
RESURRECTED FOR REVENGE
I died listening to my husband fuck his mistress in our bed.
Six months pregnant, I bled out on the bathroom floor while they laughed in the next room, while Scylla moaned his name loud enough for me to hear through the walls. The last thing I heard was my husband telling her she felt better than I ever did, and the last thing I felt was my baby going still inside me.
Then I woke up.
Not in heaven, not anywhere I recognized. In a penthouse overlooking the city where I died, with a man standing over me who said he brought me back as an experiment. Zephyr Arcanis, billionaire, recluse, apparently the only person alive who knows how to resurrect the dead. He gave me three years before my borrowed time runs out, three years to do whatever I want with this second life.
I chose revenge.
I should focus on destroying Dexter and Scylla, on making them pay for what they did to me and my baby. But Zephyr watches me like I'm a puzzle he can't solve, touches me like he's afraid I'll vanish, and when I get close to my ex-husband for the plan, Zephyr's jealousy turns vicious in ways that terrify and thrill me.
He says he doesn't feel anything, says I'm just an experiment to test his power.
Then why does he bleed when I hurt? Why does his skin turn pale every time he saves me? And when my three years are almost over, why does he whisper that he'll die in my place if it means I get to keep living?
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Chapter: The Woman at Her Own Funeral"Walk slowely," Zephyr said from the driver's seat, he was not looking at me, his eyes on the cemetery gates ahead. "What?" "You walk too fast, like you're always running from something… Meliah walked that way, Elietta doesn't. Elietta owns every room she enters, she takes her time because everyone will wait for her." He parked the car three rows back from the funeral entrance. "Slower steps, chin up, shoulders back, you're not afraid anymore, you're the thing people should be afraid of." I looked down at myself, at the black dress he'd bought me this morning, designer label I couldn't pronounce, fit like it was sewn onto my new body, my altered body, my stranger's body. My hair was different now, shorter, darker, and styled in waves I'd never worn before. My face… Jesus Christ…. my face looked nothing like the woman who died three days ago. "What if he knows?" I asked, hating how my voice shook. "What if Dexter takes one look at me and just… knows?" Zephyr turned to face me th
Última atualização: 2026-04-15
Chapter: What Survives DeathThat one word stopped between us, cold and sharp like the edge of a knife I used in the kitchen to cut Vegetables, which I didn't know if I wanted to hold or run from it. "Why?" I asked him, my voice was still emotionally fried from screaming, from losing everything twice, "Why would you help me?" Zephyr leaned his head, he studied me like I was something under glass, something he'd already dissected and catalogued and filed away in his brain where normal people kept emotions. "Because you asked," he said, in a very simple way, like that explained even anything, "and because watching you destroy the people who killed you will provide valuable data on post-resurrection psychological development." I blinked at him, tried to process that, but I couldn't. "Data," I repeated. "Yes, I need to understand how resurrection affects the human psyche long-term, revenge provides an excellent framework for observation, high emotional stakes, clear objectives, measurable outcomes." He pulled s
Última atualização: 2026-04-15
Chapter: The Resurrection"Uhhh... ahhh... right there, yes… RIGHT THERE!" I heard her voice through my bedroom door, high and breathless, begging for more, and I knew before I even pressed my ear to the wood that everything I'd been pretending not to see was happening on the other side. "Don't stop… Dexter, please don't stop… oh my god your dick is getting so big, I can feel you, I can feel everything!" My shopping bags hit the floor, baby bottles rolling across hardwood, diapers spilling everywhere, but I couldn't move, couldn't breathe, could only stand there six months pregnant with my palm flat against the door listening to my husband fuck another woman in our matrimonial bed. "Harder," she gasped, loud, so loud she wanted me to hear, "fuck me harder, make me forget she even exists." The bed frame slammed against the wall, rhythmic, relentless, our bed, the one I'd picked out thinking it would be where we raised our family, where we'd grow old together, where I'd been sleeping alone for three weeks b
Última atualização: 2026-04-15