Cheating wife's Despair

Two years had passed since Samuel accepted his new identity as Red. The man who had once been broken, lost, and consumed by grief had slowly faded into someone far different—stronger, colder, and more determined.

Every day since his transformation, Samuel had dedicated himself to becoming someone who no longer lived in the shadows of his past. The memories of Kayla, Abigail, and the torment they had inflicted upon him had not disappeared. But he had learned to carry them without allowing them to define him.

Victor had been right. The old Samuel had died. And now, Red was all that remained.

Red was a fighter. A survivor. A creature forged in fire, hardened by loss and betrayal. His days were no longer filled with regret or sorrow but with relentless training, preparation, and purpose. His life no longer belonged to those who had hurt him. It belonged to the mission—tracking the remnants of darkness, seeking justice for those who had lost what he had lost.

Gone were the lingering emotions of despair, the doubts, the cries for mercy. They had been replaced by icy resolve and a thirst for vengeance. Samuel had become someone who no longer sought salvation but instead sought retribution.

The once fragile man who had stood on the edge of despair was now a force—silent, calculating, and unstoppable. His past was a weight he no longer carried, only the fuel that drove him forward.

Two years of relentless training under Victor had transformed him in ways he couldn't have imagined. His body had become a weapon, his mind sharper, his instincts honed. The man who had once been defined by weakness was now a relentless shadow of vengeance.

He no longer sought meaning in his feelings. They were distractions, chains that bound him to a life of suffering. Samuel had learned that to survive, to thrive, he needed to cast those feelings aside and become something new—something greater.

As Red, he embraced the absence of emotion as his armor. He let go of the pain, the regret, the heartbreak, and the longing for closure. There was no room for sentimentality, only cold, calculated purpose.

"I am not Samuel anymore," he would remind himself in the quiet moments when the past threatened to claw its way back. "I am Red."

The dawn of a new day broke over the horizon, casting long shadows across the rugged landscape where Red stood, alone but resolute.

Two years of relentless training had hardened him, reshaped him, and left him with a single, unwavering purpose. Now, the time had come to fully embrace it.

Victor stood before him, observing his disciple with a calm, watchful gaze. The man who had saved him and forged him into something greater than he had ever imagined. Red had come to see Victor not just as a mentor but as a guide, someone who had given him purpose and the strength to carry on.

Red's breath was steady, his heart steady, as he approached Victor and dropped to one knee before him. The action was not one of weakness, but of recognition—acknowledging Victor as his master, the one who had shown him the path.

"I am ready," Red said, his voice firm and devoid of hesitation. "Tell me my purpose. I will follow you, Master. Lead me, and I will walk into the darkness without fear."

Victor studied Red silently for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, with a slow, deliberate nod, he placed a firm hand on Red's shoulder.

"You've already taken the first step," Victor said, his tone calm but commanding.

"Your purpose, Red, is to hunt the shadows. To seek out the forces that prey upon the innocent, those who exploit and destroy lives like yours, like Kayla's."

Victor's eyes met Red's, and there was an unspoken understanding between them.

"Your past no longer matters. What remains is your resolve, your strength, and your duty."

Victor's voice was steady, unwavering. "You are no longer Samuel. You are Red, and as Red, you will stand against the darkness, as you were meant to."

Red rose to his feet, his gaze fixed on Victor. The years of torment, betrayal, and loss had forged a man who no longer feared anything.

"I accept this as my path," Red said, his voice unwavering. "I will hunt, I will fight, and I will bring justice to those who have lost what I have lost. I am ready to embrace the darkness as my ally."

Victor regarded him, his expression proud but unrelenting. "Then rise, Agent Red. Let your mission begin."

Without hesitation, Red stood tall and bowed his head in acknowledgment. The weight of his new identity settled upon him, and he felt a newfound sense of purpose coursing through his veins.

"Agent Red," Victor continued,

"the world will know your name, and they will fear what you have become. But never forget—what you seek is not vengeance, but justice. Let that be your guide."

Red nodded once more, a silent vow in his heart. He had left Samuel behind, along with his past. Now, he walked forward into the unknown, ready to face whatever lay ahead.

Chapter 24: Celebrating the Fall

Abigail stood beside Joshua, her smile perfectly poised, radiating confidence as if the world revolved around her. They were the epitome of success, the golden couple the media adored—glamorous, ambitious, and adored by millions.

The grand celebration for Joshua's latest blockbuster was in full swing, with flashing lights, champagne glasses clinking, and reporters swarming to capture every detail of their "perfect" life. Abigail, her once-pristine image polished and refined, basked in the attention, savoring every moment of the spotlight. Joshua stood beside her, his arm possessively draped around her waist, his smile equally confident, if not more so.

"To Joshua!" Abigail raised her glass, her voice cutting through the crowd as they erupted into applause. "The man of the hour, the star of the show, the man who made all our dreams come true!"

The crowd cheered, their adoration palpable. They loved Joshua, revered him, and adored Abigail for standing by his side. Together, they were the perfect couple, the symbol of power and influence.

But deep down, Abigail felt something she couldn't quite suppress—a simmering anger. The night was supposed to be about Joshua's triumph, his success. Yet, lingering in the back of her mind was the fact that Samuel was gone, lost, forever.

Gone. The word echoed in her thoughts.

Gone. Not dead—never that. He was out there, somewhere.

But she didn't want him back. No, she wanted him to suffer, to wallow in despair, to feel the weight of his own failure. His absence had freed her from the constraints of their suffocating relationship, allowing her to live without his constant, irritating presence.

She had moved on. Or so she told herself.

"Abigail?" Joshua's voice broke through her thoughts, his expression filled with concern. "Are you okay?"

Abigail blinked, returning to the present. She forced a smile, plastering the image of the perfect, composed woman for the public.

"Of course, Joshua. Why wouldn't I be?"

Joshua didn't look convinced, his eyes narrowing slightly. "You seem… distracted."

"I'm just tired," Abigail lied. "It's been a long day. But seeing you tonight, Joshua, makes it all worth it."

Joshua studied her for a moment longer, then let out a soft laugh. "You always know how to keep things in perspective."

Abigail nodded, hiding the storm of emotions raging inside her. She had wanted Samuel to vanish, to disappear completely. Not because she had loved him, but because he had reminded her of a life she wanted to forget—the one where he was her anchor, the one who knew her secrets, her shame.

Now, without him, she felt free—untethered, untouchable. And yet…

Deep down, she wondered—had Samuel truly given up? Or had he found something more than she ever could?

As the night wore on, Abigail clung to Joshua, savoring the applause, the admiration, the endless glow of the spotlight. But no matter how dazzling the world appeared, there was a part of her that remained restless—haunted by memories she couldn't shake.

Samuel was gone, yes. But his absence left a void Abigail could never fill.

The party was in full swing, the celebratory atmosphere electrified by the buzz of Hollywood's elite. The lights dazzled, the music played, and champagne flowed freely as Abigail and Joshua basked in the glory of their success. But all of that changed in an instant.

Suddenly, the doors to the grand hall burst open with a violent crash. Shouts erupted as men in black masks stormed the room, weapons drawn, their faces hidden beneath menacing hoods. Chaos unfolded as the crowd screamed, scrambling for cover.

Abigail's world shifted. Panic gripped her as she watched the masked figures push through the crowd, their intent clear—violence.

"No!" she screamed, eyes widening in horror as she saw one of the gunmen raise his weapon, aiming straight for Joshua.

In that moment, Abigail thought only of survival. Of Joshua. Of keeping him safe.

But before the bullet could be fired, a sudden figure emerged from the shadows.

He wasn't part of the crowd. His presence was unmistakable—calm, composed, and dangerous.

Abigail's breath hitched as she saw him. The man was tall, his figure imposing, clad in a sleek black suit that looked as if it was forged from shadows themselves. His face was partially obscured by a dark mask, but Abigail knew him instantly.

"Samuel?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.

But Samuel wasn't the man she once knew. His demeanor was different—hard, cold, and distant. His eyes, hidden beneath a pair of dark glasses, carried none of the warmth they once had. Instead, they were filled with an icy resolve.

"Stay down," he said, his voice devoid of any emotion, as he moved toward the gunman with an unnatural grace.

Abigail's heart pounded in her chest. "Who… who are you?" she asked, though she already knew the answer.

The man didn't respond. He moved swiftly, with precision, closing the distance between himself and the shooter in the blink of an eye. In a blur of motion, he disarmed the attacker, twisting the weapon from his grip and sending it clattering to the floor.

The gunman fell to his knees, trembling, his face filled with terror.

"Where is it?" Samuel—no, Red—demanded coldly, his gaze locking onto the man.

"I don't—" the gunman stammered, but before he could finish, Red's voice cut through like a blade.

"Don't play games," he growled, his tone devoid of any patience. "The relic. Tell me where it is."

Abigail watched, stunned, as the Red figure stood there, a force of nature in the chaos. He wasn't the man she knew, not the Samuel who had once begged for her forgiveness. This man was someone new—someone dangerous, someone entirely detached from the life they had once shared.

She stepped back, her mind racing. What had happened to him? Where had he been?

"Red?" she whispered, almost to herself. "What happened to you?"

But Red didn't answer. His attention remained fixed on the gunman, waiting for an answer.

"I… I don't know anything!" The man pleaded, his hands shaking. "Please, I don't—"

Without another word, Red vanished into the shadows once more, leaving the gunmen immobilized on the floor.

Abigail stood frozen, her eyes following his retreating figure. That cold, distant man wasn't the Samuel she remembered.

As the dust settled and the chaos subsided, Abigail felt a chill run down her spine. Samuel—or rather, Red—was back. But he wasn't the man who had loved her. He was something else entirely.

And now, he wanted answers. Answers she didn't have. Answers no one did.