Revenge part-1

And time simply passed.

Two weeks had gone by since Roman had awakened — since the goddess had turned back time and handed him the key to his second life.

In these two weeks, Roman remained silent, observant, planning.

His phone had rung twice. Maybe three times.

Each time, it was his girlfriend.

He didn't answer.

Not once.

He had read her messages, seen her missed calls.

Not that he cared.

He thought of blocking her number completely — but something darker whispered in his mind.

Let her wonder. Let her spiral. Let her torture herself with questions she'll never get answers to.

He smiled to himself as he placed the phone screen-down on the table and left it there.

Then came the U.S. presidential election.

Exactly as he remembered, Donald Trump scored an unexpected, last-minute victory. Chaos erupted online. Memes flooded the net. Stocks trembled.

And just like that — for sixty fleeting seconds — the Trump coin skyrocketed.

Roman was ready.

He had set his alarm down to the exact second. Watched the blockchain surge. Watched the value multiply.

He sold at the peak.

In those sixty seconds, he became rich.

Insanely rich.

His laptop screen showed numbers he never thought he'd see. His bank account danced.

"Now," he whispered, staring at the glow of his screen. "Now, the game begins."

One week. That was all the time he had.

His family would return from their vacation in exactly one week.

He would greet them. Smile at them.

And the next week after their return —will be their wedding anniversary — he would give his father a gift so unforgettable, it would etch itself into his soul.

A gift of humiliation. Of disgrace. Of truth.

He laughed, low and cold. The sound echoed in the empty house like a whisper from the underworld.

First, the preparations.

He donned a hoodie and a mask. Cashed out part of his new wealth. Then, like a shadow, he made his way to a certain underground auction market hidden beneath the city's neon-lit underbelly bar.

A place where nothing was illegal — if you had the cash.

There, amidst flickering lights and shadowy figures and stalls, he found what he needed.

A drug.

Not just any drug — an aphrodisiac designed for twisted purposes.

It came in two vials: one for each party.

If both consumed their respective doses, they would experience an uncontrollable, overwhelming attraction to one another.

Mindless. Animalistic.

Roman studied the vial in the dim light. The liquid shimmered a deep violet.

"This," he muttered, "will be the match that burns this fake family down."

The vendor chuckled behind the stall, his eyes gleaming with the usual sleaze of underground markets. He leaned forward, placing the small velvet box containing the vial of aphrodisiac on the counter.

"You planning a good time, eh?" the vendor smirked, winking suggestively.

Roman didn't even blink. His lips curled into a cold, dead smile. There was no warmth in it. Only calculation.

"Something like that," he murmured.

The vendor laughed, oblivious to the storm brewing behind those emotionless eyes. Roman's gaze lingered on the vial — a potent formula, banned in most countries, meant only for the filthiest of deals. The kind of substance that could tear relationships apart or birth scandals that would never fade.

It cost a fortune — nearly half of what he had gained from his initial investment.

But Roman didn't hesitate.

This was just a piece of his grand plan — a single spark in the bonfire he was about to ignite.

He haggled with the vendor, pressing hard, until the man sighed in defeat and knocked the price down to something more reasonable. Roman paid in cash, took the vial, and walked away without another word.

Another piece of chaos, secured.

Another step toward the throne.

-----------------+----------------+----------------

One week later, the front door opened.

Luggage wheels rolled across the marble floor. Laughter echoed.

His so-called family was home.

Roman watched them from the top of the stairs.

His father — smiling, slightly sunburnt, relaxed. His stepmother — lips curled in satisfaction, carrying shopping bags and designer sunglasses. And then...

His stepbrother.

Wearing a designer jacket, tight jeans, and that ever-familiar, arrogant sneer.

"Hey leacher," he called out, eyes gleaming with mockery. "Have a good holiday? I'm sure your mouse friends kept you company."

He burst into laughter.

His stepmother smirked but didn't say a word.

His father didn't react. He simply dismissed it as harmless sibling teasing.

Roman didn't respond. He just stared.

Silent.

Watching.

The laughter faded quickly.

His stepbrother's face twitched, a hint of unease flickering across it.

"What the hell are you staring at, freak?"

He puffed his chest.

"Jealous of my clothes? These are $1,200. Branded. Not second-hand crap like yours. Don't worry... maybe after I've worn them enough, you can use them to wipe the floors."

He laughed again and sauntered off to his room to change.

His stepmother followed shortly after.

Roman stood in the hallway, alone.

The silence around him was thick. Heavy.

But inside him, thoughts swirled — poisonous, cold, precise.

They don't know. Not yet. But they will.

He walked slowly toward the dining room, brushing his fingers along the walls of the house.

This house — his prison for so many years.

But now?

It was his territory.

His first base of operations.

Soon, everything would begin.

And it would all end with fire.

==========================

Author's Note:

Roman has chosen the dark path. The world will burn again... but under **his** rule this time.

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Your support helps the story rise — and ensures Roman doesn't come after *me* for stopping. 😂

See you in the next chapter!

—Author