HIS LETHAL QUEEN

The beginning for Revenge

The room was bathed in a haunting, ethereal glow. A woman sat before an antique, gilded mirror, her reflection capturing the image of a vision in white—a breathtaking wedding gown that clung to her silhouette like a second skin. Her fingers traced the delicate lace of the neckline, but her eyes were cold, reflecting a storm that had nothing to do with the weather outside.

"Look at you," she whispered to her reflection, her voice barely a tremor in the silence. "Ready, just as I planned. The day I’ve waited for, the day I’ve craved with every fiber of my being. How I once loved you… until you tore my world into ashes."

Suddenly, her demeanor shifted. She slammed both hands onto the vanity table, her knuckles white. The softness in her eyes was incinerated, replaced by a glacial, predatory gaze. She leaned closer to the mirror, her voice dropping to a dangerous, low rasp.

"You thought you could destroy me and walk away unscathed? How naive. You chose to play with fire, but you never imagined I’d become the arsonist who burns your kingdom to the ground. You have no idea what’s coming, darling. Every scar you carved into my soul will be repaid in blood and regret. This is no longer a wedding, my love—it is an execution of your past."

She rose, her silk gown trailing behind her like a ghostly shroud.

As she stepped into the hallway, the mansion felt like a tomb. It was cavernous, swallowed by shadows save for the silver luminescence of the moon bleeding through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Standing at the far end was a figure, a silhouette of absolute power. He wore a charcoal-black tailored suit that seemed to absorb the dim light, his presence commanding the very air in the room.

As she approached, the grand chandelier flickered to life, bathing the hall in a blinding, artificial glow. She shielded her eyes for a fleeting second, and when she lowered her hand, he was watching her—a predator assessing his prize.

He was strikingly handsome, with sharp, razor-cut features and eyes that held the cold, calculated intelligence of a ruthless tycoon. He stood as if the world bowed at his feet.

"So, Miss Mary Disuza, you’re finally ready?" he asked, his voice a smooth, velvet blade.

She stood taller, her chin tilted defiantly. "Miss Disuza? No. From this moment on, address me as Mary David William. Remember that, Mr. David William."

David allowed a slow, chilling smile to pull at the corner of his lips. He gave a single, sharp nod. "So, you’re truly prepared for what comes next? There is no turning back from this, Mary."

"The thought of retreating never crossed my mind, Mr. William," she replied, her voice steady as stone. "We are here to change everything."

David strode forward, closing the distance in two long strides. He placed a possessive hand on her waist, pulling her flush against his hard frame. "Then, welcome to my world."

Outside, a violent crack of thunder shook the foundation of the house. Mary glanced toward the window; the storm was ferocious, the rain lashing against the glass like a desperate plea. She looked at the moon, and a smile touched her lips—a broken, painful expression that didn't reach her eyes.

The scene shifts, the memories bleeding into the past.

The heavy, old-fashioned front door creaked open. An elderly man stepped into the small, sun-drenched living room. He walked to the windows and pulled back the curtains, allowing a flood of warm, morning sunlight to chase away the dust motes dancing in the air. He turned to glance at the bed—empty. Not a wrinkle out of place.

He sighed, a sound heavy with worry, and shuffled toward the kitchen. It, too, was vacant.

The house was modest, humble, and filled with the warmth of a life lived simply. A young woman was balanced precariously on a stool in the hallway, wiping the ceiling.

"Beta, what are you doing?" the old man’s voice echoed, laced with concern. "Come down, child! If you fall, you’ll break your bones. It’s too dangerous."

She didn't turn around, her back to him as she continued to scrub with frantic, nervous energy. "Please, Grandpa, it has to be done! This is the only time I have before I leave for work. I need to get everything finished!"

She hopped down from the stool, breathless.

"You will never learn, will you?" her grandfather muttered, shaking his head. "You drive yourself to the ground, always thinking of this house, always thinking of me. When will you think of yourself?" He gestured to the small table. "Come, have some breakfast."

"Right, breakfast! Oh God, I left the gas on!" She gasped, spinning around—and in her panic, her foot caught on the edge of the rug. She stumbled, her world tilting. She managed to catch herself against the sofa, her hair cascading down in soft waves, untamed and wild. She stood there, chest heaving, her hand instinctively flying to her stomach, shielding it.

As she looked into the small, dusty mirror nearby, her reflection showed a girl with soft, tired eyes.

"Mary, beta, are you alright?" her grandfather asked, rushing to her.

She forced a calm smile, though her heart was still hammering against her ribs. "I’m fine, Grandpa. Truly."

She turned and hurried into the kitchen. Once she was alone, her hand moved back to her belly, protective and soft. She pressed her palm against the slight curve there.

"Be careful, little one," she whispered, her voice barely a breath. "You aren't alone anymore. I have to be strong, for both of us. If he knew... he would be furious that I’m being so careless with his most precious gift. He loves you so much, even from a distance, but he would never forgive me if I let anything happen to you."

A soft, genuine smile blossomed on her face, erasing the shadows for just a moment.