Reborn with the Fate Reversal System

Chapter 4

The silence of four o'clock in the morning was a heavy, suffocating blanket over the Carter Mansion, but Zayn’s room was a theater of war.

Sweat slicked his skin, stinging his eyes as he held a plank position that felt like it was liquefying his core. Every muscle in his body screamed, a choir of agony that he welcomed. It was real. The pain was real. It meant he was alive, and it meant he was getting stronger.

Host, your muscular endurance is currently at forty-two percent of the target threshold, the System’s voice vibrated in his skull, cold and clinical. If you fail to hold this for another three minutes, the Fate Points penalty will be severe.

"Shut up and watch me," Zayn hissed through gritted teeth.

His mind flashed back to the previous night—the tires screaming on the asphalt, the look of pure, unadulterated shock on Vanessa’s face when he had kicked the door to Aria’s room open. He hadn't touched the woman, but the look in his eyes had been enough to make her recoil as if he were a ghost. He had spent the rest of the night outside Aria’s door, a silent sentry until she finally fell into a fitful sleep.

He wasn't going to let them breathe. Not for a second.

One hundred and eighty seconds remaining. Activating 'Muscle Fiber Optimization'.

A jolt of phantom electricity shot through his limbs. It wasn't a boost; it felt like a searing iron being pressed into his nerves. Zayn’s arms shook, his vision blurring, but he didn't collapse. He couldn't. In his past life, he had been a decorative prince—soft, malleable, and easily broken. That version of Zayn Carter died in a rainy alley. The man in this room was being forged into a blade.

Finally, the timer hit zero. Zayn collapsed onto the gym mat, his chest heaving.

Fate Points Gained: 20. Reason: Completed High-Intensity Physical Conditioning. Stamina and Agility increased by 0.5 points.

"Only half a point?" Zayn rasped, wiping his face with a towel.

Strength is earned through consistency, Host. Not miracles, the System replied. You have forty minutes to shower and prepare for the morning encounter. Threat detected: Dylan Carter is currently moving toward the breakfast hall.

Zayn’s eyes narrowed. He stood up, the exhaustion already being pushed aside by the cold clarity of "Predator Mode." He didn't just want to beat Dylan; he wanted to dismantle him.

He took a scalding shower, the heat of the water washing away the salt but not the resolve. He dressed in a crisp, white shirt and tailored trousers, looking like the perfect heir, even while his heart beat with the rhythm of a vengeful god.

As he stepped out into the hallway, he didn't head for the stairs. Instead, he waited near the shadows of the eastern wing. He knew Dylan’s routine. His half-brother was a creature of habit, fueled by arrogance and a morning dose of entitlement.

Sure enough, the heavy oak doors of the master suite creaked open. Dylan stepped out, looking disheveled, his eyes bloodshot from whatever vice he’d indulged in to numb the embarrassment of the night before.

"You look like hell, Dylan," Zayn said, stepping into the center of the hall.

Dylan jumped, nearly dropping the gold-plated lighter he was fiddling with. He sneered, but there was a flicker of something new in his eyes. Fear. "What the hell is wrong with you? Creeping around in the dark like some kind of freak?"

"It’s four-thirty in the morning. Hardly dark," Zayn replied, walking slowly toward him. "I just wanted to see if you’d recovered from your little episode last night. Your wrist seems fine."

Dylan’s face went a mottled purple. He stepped forward, trying to regain the height advantage, but Zayn didn't budge. He stood like a stone wall.

"You think you’re tough because you caught me off guard?" Dylan hissed, his voice low so as not to wake their father. "You’re a dead man walking, Zayn. Mom is already talking to the lawyers. That little stunt with Aria? That was your final mistake. You’re going to be institutionalized. 'Mental breakdown due to grief,' that’s what the headlines will say."

"Is that the best she could come up with?" Zayn asked, a small, mocking smile playing on his lips. "It’s a bit cliché, don't you think? I expected more from the Great Vanessa Carter."

"Shut your mouth!" Dylan lunged, grabbing Zayn’s collar.

Zayn didn't move. He didn't even raise his hands to defend himself. He just looked Dylan in the eye, his gaze so cold it seemed to sap the heat from the hallway.

"Do you really want to do this, Dylan?" Zayn whispered. "Do you want to play the 'crazy brother' game when your own house is built on a foundation of stolen glass?"

"What are you talking about?"

"The Blue Harbor logistics company," Zayn said, his voice as sharp as a razor. "The one you’ve been using to move 'high-end electronics' into the country without paying a cent in customs duties."

Dylan froze. His grip on Zayn’s shirt loosened, his fingers trembling. "I... I don't know what that is."

"Don't lie. It’s boring," Zayn continued, stepping closer until their chests were almost touching. "I know about the shell accounts in the Cayman Islands. I know about the three containers currently sitting at Pier 14. And most importantly, I know that the 'electronics' inside those containers are actually unlicensed pharmaceuticals. Smuggling drugs, Dylan? That’s not just a family scandal. That’s twenty years in a federal penitentiary."

"You... you can't prove that," Dylan stammered, his voice cracking. "You’re bluffing. You’ve been drinking again. You’re hallucinating!"

System, display File 084-D, Zayn commanded in his mind.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and flicked a file onto the screen. It was a high-resolution scan of a shipping manifest, Dylan’s digital signature glowing in a sickly, incriminating green at the bottom.

"Does this look like a hallucination to you?" Zayn asked, holding the screen inches from Dylan’s face. "Or should I scroll down to the part where you authorized the bribe for the dock inspector?"