Keiran spent the entire night recalling the details of the book. Fragments of the story returned to his mind with a disturbing clarity, as if instead of having read them once, they were now part of his own memories. Even stranger was that he could evoke snippets of the life of the body he now inhabited, as if the memories of the literary Keiran had merged with his own. It was a strange sensation, like looking at his reflection in a distorted mirror.
He knew that the Keiran of the book was a secondary character, a figure condemned to suffering and oblivion. The narrative, though brief, detailed his life with a rawness that left no room for hope. He had been labeled a "villain," not for his actions, but for his desperation: clinging to the love of a man who only used him and being the obstacle between the protagonists. But the most heartbreaking part of his story was the final betrayal. Almost at the end of the book, Keiran discovered that his half-sister was his husband's lover.
"Ha, how ironic," he murmured, running a hand through his hair dyed a color that still felt strange to him. The life of the Keiran in the book and his own had too many similarities. For an instant, he allowed himself the absurd idea that someone had known him well enough to write that story, like a cruel reminder of his own misery.
However, there were important differences between them. To begin with, the literary Keiran was mute, his voice stolen by a childhood trauma that marked him for life. And then there was the biggest difference: the father of the Keiran in the book did love him.
That detail was crucial. Gabriel Sterling, his husband in the book, had agreed to the marriage not out of love, but out of interest. Keiran was the heir to a small fortune and a family business that, while not gigantic, had enough value to attract Sterling's ambition. After Keiran's father's death, Gabriel had forced him to sign the documents transferring all assets to his half-sister's name, then demanding a divorce. After that, Gabriel had kicked him out of Lockhart House, and the book mentioned nothing more about his fate.
Keiran closed his eyes, trying not to be overwhelmed by the rage he felt, a rage that was not entirely his own. Although the Keiran of the book had fought to the end for his husband's love, enduring constant humiliations from his stepmother and half-sister, he was never truly loved. Sterling had only been kind to ensure his own future. It was a futile struggle, a sacrifice in vain.
Keiran sighed, feeling a pang of pity for the man he had been before him. "Do I really have to suffer all that?" he wondered bitterly.
He had already lived that kind of pain in his previous life. He had experienced the contempt, the betrayal, and the emptiness of unrequited love. He had lost his mother too soon and, in a desperate attempt to escape loneliness, he had thrown himself into work to the point of exhaustion. Perhaps that was what killed him: the weariness, the exhaustion, the lack of a purpose beyond surviving.
And now, here he was, trapped in the body of a man whose fate seemed as miserable as his own. "It's not fair," he thought, clenching his fists tightly.
"No, it's unfair," he muttered softly, but with a determination that was beginning to grow within him. "I'm not going to suffer the same fate twice."
He got out of bed with renewed resolve, ignoring the tug of the IV in his arm. If he was going to live in this body, he would not resign himself to repeating the same story. He would do something different, change the course of fate, and if that meant facing those who had despised him, then so be it.
"I will give this body a good life... and I will find a way to get revenge on all of them," he said firmly, his purple eyes shining with a mixture of defiance and hope.
Keiran had already lost one life. This time, he would not allow anyone else to take away his opportunity to live fully. With that determination, he went back to bed, after all, he was tired and sore.
...****************...
The sound of voices reached his ears, pulling him from his lethargy. Keiran opened his eyes slowly, allowing the clarity of the day to invade his vision as he blinked, adjusting to the light. His body felt strangely rested, as if he had slept for days. He tried to sit up, and that movement immediately attracted the attention of those in the room.
"Darling," the honeyed voice made Keiran's stomach churn. He looked up and found Gabriel Sterling looking at him with an expression that was trying to be tender. "The unfaithful one." Keiran recognized him instantly. His husband, as perfect in appearance as the drawing in the book, but with a soul as rotten as the rest of them. "You scared me to death," Gabriel whispered as he hugged him with a gesture that was too affectionate to be sincere.
Gabriel's touch provoked a visceral reaction; Keiran had to suppress the urge to push him away and vomit. The hypocrisy of that man was simply disgusting.
"Brother, I was also very worried about you," added a voice that was just as irritating. Keiran turned his head to the left and saw Shelby, his half-sister. There she was, as beautiful as the illustration on the book cover, with her flawless smile and elegant bearing. But Keiran knew that, behind that facade, a venomous snake was hidden.
Gabriel finally stepped away, giving way to the next in the parade of falsehoods: his stepmother, Margaret. With the same feigned sweetness, she hugged him while speaking in a voice laden with theatricality.
"Oh, darling, you really scared me. When I saw you there, on the floor, full of blood, I feared the worst."
Hearing those words, a memory burst into Keiran's mind like a bomb. He was on the stairs. He could feel Shelby's hands shaking him violently, her nails digging into his skin like claws.
"You are nothing more than the son of a whore who messed with our father. You are a bastard who shouldn't be here," Shelby shouted, her eyes blazing with anger.
Keiran, or rather the original owner of that body, cried desperately, trying to break free from her grasp. But Shelby was out of control. With a brusque and hateful movement, she pushed him down the stairs.
The fall. The dull thud. The darkness.
Keiran blinked, returning to the present, as the echo of that last image invaded him. "That's how the real Keiran died," he thought. A blow to the head. However, something didn't fit: that scene wasn't in the book.
"Does it hurt a lot?" Margaret asked, feigning concern. Her cloying voice brought him completely back to reality. Keiran shook his head, forcing himself to appear fragile.
Margaret smiled, as if she was truly relieved.
"That's good, son. I wouldn't know how to explain this to your father."
Keiran silently observed the faces of those around him. The fake smiles, the calculated gestures, the hypocritical aura that permeated the room. He felt nauseous, not only because of the disgust they produced, but also because of the contained hatred that grew inside him. He wanted to scream at them, expose them, but he knew it wasn't the time.
Revenge had to be cold, meticulous. Any mistake could cost him everything, and he was not willing to waste this second chance. For now, he would continue with the role that had been assigned to him: the poor, helpless mute, a harmless figure in everyone's eyes.
"For now..." he muttered to himself, barely moving his lips. His purple eyes shone with a mixture of determination and contained rage as he watched the hypocritical faces around him.
Patience would be his greatest ally. And when the time came, no one would be spared from his punishment.
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