My Second Chance at Revenge

"Are you not afraid of me?" Will's voice was quiet, dangerous.

I hadn't spoken, hadn't even flinched—just met his gaze, calm and steady. But that calmness only deepened the ice in his eyes.

To him, my composure was insolence.

How could a disposable pawn—a substitute sent to die in another one's place—dare to stand before him so calmly?

A muffled sound broke the silence. The cashmere blanket on his lap slid soundlessly to the floor.

His hands gripped the arms of the wheelchair, and the muscles beneath the silk of his robe tightened.

Then, with a low scrape that set my teeth on edge, he stood up.

The illusion of frailty shattered before my eyes.

The "crippled" heir who was said to be broken and helpless was nothing of the sort. Tall, broad-shouldered, and radiating power, he advanced with a quiet, predatory grace. The air in the room thickened—his dominance was suffocating.

I took an involuntary step back.

And then another.

Until my back hit the cold surface of the door. There was nowhere left to run.

"Who gave you the right," he hissed, "to look at me like that?"

Before the words had even finished leaving his mouth, his hand shot out—long fingers closing around my throat with crushing force.

The strength behind that grip was terrifying. My breath caught, my airway constricted, and a sharp, burning pain tore through my neck. My face flushed red as oxygen fled my lungs.

He loomed over me, eyes dark with fury.

"What game is Nick playing now?"

Spots of light danced at the edge of my vision, but even as I suffocated, I knew—I couldn't beg. Begging would only feed his contempt.

I forced air through my crushed throat, the words rasping, broken, desperate.

"Will… Your legs… They recovered… six months ago, didn't they?"

The moment the words left my mouth, his hand froze.

Shock flickered in his eyes, smothering the rage—only for the coldness to return, darker and sharper.

"Who the hell are you?"

His grip tightened again. The edges of my vision blurred, darkness creeping in—but I smiled inwardly.

He was rattled. My gamble had worked.

A long, tense beat later, his hand fell away.

I collapsed to the floor, gasping and coughing, every breath a desperate drag of air back into my lungs.

When I finally looked up, he had already seated himself back in the wheelchair, as if the man who'd stood moments ago had never existed.

He studied me. The murderous hostility had shifted into something far more calculating.

"How do you know that?" he asked.

"Will," I rasped, voice hoarse, "what I know… goes far beyond that."

I steadied myself against the wall and rose to my feet, meeting his gaze head-on.

"I know you're faking your injury to make your real enemies lower their guard. I also know that enemy… is Nick Wheaton, the man who sent me to you."

His pupils contracted sharply.

"We were never enemies, Will," I continued quietly. "We were destined to be allies."

Pain burned in my throat, but I kept my voice steady.

"Nick stole my mother's fortune, switched me at birth with the housekeeper's daughter, and sent me here to die in her place. And he's the one who orchestrated the car crash that killed your parents."

Silence fell.

Then I laid out everything—the fragments I'd pieced together from my past life, the clues I'd tricked out of Carrie in this one.

"The safe my mother left behind doesn't contain bonds," I said. "It holds evidence of Nick's financial crimes… and my birth certificate.

"I've sent Carrie to safeguard it. It's hidden in the countryside. For now.

"And you should have the investigation reports from the car crash. When we piece it all together, every path leads to one man."

"Nick Wheaton." Will spat out the name, his knuckles whitening on the wheelchair's armrest.

The storm in his eyes broke—hatred surging, violent and consuming.

He had thought himself a lone hunter in the dark. He hadn't realized that the prey delivered to his door was another avenger—one with her own war to wage.

Just then, his private phone buzzed sharply on the desk.

The screen lit up with a name.

Nick Wheaton.

A cold glint flashed across Will's eyes. He pressed "accept" and turned on speaker mode.

A sycophantic voice spilled through the line. "Ah, Will! It's been a while!"

Will said nothing. His fingers tapped lightly against the tabletop.

The pause made Nick falter. He gave an awkward laugh.

"Well, uh… I was hoping to speak with my daughter, Jessica. She's adjusting all right, I hope? She's always been a quiet girl, afraid of causing trouble. I just wanted to make sure she's not bothering you—"

"She's busy," Will interrupted coldly, his tone cutting. "Fulfilling her duties as my wife."

The words dripped with implication.

There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end, followed by a sleazy chuckle.

"Haha, of course! Of course! Young people, eh? That's how it should be!"

Then his voice slithered into something more calculated.

"By the way, could you let me have a quick word with my dear Jessica? Father to daughter, just a private moment."

He thought he could manipulate me right under Will's nose.

Will's lips curled in a cold, mocking smile. Without turning off speaker mode, he handed me the phone.

I took it calmly, speaking softly. "Dad."

"Ah, Jessica!" Nick's tone changed instantly—all warmth vanished, replaced by a razor's edge. "Ah, Jessica. Carrie's lined up a new investment project. She's a bit short on capital. Now that you're Mrs. Hudson, you can whisper in Will's ear, can't you? Just have him release some funds. It doesn't have to be a fortune. We're family, after all!"

His voice was low but laced with command.

"And your stepmother's birthday's coming up—you'd better not forget. Get her a proper gift, understand? Don't let people say a daughter of the Wheaton family married rich and turned her back on her roots!"

Before I could respond, another voice shrieked over the line—my stepmother, snatching the phone.

"Jessica! Don't play dead, you hear me?" she screeched. "Did you hear what your father said? You tell Will to invest 500 million in the Wheaton family business—no, a billion! A billion's nothing to him!

"And that car I liked last week—the limited-edition one—you'd better get it for me!

"Don't think marrying into the Hudson family makes you some kind of a queen! You're nothing but a stand-in for our darling Carrie, you understand?

"Carrie's our real daughter! Everything you've ever eaten, worn, or used came from us. It's time you repaid us!"

A deafening crash split the air.

The phone was torn from my hand, hurled across the room by Will. It hit the wall and shattered, scattering into a heap of twisted metal and glass.

The vile voices on the other end went abruptly silent.

The study plunged back into stillness.

Will lifted his head slowly. His eyes were bloodshot, and the fury burning in them could have set the world aflame.