Returned to the Death Toast: My Revenge Starts with Handcuffs

It wasn't long before both of my aunts, Maria and Nina Zeller, arrived upstairs, followed by several relatives who were eager to watch the scene unfold.

In that instant, the room was crowded.

Upon hearing what happened, Aunt Maria furrowed her brow. "Why make such a big scene over a family dinner, Jack? You guys are even drafting an agreement over a drinking contest? If any of this gets out, the Zeller family will become a laughingstock!"

Dad sneered and pointed at me. "It's that brat who insisted on making a scene. I couldn't do anything about it, and since he thinks he's man enough to handle this, then fine—I'll let him try!"

I printed the agreement and slammed it onto the table. "It's all written clearly right here—whoever loses and goes back on their word is a coward."

Ryan chimed in from the side. "You're really pushing your sisters to the edge, Weston. How could we possibly scrape together 300 thousand dollars? There's no way we could gather that, even if we sold everything we had!"

In that instant, those relatives around us started whispering among themselves, pointing fingers in my direction.

"How could he be so heartless? He's keeping such strict accounts with his own family?"

"Why did they bother raising him!"

I paid no attention to them and passed the pen to Dahlia. "Go on and sign it."

Dahlia grabbed the pen and quickly signed her name. "I'll sign it! You'd better not come crawling back when you lose, Weston!"

Jasmine paused briefly before signing. Mom and Dad, who were serving as witnesses, were pressured into adding their thumbprints to the agreement as well.

Jean walked in right then, lugging two cases of vodka. She was sweating from the effort as she dropped them on the floor. "I got the vodka. None of them has been opened before."

In that instant, everyone's expression shifted.

Dahlia immediately yelled, "What's the meaning of this?"

"I've grown tired of the same drinks we always have, so I thought we'd try something different this year."

I took out a bottle and twisted it open. The strong scent of alcohol instantly rushed into my nostrils. I then set a large bowl before me and said, "I think glasses will take too long since we're going big. I think we should drink one bowl at a time—no more pouring until yours is drained."

Dahlia stared at the large bowl before her. Her throat tightened as she swallowed hard. She quickly regained her bravado, though. "I'm fine with that! I'm going to make sure you know exactly why you lost today, Weston!"

Jasmine's expression shifted slightly. She soon regained her composure after noticing the looks Mom and Dad were giving her, though.

Mom suddenly stood up, acting all hospitable. "You shouldn't drink on an empty stomach. You should have some of your favorite honey-mustard-glazed fish, Weston."

Having said that, she put a morsel of fish in my bowl. Its surface was dusted with a tiny amount of white powder.

It was subtle enough to miss, but I knew exactly what it was—ground-up sleeping medication.

It turned out that they hadn't just spiked the drinks—every dish had been tampered with as well.

I stared at the fish. A wave of nausea hit me when I realized that the person before me was my own mother. I couldn't believe that she was willing to drug her own son just to protect her daughters' interests.

I picked up the fish and moved to take a bite.

In that instant, everyone was focused on my actions. Mom's gaze held a hint of expectation, while Dahlia and Jasmine were already smiling slyly.

In the blink of an eye, my wrist twitched, causing the piece of fish to land on the floor. "Oops. I lost my grip on that one."

I then sighed and added, "I guess I wasn't meant to eat the fish."

Mom's expression immediately froze. Her forced smile gradually slipped away. "It's no big deal. I'll just serve you another piece, Weston."

She reached toward the dish again, aiming for the fleshiest part of the fish—the very spot where the concentration of the ground-up sleeping medication was highest.

I directly placed my bowl face down on the table and said, "It's alright, Mom. I've been having an upset stomach lately, so I don't feel like having any fish. It'd be for the best to just get started on the drinking contest."

I tipped the bottle. The vodka splashed into the bowl until it nearly spilled over. I raised the heavy bowl and looked at Dahlia and Jasmine. "I'll drink first to start things off."

I threw my head back and downed the drink before they could even react. I could feel the stinging liquid burn its way down my throat and into my stomach, but I only felt exhilaration, not pain.

In my past life, I pushed my drinking to the point of injuring my stomach, all to build tolerance—the trade-off was that I developed an iron liver; I could drink anyone under the table.

I tilted the empty bowl toward them, showing it was drained clean. "Your turn."