REBIRTH OF THE PATHETIC HUSBAND

A Deal With The Devil

Hours later, I lay on the narrow bed in the guest room, staring at the ceiling. The room was dark, save for the faint moonlight filtering through the curtains, casting long shadows across the walls. The house was silent now, the kind of silence that felt heavy, oppressive, like the calm before a storm. 

The rest of the family had retired to their rooms after dinner, and Eleanor had made it clear—I was no longer welcome in our shared bedroom. To her, we were already divorced even though I hadn’t signed the papers yet.

I exhaled slowly, rubbing my hands together as Mr. Prestwick’s words echoed in my head.  

"Tomorrow morning, sign the papers. Take the money. Start over."  

It made sense. It was the logical choice. If I signed, I could escape this miserable existence, leave behind the humiliation, the suffering. I could start a new life—one where I wouldn’t be treated like a servant in my own marriage.  

But I didn’t want to.  

Despite everything… despite her cruelty, her coldness, her blatant disregard for me—I still loved Eleanor.  

I knew it was stupid. I knew it made me weak. But no matter how much pain she inflicted on me, I couldn't just erase my feelings for her. I couldn't bury them.  

I shut my eyes, clenching my jaw.  

Then—a knock at the door.  

I frowned, opening my eyes and staring toward it. Who could it be at this hour?  

Pushing myself off the bed, I hesitated for a moment before crossing the room and pulling the door open.  

Christopher stood there.  

I blinked, caught off guard.  

He had changed out of his suit into something more casual—a fitted black shirt and dark jeans. His usual arrogant smirk was missing, replaced by something… softer.  

“Hey,” he said, his voice quiet, almost apologetic. “Can I come in?”

I blinked, still trying to process his presence. “Uh… sure,” I said finally, stepping aside to let him in.

He walked into the room, glancing around before turning back to me. “I just wanted to say… I’m sorry.”

I stared at him, my confusion deepening. “Sorry?”

He nodded, his expression uncharacteristically sincere. “Yeah. For how I spoke to you earlier. I’ve been thinking about it, and… I realized I haven’t treated you right. I’ve never treated you right.”

I was taken aback, my mind struggling to reconcile this version of Christopher with the one I had come to know over the years. The Christopher I knew was arrogant, cruel, always looking for ways to belittle me. This Christopher, standing in front of me now, seemed… different. Genuine.

“I don’t know what to say,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.

He shrugged, his smile softening. “You don’t have to say anything. I just… I wanted to make things right. Or at least try to.”

I studied him for a moment, searching for any hint of deception, any sign that this was some kind of trick. But I found none. He seemed sincere.

“So,” he said after a moment, breaking the silence. “How about we go out? Just you and me. Get some drinks, clear the air. What do you say?”

I hesitated, my mind racing. Going out with Christopher? The idea seemed absurd, almost laughable. But at the same time, I couldn’t deny that a part of me was curious. Maybe this was a chance to finally bridge the gap between us, to find some common ground.

After a long moment, I nodded. “Alright. Let’s go.”

A grin spread across his face, and he clapped me on the shoulder. “Great. Let’s get out of here.”

I grabbed my jacket from the back of the chair and followed him out of the room, my mind still reeling from the sudden turn of events. We walked down the hall, our footsteps echoing in the silence, and out into the cool night air. Christopher’s car was parked in the driveway, sleek and expensive, just like everything else in his life.

He unlocked the doors and slid into the driver’s seat, while I climbed in on the passenger side. I buckled my seatbelt, glancing at him.  

Something about this still didn’t sit right with me.  

But I pushed the thought aside as he pulled out of the driveway, speeding off into the night.

The city lights flickered past as Christopher sped down the empty roads, his hands relaxed on the steering wheel. The soft hum of the engine filled the silence between us, and for the first time in a long time, I wasn’t surrounded by people who sneered at my existence.  

But something still felt off.  

Christopher was too calm. Too casual. It didn’t fit.  

I glanced at him from the corner of my eye. His jaw was set, his lips pressed into a firm line. He hadn’t said much since we left the house, which only made my unease grow stronger.  

“Where exactly are we going?” I finally asked, breaking the silence.  

He smirked. “Relax, John. It’s just a bar.”  

I swallowed, nodding. Maybe I was overthinking things. Maybe this was his strange way of making peace after years of hostility.  

But still… why now?  

After all this time, why was he suddenly offering an olive branch?  

I sighed, leaning back against the seat as I tried to push my doubts away. Maybe I should just take this as a rare moment of peace.  

Minutes later, we pulled into a dimly lit parking lot in front of a bar I didn’t recognize. The neon sign above flickered weakly, casting an eerie glow on the cracked pavement. It didn’t look like the type of place Christopher would normally go to—too run-down, too quiet.  

He killed the engine and turned to me.  

“Come on,” he said, opening the door.  

I hesitated for just a second before following him out.  

The air was thick with the scent of alcohol and cigarettes as we stepped inside. The place was nearly empty, just a few scattered patrons sitting at the bar, nursing their drinks in silence.  

Christopher led us to a booth in the corner and waved over a waiter.  

“What are you having?” he asked, leaning back against the seat.  

“Just water,” I said.  

He rolled his eyes. “Come on, live a little. One drink won’t kill you.”  

I forced a tight smile. If only he knew how ironic that statement was.  

“…Fine. Whiskey,” I said.  

He smirked, satisfied, before ordering two whiskeys.  

The drinks arrived quickly. Christopher took a sip of his, watching me carefully. I hesitated before picking up my glass, feeling the warmth of the liquid against my fingertips.  

He exhaled slowly, swirling his drink in his hand. “You know, John… I’ve been thinking.”  

I lifted an eyebrow. “About what?”  

He set his glass down, his expression unreadable.  

“About how things could have been different.”  

I frowned. “What do you mean?”  

He leaned forward slightly. “I mean, you should have never married Eleanor.”  

I stiffened.  

“I don’t mean that to be cruel,” he continued. “But look at you, John. Look at what your life has become. She doesn’t love you. She never did. And yet, here you are, clinging to a marriage that doesn’t exist anymore.”  

I clenched my jaw.  

“I know that,” I said quietly.  

“Then why are you still holding on?” His eyes darkened. “Why won’t you just let go?”  

I lowered my gaze to my drink, gripping the glass tightly. “Because I love her.”  

Christopher let out a slow, humorless chuckle. “Love,” he repeated, shaking his head. “You’re a fool, John.”  

I didn’t respond.  

The weight of his stare pressed down on me, but I refused to look up.  

After a long pause, he sighed. “Well… I guess that settles it, then.”  

Before I could ask what he meant, I felt it.  

A strange, bitter taste coated my tongue. My throat burned. My stomach twisted violently.  

I gasped, gripping the edge of the table as nausea crashed into me like a tidal wave.  

Christopher just sat there, watching.  

The realization hit me like a brick to the chest.  

I’d been poisoned.  

My vision blurred. The sounds around me warped and distorted. My limbs felt heavy—too heavy.  

Christopher stood up, his expression calm.  

“You should’ve signed the papers, John,” he murmured.  

The world around me tilted. My body refused to move. The glass slipped from my fingers, shattering against the floor.

A wave of dizziness crashed over me, distorting the world around me. My head spun, my limbs felt like dead weight, and my breaths grew shallow.  

Christopher’s voice cut through the haze like a blade.  

“The poison causes dizziness first,” he mused, tilting his head as he watched me struggle. “Then the real fun begins. In ten minutes, you’ll be dead.”  

Panic surged through my veins, but I was too weak to do anything. My body refused to cooperate.  

Christopher snapped his fingers. Then, men appeared.  

Two of them grabbed me by the arms, dragging my barely conscious body out of the bar. My feet scraped against the rough pavement as they hauled me away. The night air was cold against my burning skin, and the moon hung high above us, a silent witness to my demise.  

We moved through the empty streets, their footsteps echoing against the walls of an abandoned building. A heavy metal door creaked open, and they dragged me inside.  

The room was dark. Cold. Smelled like rust and damp concrete.  

They forced me to my knees.  

Christopher crouched in front of me, his expression unreadable.  

“You could have avoided all of this, John,” he said, shaking his head. “All you had to do was sign the damn papers. Just one thing. One fucking thing.” His voice dropped to a whisper, venom laced in every word. “But you were too stupid. And now, look where that got you.”  

I could barely keep my head up. The dizziness had turned to something far worse—a slow, creeping agony spreading through my chest, clawing at my insides like fire.  

I let out a weak gasp.  

Christopher smirked. He was enjoying this.  

Then, he pulled out a small glass bottle and held it up, letting the dim light catch the dark liquid inside.  

“This,” he said, twirling it between his fingers, “is the antidote.”  

My blurred vision focused on the bottle with desperation. Hope.  

One of his men handed him a stack of papers. The divorce papers.  

Christopher held them up. “You want the antidote?” His voice was almost playful. “Then sign.”  

He tossed a pen in front of me.  

The pain intensified. My muscles cramped, my vision darkened at the edges, and I could barely breathe. My body screamed for relief. I didn’t think—I just acted.  

With trembling hands, I snatched the pen and scribbled my name across the papers.  

I didn’t care anymore. I just needed to live.  

Christopher’s lips curled into a slow, satisfied smile.  

“Good boy.”  

He patted my cheek mockingly before tossing the bottle onto the floor in front of me.  

I lunged for it, my hands barely working as I fumbled with the cap. My fingers were numb, my throat raw. But I managed to open it.  

I downed the liquid in one desperate gulp.  

A wave of cool relief rushed through me almost instantly, dulling the fire inside me. My breathing steadied. The agony subsided. I wasn’t dying anymore.  

I wasn’t dying.  

I looked up at Christopher, grateful despite everything.  

Until I saw his expression.  

Pity.  

“You know,” he said, sighing, “you might try to report me for this, John.” He clicked his tongue. “And I really can’t have that.”  

My blood turned to ice.  

Before I could react, he reached into his coat and pulled out a gun.  

The metal gleamed under the dim light.  

He was going to kill me.  

My breath hitched as he raised it, the barrel aimed straight at my chest.  

“Christopher, wait,” I gasped, my hands trembling. “You don’t have to do this.”  

He shook his head, almost disappointed. “Yeah… I do.”  

My pulse thundered in my ears.  

“No, no, please,” I begged, my voice breaking. “Please, don’t—”  

BAM!

The first shot tore through my shoulder.  

Pain exploded through me, white-hot and unbearable. I screamed, my body jerking back as the force sent me sprawling to the ground.  

BAM!

The second bullet slammed into my stomach.  

A choked gasp left my lips as agony spread through my torso, my hands instinctively pressing against the wound. Warm. Sticky. Blood seeped between my fingers.  

I tried to breathe—it hurt.  

Tears blurred my vision as I struggled to lift my head.  

Christopher loomed over me, the gun still aimed. His face was calm. Unbothered.  

His finger tightened on the trigger. Then he fired the third shot.

BAM!

Pain.  

It was all I knew.  

A raw, searing agony that tore through my body, consuming me from the inside out. The bullets had done their job. My blood pooled beneath me, warm and sticky, soaking into the cold concrete floor. Every breath was a struggle—each inhale like a blade slicing through my chest. My limbs were numb, yet the pain was unbearable, radiating from every wound, suffocating me.  

Through my weak, hazy vision, I saw them.  

Christopher and his men.  

They were leaving. Their figures blurred, their footsteps echoing in the empty room. They didn’t look back.  

I was dying.  

My heart pounded sluggishly, each beat weaker than the last. My eyelids grew heavy, the world dimming around me. The cold crept in, wrapping around my limbs like chains, pulling me toward the abyss.  

Then—  

A shadow moved.  

At first, I thought I was hallucinating, just a trick of my fading mind. But then it stepped forward.  

A figure cloaked in darkness.  

Tall. Looming.  

Two massive, curved horns protruded from its hood, their jagged edges catching the faint light. Its eyes burned red—two smoldering embers in the darkness, glowing with something ancient, something terrifying.  

I blinked, trying to focus. Was this death? Was I already gone?  

The figure took another step, and the shadows seemed to move with him, twisting and writhing like living things. Then, he lowered his hood.  

I gasped—or at least I thought I did.  

He was beautiful.  

Unnaturally so.  

His face was that of a man, but not just any man. The most devastatingly handsome man I had ever seen. Chiseled features, sharp jawline, lips curled in something between amusement and curiosity. His skin was smooth, flawless, yet there was something inhuman about him. Something dark.  

Then I saw them—  

His wings.  

Massive, black as the void, stretching out behind him like a storm ready to consume the world.  

I could only stare.  

Then, he spoke.  

“John,” his voice was deep, smooth, a whisper and a command all at once. It echoed inside my skull, making my very soul tremble. “Do you want to die?”  

My chest heaved painfully. I couldn’t even tell if I was breathing anymore.  

“Or,” he tilted his head slightly, eyes boring into mine, seeing everything. “Do you want a second chance?”  

I didn’t know if this was real. Did it even matter?  

I could feel myself slipping, my consciousness fading like a dying flame. This had to be a hallucination—a cruel trick of my broken mind before death took me.  

And yet…  

“I…” My voice was barely above a whisper, my throat raw, blood bubbling at the corners of my lips. “I… want a second chance.”  

A slow smile stretched across his lips, sharp and knowing. Predatory.  

“I can give you that,” he murmured, crouching before me. “But there is a price.”  

I couldn’t look away.  

“You must give yourself to me,” he said. “Body and soul.”  

His words wrapped around me like a vice, binding me, suffocating me.  

But did I even have a choice?  

I was dying.  

I was dead already.  

And if this was a hallucination, then what did it matter?  

I swallowed, my throat aching. My life was slipping away. I could feel it.  

I had no time.  

So, without hesitation, I nodded weakly.  

“I agree.”  

The moment the words left my lips, everything went black.