Rebirth of the Fallen Heir : Shadow of Revenge

The blade was cold. That was the last thing Eryndra remembered—not the pain, which had been a white-hot scream in his gut, but the absolute, soul-sucking chill of the steel Raka had twisted into his vitals. He remembered the smell of expensive cologne and copper-thick blood, the way the moonlight had caught the diamond on his engagement ring as his hand fell limp.

"Ery? Hey, Eryndra! Wake up, man, you’re gonna be late for your own damn party!"

Eryndra’s eyes snapped open. He bolted upright, a strangled gasp tearing from his throat. His heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird, and his skin was slick with a cold, greasy sweat.

"Shit," he whispered, his voice cracking. "Shit, shit, shit."

He clawed at his stomach, searching for the jagged hole, the wetness of his own life spilling out. But there was nothing. Only the smooth, expensive fabric of 600-thread-count silk pajamas. He fumbled for his nightstand, his hands shaking so violently he knocked over a glass of water. It shattered on the floor, but he didn't care. He grabbed his phone, the screen illuminating his pale, terrified face.

June 15, 2024.

"No way," he breathed, staring at the date. "This isn't real. This is some kind of sick joke."

He looked around the room. It was his old bedroom in the Maheswara estate—the one he’d traded for a penthouse he’d eventually died in. The minimalist decor, the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Jakarta’s skyline, the heavy scent of lilies his mother insisted on placing in every room.

"I'm... I'm back?" he muttered to the empty room. "Five years. I’m back five years?"

He scrambled out of bed, his legs feeling like lead. He ignored the shards of glass and marched to the full-length mirror. The man looking back at him was younger, his eyes devoid of the hollow exhaustion that had defined his final months. His skin was flawless, his hair a mess of dark waves, and his neck... his neck was free of the bruises Raka used to leave like claims of ownership.

"You look like a lamb," Eryndra told his reflection, his voice trembling with a mixture of horror and dawning realization. "You look so fucking ready to be slaughtered. Look at you. You actually believe he loves you."

He let out a sharp, hysterical laugh that sounded more like a sob. He remembered this day. Tonight was the engagement party. The night he’d publicly tied his fortune and his heart to the man who would eventually throw him off a balcony after taking everything he owned.

"Ery? You okay in there? I heard something break."

The voice through the door made Eryndra’s blood turn to liquid nitrogen. It was smooth, melodic, and carried a hint of that practiced, boyish concern that had once made Eryndra’s knees weak.

Raka.

"I'm fine!" Eryndra shouted, perhaps too quickly. He forced himself to take a deep breath, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the edge of the vanity. "I just dropped a glass. Don't come in yet!"

"You sure, babe?" Raka’s voice was closer now, right behind the wood of the door. "You sounded like you were having a nightmare. Do I need to come in there and kiss it better?"

Eryndra felt a wave of nausea. Kiss it better. The same mouth that had whispered "Goodbye, Ery" while twisting the knife. He closed his eyes, forcing the image of his own cooling corpse out of his mind. He had to play the part. If Raka suspected anything, he’d change his tactics, and Eryndra couldn't afford that. Not yet.

"No, seriously, stay out," Eryndra said, trying to inject a playful, slightly annoyed tone into his voice. "I’m a mess. You know I don’t want you seeing me before I’ve even brushed my teeth on our big day."

"A little late for modesty, isn't it?" Raka chuckled, and the sound sent a shiver of pure, unadulterated loathing down Eryndra’s spine. "I’ve seen you in a lot less than pajamas, Ery. Usually with a lot more sweat involved."

"Shut up, Raka," Eryndra replied, his eyes narrowing as he looked at his own reflection. He saw the way his pupils dilated. The rage was there, simmering just beneath the surface. He had to bury it. "Just give me ten minutes. I need to shower and wake up."

"Alright, alright," Raka said, though he didn't sound like he was moving away. "But hurry up. Your dad is already asking about the guest list, and the caterers are losing their minds over the champagne tower. Apparently, the vintage you wanted is stuck in customs or some bullshit."

"Tell my dad to handle it," Eryndra said, walking toward the door but stopping just short of touching the handle. "And tell the caterers I’ll pay whatever bribe is necessary. Just get the damn wine."

"That's my boy," Raka said, a grin evident in his tone. "The Maheswara power move. God, I love it when you get bossy. It’s a major turn-on."

Eryndra felt his stomach flip. You love the money, you parasitic prick. You love the power I hand you on a silver platter.

"I’ll be out in a bit, Raka. Go get some coffee or something."

"I’d rather have you, but coffee is a decent second place," Raka replied. Finally, the sound of his footsteps receded, fading into the plush carpet of the hallway.

Eryndra slumped against the door, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He stayed there for a long time, listening to the silence of the house. He was alive. He was twenty-four again. And he knew exactly how the next five years were supposed to go.

The engagement. The merger. The slow siphoning of my family’s assets. The 'accidents' that would take out my father and sister. And finally, me.

"Not this time," he whispered. "This time, I’m the one with the knife."

He stripped off his pajamas and stepped into the shower, turning the water to a punishing heat. He scrubbed his skin until it was raw, as if he could wash away the phantom touch of a man who hadn't even touched him yet in this timeline. He leaned his head against the tiles, letting the steam fill his lungs.

When he finally stepped out, he felt different. The panic had crystallized into something hard and sharp. He dressed carefully, choosing a silk robe that hung loosely over his lean, athletic frame. He caught sight of a hickey on his collarbone—a parting gift from Raka the night before.

He stared at it in the mirror. He touched it, his fingers lingering on the purple mark.

"You think you own me," he murmured to the ghost of Raka. "You think I’m your perfect, naive little prize."

He picked up a comb and pushed his hair back, exposing his forehead. He looked older. Not physically, but his eyes... they weren't the eyes of a twenty-four-year-old socialite anymore. They were the eyes of a man who had seen the bottom of a grave.

He walked to the door and gripped the handle. He could hear Raka humming in the small sitting room connected to the suite. Raka was probably checking his reflection, admiring the suit Eryndra had bought him, planning how he’d spend the Maheswara fortune.

Eryndra took a final, steadying breath. Play the game. Be the lamb. Until you’re ready to be the butcher.

He pulled the door open.

Raka was standing by the window, the morning sun catching the sharp angles of his face. He was undeniably handsome—dark hair, a jawline that could cut glass, and eyes that always seemed to be sharing a private joke with you. He turned when he heard the door, a wide, predatory smile spreading across his lips.

"There he is," Raka said, walking toward him with an easy, feline grace. "The man of the hour. God, Ery, even with bedhead you look like you belong on a pedestal."

Raka reached out, his hands sliding onto Eryndra’s waist, pulling him close. The smell of his cologne hit Eryndra like a physical blow—sandalwood and expensive tobacco. It was the smell of his death.

"You're very quiet," Raka murmured, his voice dropping an octave, becoming that husky, intimate growl that used to make Eryndra’s heart skip beats. He leaned in, his lips brushing against Eryndra’s ear. "What’s wrong? Engagement nerves finally hitting you?"

Eryndra forced his muscles to relax. He even forced a small, shy smile to his lips, the kind of smile the 'old' Eryndra would have given. He reached up, his fingers trailing lightly over Raka’s bicep.

"Something like that," Eryndra said, his voice smooth and deceptive. "I just had a very vivid dream about our future. It was... intense."

Raka’s grip tightened slightly, his thumbs rubbing circles into the silk of Eryndra’s robe. "Intense, huh? Was I in it?"

"Oh, you were the star of the show," Eryndra replied. He tilted his head back, looking up at Raka. "You have no idea what I have planned for us, Raka. It’s going to be unforgettable."

Raka laughed, a rich, dark sound, and leaned down to press his face into the crook of Eryndra’s neck. He inhaled deeply, his teeth grazing the skin right over the hickey he’d left.

"I like the sound of that," Raka whispered against his skin. "You know, we still have a few hours before the hair and makeup people get here. We could... celebrate a little early."

He shifted his weight, pressing his lower body against Eryndra’s, letting him feel the heat and the intent. In his past life, Eryndra would have melted. He would have dragged Raka back to the bed and given him everything he wanted.

Now, Eryndra felt nothing but a cold, calculating detachment. It was like watching a movie of someone else’s life.

"As much as I’d love that," Eryndra said, gently pushing Raka back just an inch, "I think I need to stay sharp today. There’s so much to do. So many people to see. I want everything to be perfect."

Raka pouted, a mock-expression of disappointment that looked so genuine it was almost terrifying. "You’re no fun today, Ery. Where’s my wild boy?"

"He’s still here," Eryndra said, his smile widening, but not reaching his eyes. "He’s just... evolving. You’ll see tonight."

Raka searched his face for a moment, something flickering in his dark eyes—a momentary confusion, a sense that something was slightly off. But his arrogance was too deep, his confidence in his own manipulation too absolute. He just grinned and kissed Eryndra’s forehead.

"I can't wait," Raka said. "Tonight, the whole world is going to know you’re mine."

"Yes," Eryndra whispered, watching Raka walk toward the vanity to check his hair one last time. "Tonight, the whole world is going to see exactly what we are to each other."

Eryndra leaned against the doorframe, watching the man he hated more than anything in this world or the next. He felt a strange sense of peace settle over him. The path ahead was bloody and dark, but for the first time, he wasn't the one walking toward a cliff. He was the cliff.

Raka turned back, catching Eryndra’s gaze. "What are you looking at? Do I have something on my face?"

Eryndra’s smile didn't fade. It grew sharper, more predatory, the kind of look a wolf gives a trap it’s about to dismantle.

"No," Eryndra said softly. "You look perfect, Raka. Absolutely perfect. I wouldn't change a single thing about you right now."

Not until I’m ready to watch you burn.

Raka just laughed, oblivious, and checked his watch. "Come on, then. Let’s go start the rest of our lives."

"Let's," Eryndra agreed, stepping out of the room and into the light of a day he had already lived, ready to write a brand new ending.