Her Revenge

Evelyn

A shrill scream woke me up. I sat up in bed, rubbing my eyes to clear the sleep from them, my heart racing in fear.

“Mummy?” I called out. Silence.

Breathing heavily, I climbed down from my bed, my little feet pattering on the floor as I walked out of my room. The house was dark, except for a faint light emanating from the living room downstairs. Clutching my teddy bear tightly, I carefully descended the stairs.

“Daddy?” I called again as I reached the sitting room. The television was on, but I didn’t see a single soul. I stood there for a moment, scanning the room.

“Mummy? Where are you? Daddy?”

Fear gripped me. I clutched my teddy tighter. Suddenly, a loud thud echoed from the kitchen, followed by the sound of glass shattering. I jumped, my heart pounding, and raced towards the noise.

I screamed.

Before me lay a horrible sight—my mother and father, covered in blood. A knife was lodged in my mother’s chest, her lifeless eyes staring into nothingness. A bullet hole gaped in the center of my father’s forehead. They were both on the floor. Unmoving. Gone.

I couldn’t move. My feet felt glued to the ground as I kept screaming and crying, “Mommy! Daddy!”

Blood. Blood. Blood. Everywhere.

I screamed for them to wake up. Suddenly, I felt a presence behind me. I turned immediately to see who it was…

My eyes flew open as I jolted upright in bed. My chest heaved. I couldn’t breathe. My throat felt tight, suffocating. Desperately, I stretched my hand towards the bedside table, searching for my inhaler. My fingers found it, and I took a few puffs. After a few seconds, my breathing steadied. I collapsed back onto the bed, closing my eyes, focusing on slow, even breaths.

I’m not asthmatic, but whenever I dream about that night—about the trauma—I have attacks.

I’ve been having these dreams every day since my parents died. They haunt me, drowning me in pain and hate. Hatred for the people responsible for their deaths.

My uncle took me in and raised me. I was a shadow of myself—mute, haunted by the memories of my parents. Therapy helped, and after several intense sessions, I started to regain myself. But the dreams remained. I learned to live with them, though. A constant reminder of what happened that day.

I got out of bed, ready to begin my day. Finally, today is the day my plan sets in motion.

For years, I’ve been preparing for this—training, learning everything about Xander Black, the son of the man who murdered my parents.

I was eighteen when my uncle told me who killed them.

Stephen Black and my father were college friends and business partners. They co-owned a company they built from scratch, with Stephen holding sixty percent of the shares and my father forty percent. Everything was going well—until my father came up with a million-dollar idea that could push the company forward and earn him a bigger stake. That made Stephen jealous. Greedy.

He stole my father’s idea and ordered my parents’ deaths.

I hate him. And everything that revolves around him.

I wanted to kill him. I still do. But my uncle told me that the best way to hurt someone is to take revenge on their loved one.

Xander Black is the apple of his father’s eye—his weakness. And the key to destroying him.

I studied Xander for years, though gathering information about him wasn’t easy. One thing I learned? He is extremely private. There are very few pictures of him online. He has no social media presence and rarely attends social events or gatherings. The only available photos of him date back to when he was eighteen—anything after that is nonexistent.

My uncle and I have devised two plans. The first will be executed tonight, while the second depends on the success of the first. Through our sources, we discovered that Xander will be attending a charity ball tonight. It’s unusual—he is rarely seen at events. The fact that he’ll be there means it’s important.

My uncle and I have been waiting for the perfect opportunity to take him down. Tonight is that opportunity.

I walk to my wardrobe and open it, my eyes landing on the red dress hanging perfectly. It’s revealing, but it’s perfect for what I want to achieve. I need Xander to notice me. I need to be the center of his attention tonight. If I play my cards right, I’ll have him exactly where I want him.

The ringing of my phone snaps me out of my thoughts. Seeing my uncle’s name on the screen, I answer.

“Uncle.”

“Are you prepared for tonight?” he asks, straight to business as always.

“Yes, Uncle,” I reply.

“Good. Remember—no mistakes. We’ve spent years preparing for this day, and it would be a disappointment if you mess it up. Don’t forget whose son he is.”

“How could I forget?” I say with a smirk. “Don’t worry, Uncle. I have everything planned, and if anything unexpected happens, we’ll move on to the next phase.”

“Good,” he says. “I’ll check in with you soon.”

The call ends.

I inhale deeply, trying to calm my nerves. Even though I know I’m ready, a flicker of anxiety lingers. I can’t afford to disappoint my uncle. He’s done so much for me. Everything I am today, I owe to him. I must not fail.

I turn back to my dress and run my fingers over the smooth fabric. A whisper escapes my lips.

“I’m coming for you, Xander.”