Chapter 23 : The gift that keeps on giving

Angela entered the apartment, her keys jingling as she unlocked the door. The dark room greeted her with an eerie silence, broken only by the faint creak of the floor beneath her feet. She flipped the light switch, startled when the glow revealed Michael sitting motionless in a chair, facing the entrance. His face was obscured by shadow, but the jagged edges of broken glass at his feet glinted under the light. 

"Michael?" Angela asked cautiously, her hand gripping the doorframe. 

He didn't reply. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating. Angela noticed the empty bottle of whiskey on the small table beside him and frowned. 'He's been drinking again,' she thought, irritation bubbling beneath her initial concern. 

She moved closer and crouched down to pick up the shards of glass. As she swept the pieces into her hand, Michael's voice finally broke the tension. 

"You don't smell like someone who just came back from the gym." 

Angela froze. The cold accusation in his voice sent a chill down her spine. "Excuse me?" she asked, glancing up at him. 

Michael leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. "You heard me," he repeated. "And these past few days, you've been coming home later and later. Today especially. What were you doing?" 

Angela struggled to formulate a response, her mind racing for an excuse. "I stayed back to—" 

"To do what?" Michael cut her off, his voice sharp. "Don't even try. Who is he?" His voice grew louder, his words more pointed. "Who's the man you've been sleeping with? Tell me, Angela. Who is he?" 

Her eyes widened in shock. "What are you talking about?" she whispered. 

Michael's fist slammed against the armrest. "Don't play dumb with me!" he roared. "I saw you. I saw you kiss him." 

Angela's jaw dropped, her instinct to deny the accusation rising, but then Lumian's words echoed in her mind. 'You owe him nothing, he's a dishonest man and he's cheating on you.' 

Her shock gave way to anger. Her face hardened, and she stood tall, glaring at him. "Oh, really?" she snapped. "You want to talk about loyalty? How about you explain how an 'accountant' comes home with bruises and cuts? Or why you disappear at odd hours and come back at even stranger ones? Or why sometimes you leave the house with a set of clothes and return home with a different set?" 

Michael's expression shifted, the anger in his eyes momentarily replaced by surprise. 

Angela pressed on, her voice rising. "You think I don't notice? You think I don't hear you sneaking out when you think I'm asleep? What are YOU hiding, Michael? Who are YOU seeing?" 

Michael was rendered speechless. He wasn't cheating, but he couldn't tell Angela about his secret identity as Voltstrike. Telling her would only put her in danger, and so, for her safety, he remained silent. 

Angela's rant continued, her voice trembling with both anger and pain. "You're a hypocrite. You want to accuse me of betrayal, but you've been keeping secrets from me for God knows how long. You don't trust me, and you don't respect me." She paused, her voice dropping to a whisper. "He was right. You're not worth it." 

The words hit Michael like a thunderbolt. His body stiffened, and his jaw clenched. "Who is 'He'?" he demanded, his voice low and menacing. He followed her as she walked toward the bedroom. "Tell me who he is!" 

Angela ignored him, her silence fueling Michael's growing frustration. He grabbed her arm, his grip firm enough to make her wince. 

"I said, who is he?" Michael growled, his voice trembling with barely-contained rage. 

"Let go of me!" Angela cried, tears streaming down her face as she tried to free herself. 

But Michael's grip only tightened. His emotions boiled over—anger, insecurity, fear—all blending into a dangerous cocktail that he could no longer control. 

Angela's pleas finally broke through, and he shoved her away in a fit of frustration. She stumbled, hitting her head on a decorative shelf. A wedding photo of the two of them clattered to the floor. Blood dripped down Angela's forehead, staining the photo's glass frame. 

Angela sat there, dazed. She picked up the frame, staring at the image of them on their wedding day. They looked so happy, so in love. She felt the warm sting of tears as she whispered, "Where did it all go wrong?" 

Michael stood frozen, his hands trembling as he realized what he'd just done. 

Angela looked up at him, her face bloodied and tear-streaked. "You're not the man I married," she said, her voice trembling but firm. "The man I married would never hurt a woman, talk less of the woman he claimed to love. He would never…" She trailed off, her voice breaking. 

She pulled off her wedding ring and threw it at him. Michael instinctively caught it, his mouth opening to speak, but no words came out. 

Angela stood, her movements slow and deliberate. She walked into their bedroom and locked the door. Moments later, muffled sobs filled the air. 

Michael stared at the ring in his hand, his mind racing. Regret and self-loathing battled with his lingering anger, and he felt like he was suffocating under the weight of his emotions. He looked around the living room, his eyes landing on the shattered photo frame. 

With a roar of frustration, he began to destroy everything in sight. The table, the shelves, the lamp—nothing was spared. His fists smashed through glass and wood alike, the sound of destruction echoing through the apartment. 

But when the last piece of furniture lay in ruins, Michael's anger was still there, festering and raw. His body began to crackle with electricity, sparks dancing along his skin. 

"Villains," he muttered through clenched teeth. "Villains like him…" 

Without another word, he stormed out of the apartment, leaving the chaos behind. 

Lumian strolled through the streets, his hands in his pockets as he hummed a jaunty tune. The end of his revenge was fast approaching, but what was on his mind was what he would have for dinner that night.

"Perhaps I should order takeout? Or maybe have those slobs go to the other side of town to get some Italian food?"

His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden ping from his system. 

[+500 CT] 

[+300 CT]

[+700 CT] 

Lumian paused, his eyebrows rising in curiosity. Then, the pings kept on coming. 

[+1900CT]

[+1200 CT]

A wide grin spread across his face, and soon, he was laughing. A deep, maniacal laugh that echoed through the empty street. 

The nearby residents peered out of their windows and immediately retreated.It was never a good sign when a madman laughed

"The walls of Jericho are beginning to crumble," Lumian said to himself, his voice filled with satisfaction. 

The notifications continued to pour in, each one adding to his delight. He leaned against a lamppost, his laughter subsiding into a chuckle. 

"What a night," he said, shaking his head. "Chaos truly is the gift that keeps on giving. Passive income" 

He straightened up and continued toward his abode, his steps were joyful and his heart was dark with anticipation. 

"Soon," Lumian whispered to himself, his grin widening. "Very soon."