Revenge

The next morning, the morning sun poured through the glass windows of our suburban mansion, casting a bright, golden light across the polished hardwood floors. To anyone else, it was a warm, beautiful Friday morning. To me, it was a ticking clock.

Twenty-nine days left.

I sat alone at the long granite island in the kitchen, sipping a cup of dark black coffee. The house was dead quiet. Sam was still asleep in the master suite, exhausted from the endless argument he had maintained with his mother and sister until three in the morning. Belinda and Deborah had retreated to the guest wing, furious and broke, while Madison had taken Hailey back to her apartment late last night after realizing no money was going to be transferred into her account.

*【Host Freya, morning vitals confirmed. Heart rate: 68 BPM. Neurological phantom pain: Minimal. Contractor notification: Heavy machinery from Titan Defense Solutions has arrived on-site at Black-Stone Ridge. Excavation team is awaiting final authorization.】*

The metallic voice vibrated smoothly at the back of my skull, accompanied by a soft, rhythmic hum that felt almost like a heartbeat.

"Authorization granted," I thought silently, taking a slow sip of coffee. "Tell them to double the night shift crew. I’ll pay a 300% overtime bonus for every day they finish ahead of schedule."

*【Understood. Transferring $450,000 from Private Offshore Shell Account Alpha to Titan Defense Solutions. Construction velocity increased by 40%.】*

I set my coffee cup down and opened my laptop. It was time to clear out another major piece of my past life’s mistakes: the ancestral country estate in Willow Creek.

The estate was a massive, 50-acre property situated on a elevated pine-covered hill, featuring a historic stone manor, deep natural underground springs, and heavy oak timber. In my previous life, I had kept it out of sentimentality because it had belonged to my late grandfather. But when the Solar Rust hit, Sam had convinced me to let his family use it as a secondary retreat, only for Deborah to burn down the historic manor by carelessly running overloaded generators, ruining the natural water springs in the process.

I wasn't going to let them touch a single blade of grass on that property this time.

My fingers moved swiftly across the keyboard, opening an encrypted portal with a private real estate investment firm—Vanguard Holdings. Vanguard was owned by a notoriously ruthless property developer named Marcus Vance, a billionaire who spent his time buying up high-elevation land to build private luxury fortresses for society's elite. He didn't care about market prices; he paid top dollar, in raw cash, for prime, elevated land.

I uploaded the property deeds, environmental survey maps, and soil reports, attaching a blunt note:

`[Direct Sale Offer: 50-Acre Willow Creek Ancestral Estate. Elevated terrain, private natural water table, stone structure. Unconditional cash sale. Closing time required: 24 hours. Asking price: $8.5 Million.]`

Within less than three minutes, my screen flashed red with an incoming encrypted call. I clicked connect and brought the phone to my ear.

"Ms. Freya?" A harsh, gravelly voice rasped through the speaker. It was Marcus Vance himself. "I just reviewed the survey maps for Willow Creek. That natural water table is untouched. Why are you dumping a prime ancestral property at a 15% discount for a 24-hour cash close?"

"Because I need liquid capital immediately, Mr. Vance," I said, my voice smooth, cold, and utterly professional. "No escrow delays, no bank contingencies. Full cash wire transfer to my private offshore trust by noon tomorrow, or I list it publicly to the highest bidder."

A deep, low chuckle echoed from Vance's end. "You sound like a woman who knows something the rest of the world doesn't. Deal. My legal team will have the wire transfer documents and bill of sale at your office in two hours. Send me the wire routing info."

"Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Vance."

I hung up, a sense of sharp satisfaction settling in my chest. Eight point five million dollars in raw liquid cash—enough to purchase three industrial-grade air scrubbers, six hundred thousand gallons of diesel fuel, medical-grade anti-rust respirators, and a five-year supply of vacuum-sealed freeze-dried provisions.

*【Transaction pending: $8,500,000 USD. Capital reallocation efficiency: 98.4%. Warning: Target 'Madison' is approaching the residence. GPS tracking places her vehicle in the driveway.】*

I closed my laptop and locked the screen just as the front doorbell rang—a gentle, hesitant chime.

I took a slow, deep breath, smoothing down my silk blouse and putting on my soft, sad, vulnerable smile before walking to the front foyer.

I opened the heavy wooden door. Madison stood on the porch. She was wearing an oversized beige cardigan, her hair tied in a loose, soft bun, holding a small tuft of pink wildflowers in her hand. She had left Hailey at home. Her eyes were slightly red, playing the picture-perfect image of a devoted, grieving, heartbroken best friend who just wanted to support me.

"Freya..." Madison whispered, her voice trembling with delicate emotion. "I couldn't sleep last night thinking about how stressed you looked at dinner. I brought you some wildflowers from my garden... and some fresh chamomile tea leaves."

I looked at the flowers, then at her face. The memory of her lying on my master bed, giggling as Sam kissed her neck and promised her my home, flashed like a lightning bolt through my mind.

*DONG.*

The phantom iron pipe throbbed behind my eyes, but my smile never flickered.

"Oh, Maddy," I sighed softly, stepping back to let her in, wrapping my arms around her in a warm, tight hug. "You are so sweet. You have no idea how much I needed this today."

Madison hugged me back tightly, burying her face against my shoulder. "I hate seeing you like this, Freya. Sam's family is so demanding... Belinda and Deborah treat you like a bank instead of a sister. It breaks my heart."

"I know," I sniffled, pulling back and wiping fake moisture from the corner of my eye. "It’s just... everything is falling apart, Madison. The business audit, the bank accounts, the stress... Sam is under so much pressure, too."

Madison’s eyes gleamed with a subtle, predatory flicker at the mention of Sam. She guided me toward the living room sofa, sitting close beside me and holding both my hands in hers.

"Freya, listen to me," Madison said softly, leaning in with a look of pure, unadulterated concern. "You shouldn't have to bear all this weight alone. If the corporate accounts are frozen, why don't you protect your personal real estate? Like... the Willow Creek estate?"

I blinked, playing along. "Willow Creek? What do you mean?"

"Well," Madison said smoothly, her fingers tightening around mine in a gentle squeeze. "If the IRS is auditing your personal holdings, couldn't they try to seize your ancestral land? You should transfer the title deed into a trusted family trust. Or... transfer it to Sam. If the estate is in Sam's name, the government can't touch it! He could hold it safely for you until all this stress blows over."

I stared at her, marveling at her absolute nerve. In my past life, this was the exact conversation that had convinced me to put Sam’s name on the Willow Creek property deed. She had played the gentle advisor, steering me right into their trap while making it look like she was saving me.

*【Target 'Madison' attempting direct real estate theft via emotional manipulation. Recommended action: Execute counter-trap.】*

"Oh, Madison," I breathed out, squeezing her hands back with immense gratitude. "That... that is such a brilliant idea! I never even thought of that!"

Madison’s face lit up with a triumphant, victorious smile. "Really? You think so?"

"Yes!" I said eagerly, leaning in closer. "In fact, I was so worried about the estate yesterday that I started drafting a legal transfer document! But... oh, Maddy..." I suddenly let my smile drop, looking completely devastated.

Madison’s smile froze. "What? What's wrong?"

"Well," I whimpered, placing a hand over my heart. "I tried to put Sam's name on the deed yesterday afternoon, but my wealth manager told me something terrible. Because Sam is listed as a co-signatory on my primary operational account, his name is already flagged in the corporate audit! If I transfer Willow Creek to Sam today, the IRS will freeze the entire 50-acre property instantly!"

Madison gasped, her face draining of color. "What?! They... they can freeze his name too?!"

"Yes!" I said, clutching her hands tightly. "The lawyer said the only way to protect Willow Creek is if I sell it immediately to an independent offshore buyer for cash before the audit expands tomorrow morning!"

"Sell it?!" Madison almost shrieked, her voice cracking out of her sweet, gentle persona for a split second. She caught herself quickly, forcing her voice back into a soft tone. "I mean... sell it? But Freya... that's your grandfather's land! Once you sell it, it's gone!"

"I have no choice, Madison," I sobbed quietly, hiding my face in my hands. "If I don't sell it by noon tomorrow, the government will take it for free! I’d rather have the cash locked away in a private vault where no one can find it."

Madison sat completely frozen, her mind spinning frantically. She and Sam had planned to turn Willow Creek into their private vacation retreat once I was dead. Now, watching it slip away right through her fingers was driving her insane.

"I... I see," Madison stammered, her voice shaking slightly. "That... that makes sense, I suppose..."

Suddenly, a loud crash came from the top of the stairs.

Sam stepped into the hallway, wearing a rumpled suit, his eyes bloodshot and dark circles under his lower lids. He looked like he hadn't slept a wink. He stopped at the top of the stairs, looking down at Madison sitting on the couch with me, his jaw clenching tightly.

"Madison?" Sam called out, his voice rough. "What are you doing here so early?"

Madison quickly stood up, smoothing her yellow dress down. "I just came to bring Freya some chamomile tea, Sam. She’s... she was telling me about Willow Creek."

Sam’s head snapped toward me, his eyes widening. "Willow Creek? What about it?"

"I'm selling it, Sam," I said, standing up from the couch and looking at him with a brave, resolute expression. "I signed the cash sale contract with Marcus Vance fifteen minutes ago. Eight point five million dollars, liquid cash, clearing tomorrow at noon."

"YOU DID WHAT?!" Sam roared, taking three steps at a time as he sprinted down the stairs toward us.

His face was flushed crimson with explosive rage. He grabbed my shoulders, shaking me roughly. "Are you out of your mind, Freya?! That's ancestral land! You didn't even consult me?!"

*CRACK.*

The phantom pain spiked violently behind my eyes as his hands gripped my shoulders—the exact same hands that had swung the heavy iron pipe into my skull.

*【Warning: Target 'Sam' physical aggression detected. Defensive counter-measures ready.】*

"Release me, Sam," I said.

My voice wasn't loud. It wasn't hysterical. It was a low, freezing whisper that cut through the room like a razor blade.

Sam stopped dead in his tracks. He looked down at my face, meeting my eyes. There was no fear in my expression, no tears, no submission. There was only a cold, endless void of absolute hatred.

Instinctively, Sam’s hands slipped off my shoulders. He stepped back, swallowing hard, suddenly feeling cold sweat break out across his neck.

"I... I just meant," Sam stammered, trying to backpedal frantically as Madison watched in utter horror. "It's... it's a huge decision, Freya. Eight point five million... where is that money going?"

"Into a private, encrypted offshore trust," I answered, smoothing down the lapels of my blouse.

Madison’s chest rose and fell rapidly as she stared at me. She realized in that exact moment that the massive fortune she and Sam had spent five years plotting to steal was being systematically locked away in vaults they didn't even have the keys to inspect.

"Now, if you'll excuse me," I said, grabbing my designer handbag and trench coat from the entryway bench. "I have a meeting with my contractor downtown.

I walked past them, my high heels clicking sharply against the marble floor.

As I opened the heavy front door and stepped out into the crisp, morning air, the System’s voice echoed proudly inside my skull:

*【Target 'Sam' morale reduced by 60%. Target 'Madison' anxiety level: Critical. Willow Creek liquidation secured. Current total survival capital: $20,450,000. Excellent work, Host Freya. Phase 2 procurement is officially ready to begin.】*

I pulled on my sunglasses, looking up at the clear blue sky that would soon burn with the lethal fires of the Solar Rust, and smiled.

"Let's go buy some weapons."