in him for revenge. 

“I won’t let that son of a bitch get away with this. Not without a piece of my verdict.” He avowed. Extreme horror residing on his overly bruised face from Carlos’ jabs. 

“And what are you about to do now?” Andrea asked curiously. 

“You are about to find out.” He said, taking out his phone and suddenly placing a call.

“Yes sir.” A voice answered, coming from a man who’d appeared in an hotel attendant uniform. He’d ended the call and pronto spotted Carlos from afar who seemed to have been too buried in deep thoughts while he walked by. 

As the hallway stretched like a graveyard,  his shoulders collided with the hotel attendant who wore a mobbed face while he rode a cart along.

“Hey!” Carlos exclaimed at the man who squatted to pick up his bag pack, handed it to Carlos and continued to ride the cart down the hallway like nothing happened.

He’d found the attendant’s behavior weird after staring at the man  for a short while as he continued to walk off without looking back.

But he’d sighed after realizing that he must have been buried in so much deep thoughts of the recent scenario that he wasn't in full awareness of his surroundings.

****************

The walk home felt eternal. The world around him buzzed with life but Carlos moved like a ghost—haunted and shattered.

When he reached the small, peeling apartment complex on the city’s edge, the stench of reality slapped him harder than any betrayal could. 

Beatrice, his mother, opened the door with a tired smile that quickly dropped.

“Carlos? What happened to your face?” she asked, alarmed.

“Nothing. Just... rough day.” he said, forcing a smile.

Inside, the air was stale with medicated damp. In the bedroom, Dario, his father, wheezed softly under thinning sheets, his eyes fluttering open with effort.

“Son…” he rasped.

“I’m here, Dad,” Carlos whispered, kneeling by the bed.

Dario’s hand trembled as it reached out. 

“Everything… okay?”

 “Yeah. We’re good.” He lied.

But everything wasn’t good. Dario’s condition was worsening. His mother’s eyes were sunken from worry and sleepless nights. 

The medicine bills were piling, the power blinked weakly every few hours, and dinner was half a pot of thin broth.

Carlos stood by the door, unable to breathe again and this time from guilt.

His heartbreak seemed petty now compared to this reality. His dad’s condition was worse than he thought. Beatrice’s eyes were tired, worn out from sleepless nights and silent cries.

“Mamma,” Carlos whispered, approaching. 

“We need to get Dad to the clinic tonight.”

 “We don’t have money, son. I’ve begged the landlord for two more days. The pharmacy refused to give any more drugs on credit.” She explained.

Carlos sat at his father’s side.

“I’ll fix this. I promise.” he said, gently gripping his hand.

But unknown to him, the start of his mishap was just a door step away.