The Unburnt Man's Revenge

The smell of gasoline and the horrifying image of my own son, Leo, smirking as he flicked a lighter, consumed me in my last moments. My wife, Olivia, stood beside him, her face a mask of cold satisfaction.

In that agonizing instant, I learned the bitter truth: Leo wasn't my son, but the product of IVF with Alex, Olivia's childhood love, a man supposedly long dead.

I had spent three decades building an empire for Olivia's family, the Millers, out of gratitude for them taking in an orphan. All for a love that was a lie. Olivia confessed her secret, revealing how she had always loved Alex and despised me, the obstacle to her true happiness.

The flames roared, my silent scream lost in the inferno. I died burning, betrayed by the woman I cherished and the son I raised, a fool who had wasted his entire existence.

But then, I opened my eyes. The smell of gasoline was gone, replaced by roses and champagne. I was standing in a lavish suite, wearing a tuxedo. My body felt young, strong, unblemished. It was my wedding night, thirty years ago.

Olivia, panicked, snatched her buzzing phone. "It's Alex," she whispered, "He says he's going to jump." She looked at me, not with love, but with raw, desperate fear for another man. Her father burst in, forbidding her to leave. She froze, then reluctantly agreed, blaming me with her eyes for the life she was forced into.

My throat burned with the memory of the fire. I remembered every sacrifice-my ambitions, my eighteen-hour days, raising Leo. A son who wasn' t mine. A life built on deceit. A death born of her twisted obsession. She slapped me, her words meant to humiliate. "Say something, you pathetic social climber!"

This time, things would be different. I caught her wrist. "No." I would not be the devoted husband or sacrificial lamb. My past was a brutal lesson. This time, I would save myself. I released her wrist. "The wedding is off."

The smell of gasoline was sharp and sickening, a smell I would never forget.

It soaked my clothes, my skin, the thin hospital blanket covering my frail body.

My wife, Olivia, stood at the foot of my deathbed, her face a mask of cold satisfaction. Beside her, our son, Leo, held the empty red canister. He was thirty years old, a man I had raised, a man who now looked at me with his mother' s eyes.

"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."

Alex. Her childhood friend. The man who supposedly jumped off a cliff on our wedding night thirty years ago.

My throat was too dry to speak. I had spent three decades working myself to the bone for her family, the Millers. I had built their company into an empire, all out of gratitude for them taking me in as an orphan, all for the love I thought I had for her.

She smiled, a cruel, ugly twist of her lips.

"I' ll let you in on a little secret," she said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Leo... he isn' t your son."

My heart, already weak, seized in my chest.

"He was conceived with Alex' s sperm. IVF. It wasn' t hard to arrange. Aren' t you furious? You spent your entire life raising a child for the man I truly loved."

Leo smirked. "Goodbye, Dad."

He flicked a lighter.

A tiny spark danced in the air, then fell.

Excruciating pain was the last thing I knew. The fire consumed me, my silent scream lost in the roar of the flames. I died burning, betrayed, a fool who had wasted his entire existence.

Then, I opened my eyes.

The scent of gasoline was gone. Instead, I smelled roses and champagne.

I was standing in a lavishly decorated suite, wearing a perfectly tailored tuxedo. My body felt strong, healthy, young. I looked at my hands. They were smooth, unblemished by age or the fire.

A wedding suite. Our wedding suite.

A phone on the bedside table buzzed insistently. I recognized the ringtone. It was Olivia' s phone.

The date on the screen confirmed it. I was back. Back on my wedding night.

The night it all began.

Olivia snatched the phone, her face pale as she read the message. Her hand flew to her mouth.

"It' s Alex," she whispered, her voice choked with panic. "He' s at Sentinel Point. He says... he says he' s going to jump."

She looked at me, her eyes filled not with the love of a new bride, but with raw, desperate fear for another man.

"I have to go to him, Ethan. I have to stop him."

Before I could respond, the suite door burst open. Mr. Miller, my father-in-law, stood there, his face like thunder.

"You will go nowhere, Olivia," he commanded.

"But Dad! Alex is..."

"I don' t care about Alex Peterson!" he boomed. "The guests are downstairs. The media is here. If you walk out that door tonight, you will no longer be a Miller. The family will disown you, and you will never see a cent of our fortune."

Olivia froze, her face a battleground of conflicting emotions. She looked from her father' s unyielding expression to the desperate message on her phone. Tears welled in her eyes.

She looked at me, and I saw the resentment harden her features. She blamed me. She blamed me for being the man she was forced to marry, the obstacle between her and her true love.

Reluctantly, she nodded at her father. "Fine. I' ll stay."

Her father gave a curt nod, his duty done, and left the room.

The next day, in my previous life, the news broke that Alex Peterson had fallen to his death. Olivia had reacted with a strange indifference. She shed no tears. I had thought it was shock.

Now I knew better. It was all a lie. A thirty-year lie that ended with me in flames.

Olivia threw her phone onto the bed, the silk comforter muffling the sound. She turned to me, her eyes blazing with hatred.

"Are you happy now, Ethan?" she spat.

"You got what you wanted. You married into the Miller family. You can finally stop pretending to be a grateful little orphan."

She advanced on me, her fists clenched.

"This is all your fault. If it weren' t for you, I' d be with him right now!"

She slapped me.

The sting on my cheek was nothing compared to the memory of the fire. The sound echoed in the silent room.

I didn' t react. I just looked at her, my mind clear for the first time in thirty years.

I remembered every sacrifice. I remembered giving up my own ambitions in research to take over the Miller family' s struggling tech firm. I remembered working eighteen-hour days to make it profitable, to secure her future, to earn her love. I remembered raising Leo, coaching his little league games, helping him with his homework, loving him as my own.

A son who wasn' t mine.

A life built on deceit.

A death born of her twisted obsession.

This time, things would be different.

She slapped me again, harder this time. "Say something, you pathetic social climber!"

I caught her wrist before she could strike a third time. My grip was firm. She looked surprised, then furious.

"Let go of me!"

I didn' t let go. I looked directly into her eyes, my voice low and steady.

"No."

The past was a nightmare, but it was also a lesson. A brutal, agonizing lesson.

This time, I would not be the devoted husband. I would not be the sacrificial lamb for the Miller family.

This time, I would save myself.

I released her wrist, and she stumbled back.

"I' ll make the announcement," I said, my voice devoid of the warmth she was used to. "The wedding is off."

Olivia stared at me, her mouth slightly agape. The fury in her eyes was replaced by sheer confusion.

"What... what did you say?"

"You heard me," I said, unbuttoning the jacket of my tuxedo. "You want to be with Alex. Go. I' m not stopping you."

I walked over to the suite' s landline and picked up the receiver.

"I' ll call your father and have him cancel the reception."

"Are you insane?" she hissed, rushing toward me. "My father will kill me! He just said he' d disown me!"

"That' s a problem between you and your father," I replied calmly, my finger hovering over the button for the front desk. "It has nothing to do with me anymore. You clearly don' t want to be married to me. I' m giving you what you want."

She looked at me as if I' d grown a second head. This wasn' t the Ethan she knew. The old Ethan would have pleaded, begged for her to stay, promised to make her happy. He would have been a doormat.

That Ethan was dead, burned to ashes.

Her mind raced, trying to find an angle, a way to manipulate the situation. I could see it in her eyes.

"But... the company... the merger depends on this marriage," she stammered, grasping at straws.

"I already handled the merger," I said flatly. "The contracts were signed last week. Our marriage was just for show, for the media. Your father got what he wanted. Now, you can get what you want."

Her face went from confused to suspicious. She couldn' t comprehend this new version of me.

Finally, seeing the unwavering resolve in my eyes, a flicker of something new appeared: hope.

"You... you mean it?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper. "You' ll really let me go?"

"Go," I said. "He' s waiting for you at Sentinel Point."

She didn' t need to be told twice. Without another word, she grabbed her purse and car keys and ran out of the room, leaving the door wide open.

I stood there for a moment in the silence, the scent of her expensive perfume lingering in the air. I felt nothing. No heartbreak, no regret. Only a profound sense of release.

A few minutes later, my own phone buzzed. It was a news alert.

A local blogger, probably paid by Alex or Olivia, had just posted a picture.

It was Olivia, in her wedding dress, clinging to a smug-looking Alex Peterson at the base of Sentinel Point. They were kissing. The headline read: "Runaway Bride! Olivia Miller Chooses True Love Over Fortune!"

The story spread like wildfire.

The door to the suite slammed open again. This time, it was Mr. Miller, his face a horrifying shade of purple. He was holding his phone, the same picture displayed on the screen.

"Ethan! What is the meaning of this? Where is Olivia?" he roared, his voice shaking with rage.

"She went to be with the man she loves," I said simply, shrugging off my tuxedo jacket and tossing it onto a chair.

"You let her go?" he bellowed, incredulous. "After I explicitly forbade it? You' re the one who is supposed to control her!"

"She is not my responsibility, Mr. Miller," I said, my tone hardening. "She is your daughter. And as of tonight, she is no longer my fiancée."

Mr. Miller looked like he was about to have a stroke. He paced the room, his fists clenched, muttering curses under his breath. He had lost control of the situation, and his carefully constructed public image was crumbling.

Just then, a commotion erupted from the hallway.

Alex Peterson, looking triumphant, strode into the room with Olivia clinging to his arm. He was still in the casual clothes he' d worn to the cliff, a stark contrast to the formal wear of the wedding party.

He smirked when he saw me.

"Well, well, Hayes," he sneered, his arm tightening around Olivia. "Looks like you lost. Some things can' t be bought, no matter how high you climb."

He was enjoying this, preening like a peacock. He thought he had won. In his small, pathetic world, he had.

"Alex, don' t," Olivia whispered, looking nervously at her furious father.

Mr. Miller turned his glare on Alex. "You. You have a lot of nerve showing your face here, Peterson. After the stunt you pulled."

"It wasn' t a stunt," Alex said arrogantly. "I would have done anything for Olivia. Unlike this hired help you tried to marry her off to."

He gestured dismissively at me. The "hired help." That' s all I ever was to him. The orphan the Millers took in, the tool they used to build their wealth.

"Get out," Mr. Miller snarled at Alex. "Get out of my hotel before I have security throw you out."

"We' re leaving," Alex said with a shrug. "But first, Olivia has something to say to her dear fiancé."

He nudged Olivia forward.

She looked trapped. She glanced at her father, then at Alex, then finally at me. Her choice was clear. She always chose him.

"Ethan," she said, her voice strained. "Just... just leave. Please. Go back to whatever slum you came from and leave us alone."

The words were meant to hurt, to humiliate me.

In my past life, they would have shattered me.

Now, they just sounded pathetic.

I looked at the three of them. The furious patriarch, the triumphant manipulator, and the woman who had burned me alive.

This was the family I had given my life for.

I almost laughed.