REBIRTH OF THE PATHETIC HUSBAND

The First Stage Of My Revenge

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 move unseen, untouchable. You let them mourn, let them relax… and then, when they least expect it, you strike."

She sauntered toward the fireplace, trailing her fingers along the mantel. "Christopher is the one who pulled the trigger. So he dies first—but not quickly. You make him see you. You let him realize, in his final moments, that the man he killed is the one who ended him."

I clenched my jaw, imagining it. The fear in his eyes when he recognized me. The desperation as he begged.

"Eleanor," Lilith continued, "she betrayed you in life. So in death, you take what she loves most—her name, her status, her pride. Ruin her publicly. Make the world see her for the venomous creature she is."

"And Mrs. Prestwick?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Lilith’s smile turned vicious. "Ah, the matriarch. She thinks she’s untouchable. So you prove her wrong. You take her empire, brick by brick, until she has nothing left but the realization that you won."

I set the glass down, the plan crystallizing in my mind. "And Mr. Prestwick?"

She shrugged. "He showed you mercy. So you show him the same. Let him live. Let him watch as his family falls. That’s the true punishment for a man like him."

I exhaled, the weight of her words settling over me. This wasn’t just revenge. This was annihilation.

"Where do we start?" I asked.

Lilith’s eyes gleamed. "With a party."

"A party?"

"The Prestwicks are hosting a gala tonight," she said. "A celebration of their ‘strength in the face of tragedy.’" She scoffed. "You’ll attend. Not as John Prestwick, the dead man… but as someone new. Someone powerful. Someone they’ll never see coming."

I leaned forward, my fingers tightening around the glass. "And what exactly do I do at this party?"

Lilith's lips curled into a slow, wicked smile. She swirled her drink, the crimson liquid catching the firelight like blood. "Oh, darling," she purred, "you haunt him."

My brow arched. "Haunt him?"

She let out a soft, chilling laugh. "Christopher thinks he got away with murder. He thinks you're rotting in the ground. So we make him question that. We make him see you—everywhere. In reflections. In shadows. In crowds. Just a glimpse, just enough to make him doubt his sanity."

She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "At the gala, you'll appear as a stranger—someone wealthy, untouchable. You'll watch him. Smile at him when no one else sees. Whisper his name when the room is silent. Let him catch glimpses of your face—your real face—before it shifts back. By the end of the night, he'll be sweating, shaking, jumping at every flicker of movement."

A dark thrill shot through me. "Psychological warfare."

"Exactly," Lilith murmured. "We break his mind before we break his body. And when he's at his weakest, when he's so unraveled he can't tell reality from nightmare—that's when you reveal yourself. That's when he truly understands... the dead don't stay buried."

I exhaled, my pulse roaring in my ears. "And the others? Eleanor? His mother?"

Lilith waved a hand dismissively. "Let them watch. Let them see the golden heir crumble. Their turn will come."

I set my glass down, the ice clinking softly. "This will be so fun."

"The gala is tonight," Lilith said, her voice humming with dark excitement as she strode toward a massive wardrobe of black lacquered wood. "But first, my love, you need a new face. Christopher is the only one who will see the real you tonight—just glimpses, just enough to drive him mad. The rest of the world will see someone else entirely."

I frowned. "Okay, but how am I supposed to change my face?"

She turned, her crimson eyes gleaming as she ran a fingertip along the edge of the wardrobe. "Lucifer can wear any face he desires," she said, her voice dripping with amusement. "And since you are him now, you can too."

I stared at her. "You're saying I can just... shapeshift?"

She laughed, low and velvety. "Not just shapeshift, darling. You can become anyone. A king, a beggar, a stranger in the crowd. All it takes is a little focus... and a little desire."

I exhaled sharply. "Then teach me."

Lilith stepped closer, her presence intoxicating, her fingers brushing against my jaw. "Close your eyes," she murmured.

I obeyed.

"Now," she whispered, her breath warm against my ear, "think of the face you want to wear. Not just the features—the essence. The way they carry themselves. The way the world sees them. Feel it in your bones."

I focused, picturing a man—sharp, aristocratic, someone who belonged in a room full of elites. High cheekbones, cold eyes, a smirk that promised cruelty.

"Good," Lilith purred. "Now... become him."

A searing heat spread across my skin, like molten gold pouring over me. My bones shifted, my features rearranging, my very essence twisting into something new. It didn’t hurt—it was exhilarating, like shedding a too-tight suit and stepping into something tailor-made.

Lilith’s fingers traced my new jawline. "Open your eyes."

I did.

The reflection in the wardrobe’s mirrored doors wasn’t mine anymore. A stranger stared back—a man with icy blue eyes and a cruel, aristocratic beauty. My hair was darker, my frame taller, my presence exuding effortless dominance.

I touched my face. "Holy shit."

Lilith smirked. "Not holy. Quite the opposite." She stepped back, admiring her work. "Perfect. The Prestwicks won’t recognize you. But Christopher? Oh, he’ll see you. Just for a second. Just long enough to make him question everything."

I grinned—my new face twisting into something predatory.

"I can't wait to ruin him."