My Life, Her Vengeance

On my deathbed, gasping for air, my wife Olivia and our son stood over me, reeking of cold fury and gasoline.

"Our son was conceived with Alex' s sperm," Olivia whispered, a venomous hiss. My son poured gasoline over me as she smiled, "You spent your entire life raising a child for the man I loved!"

The first flame brought searing agony; my world exploded into fire. I screamed, the sound swallowed by the inferno.

Then I opened my eyes. The smell of gasoline was gone, replaced by roses. I was young, strong, in a tuxedo. This was my wedding night, thirty years earlier. The door burst open; Olivia, pale and panicked, clutched her phone.

"Alex sent me a message," she stammered. "He' s at the cliff. He' s going to jump." Her father, Mr. Miller, sternly forbade her from leaving. "If you don' t complete this wedding today, the Miller family will disown you!"

Olivia looked at me, her eyes filled with venomous hatred. She slapped me, a sharp sting. In my first life, I had begged her to stay, dedicating thirty years to her and her family, building their empire, raising her son-Alex' s son-only to be burned alive for my devotion.

The betrayal was a fresh wound, a guiding light. This time, I would not be a fool. I looked at Olivia, her face twisted with fear and hatred, and made a decision.

I was on my deathbed, gasping for air, when my wife of thirty years, Olivia, stood over me. Her face was a mask of cold fury. Our son, the boy I had raised and loved as my own, stood beside her, holding a can of gasoline.

"Ethan Hayes," Olivia' s voice was like ice. "If you hadn' t been so desperate to climb the social ladder, I could have been happy with Alex."

My son, my own son, unscrewed the cap. The smell of gasoline filled the sterile room, a sickening perfume of my life' s final moments.

"I' ll tell you the truth," Olivia leaned in close, her whisper a venomous hiss. "Our son was conceived with Alex' s sperm. IVF. Aren' t you furious? You spent your entire life raising a child for the man I loved."

She smiled as my son began to pour the liquid over my frail body, drenching the thin hospital gown.

"You raised my beloved' s child!"

The first touch of the flame was a searing agony. My world exploded into pain and fire. I screamed, a sound swallowed by the roar of the inferno.

And then, I opened my eyes.

The scent of gasoline was gone, replaced by the faint fragrance of roses and lilies. I was sitting up, my body whole and strong, dressed in a perfectly tailored tuxedo. The murmur of a crowd drifted from outside the room.

I looked down at my hands. They were the hands of a young man, unblemished by age or sickness.

This was my wedding night. I was thirty years younger. I was back at the moment my life had swerved into a thirty-year-long dead end.

The door to the bridal suite burst open. Olivia stood there, her face pale, her beautiful white gown a stark contrast to the panic in her eyes. She was clutching her phone so tightly her knuckles were white.

"Alex sent me a message," she said, her voice trembling. "He' s at the cliff. He' s going to jump."

She made a move to run, but a stern voice stopped her.

Her father, Mr. Miller, stood in the doorway, his face a thundercloud.

"Olivia, you will not leave this room."

"But Dad, Alex is going to kill himself!" she cried.

"I don' t care," Mr. Miller' s voice was cold steel. "If you don' t stay and complete this wedding today, the Miller family will disown you! You will not be a Miller anymore."

Olivia froze, her face a battleground of indecision and despair. She looked from her father to me, and her eyes filled with a venomous hatred that I now understood all too well.

She turned to me, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper meant only for me.

"This is all your fault."

Her hand shot out, and the slap echoed in the quiet room. A sharp, stinging pain bloomed on my cheek. It was nothing compared to the memory of the fire, but it was a beginning. A reminder.

In my first life, I had tried to comfort her. I had pleaded with her, promised her I would make her happy, begged her to give me a chance. I had been a fool, blinded by a love that was never returned. I spent the next thirty years dedicating my life to her and her family, believing my devotion would one day win her over.

I built their company into an empire. I secured their legacy. I raised her son, Alex' s son, with all the love a father could give.

And for my service, they set me on fire.

I looked at Olivia, her face twisted with a mix of fear for her lover and hatred for me. I looked at her father, a man who valued reputation above all else. I remembered the gasoline, the flames, the agonizing pain of their betrayal.

The memory was not a distant nightmare. It was a fresh wound, a guiding light.

This time, I would not be a fool.

Olivia was still staring at me, expecting me to beg, to plead, to play the part of the heartbroken groom.

I simply looked at her, the sting on my cheek already fading, and made a decision that would unravel everything.

A decision born from the ashes of my first life.

"Go to him, Olivia," I said.

The words hung in the air, simple and quiet.

Olivia stared at me, her mouth slightly open. The hatred in her eyes flickered, replaced by pure confusion. Her father, Mr. Miller, looked just as stunned.

"What did you just say?" Mr. Miller demanded, taking a step forward.

"I said, go to him," I repeated, my voice steady. I looked directly at Olivia. "Your friend needs you. You should go."

I was giving her the choice her father had just tried to take away. I was giving her the freedom she claimed I had stolen.

Olivia' s confusion warred with her desperation. She looked at me, searching my face for a trick, a trap. She found nothing but calm acceptance. The obsession, the desperate need to be with Alex, won out.

Without another word, she gathered the skirt of her expensive wedding gown and ran from the room. She didn' t look back.

Mr. Miller stood frozen, his face turning a dark shade of red. The carefully orchestrated wedding, the union of his daughter to his hand-picked, brilliant successor, was collapsing in front of his eyes.

"Ethan, what have you done?" he finally managed to say, his voice a low growl of fury.

"I' ve given her a choice, sir," I replied. "It' s what she' s always wanted."

An hour later, the scandal broke. It wasn' t a quiet affair. Alex Peterson made sure of that. He posted a picture on every social media platform imaginable.

It was a selfie of him and Olivia. They were on the cliff, the setting sun behind them. He wasn't crying or looking suicidal. He was grinning, his arm wrapped tightly around Olivia, who was still in her wedding dress. She was smiling, a genuine, radiant smile I had never seen directed at me.

The caption was simple and devastating: "She chose me. #TrueLove"

The wedding guests, still milling about in confusion, started whispering as their phones lit up. The Miller family name became a trending topic for all the wrong reasons. It was a public and calculated humiliation.

Mr. Miller looked like he was about to have a stroke. He was a man who lived and died by his family' s reputation, and Alex had just torched it for the world to see.

Later that night, they returned to the Miller mansion. Not with apologies, but with an air of triumph. Alex strutted in like he owned the place, his arm still possessively around Olivia.

He saw me standing in the grand foyer and a smug, nasty grin spread across his face.

"Hey, Hayes," he said, his tone dripping with condescension. "Thanks for keeping her seat warm for me. Appreciate it, buddy."

Olivia said nothing. She just stood by his side, her silence a clear endorsement of his disrespect.

"Get this trash out of my house," Mr. Miller' s voice boomed, cutting through the tension. He was pointing a trembling finger at Alex. "You are not welcome here, Peterson. Not now, not ever."

"If he goes, I go," Olivia said immediately, her voice sharp and defiant. She turned to her father, her expression hard. "It' s over, Dad. Let Ethan leave. He' s the reason for all of this. Just get rid of him."

She looked at me as if I were a piece of furniture she wanted discarded. The woman who, just hours before, I had vowed to love for a lifetime.

The memory of the fire burned brighter in my mind.