The King of Hell's Fated Rival
We've been clashing since we were kids, and as we grew up, we fought tooth and nail in every field.
That day, Charles showed up out of nowhere, his eyes tangled with so much emotion they made my heart race.
"Zoe Yates, we've been at this for so many years. I'm just tired." He spoke, his voice carrying a weariness I'd never heard before.
I frowned, cautiously asking, "Charles Lewis, what scheme are you trying to pull this time?"
But he stepped forward, grabbed my hand, his tone deadly serious: "How about we end this together? That way, we can finally escape this endless fight and be together forever."
I froze, completely unprepared for what he just said.
After all these years of fighting, my feelings toward him had already gotten complicated, and when I heard that, some strange force made me agree.
We agreed to end our lives in the abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city.
I drank the drugged wine first, and just before my consciousness slipped away, I saw Charles Lewis lift the other glass—and for a moment, a flicker of hope sparked inside me.
But when I regained awareness, I realized I was floating in midair.
I looked down to see my own body lying cold on the floor, while Charles Lewis stood nearby, perfectly fine, not the slightest sign he intended to die with me.
"Charles Lewis! You lied to me!" I screamed, but he couldn't hear me.
He stared coldly at my dead body, then called his men to deal with it, turning away as if the man who promised to die with me wasn't even him.
In the days that followed, I became a restless spirit, forced to linger by Charles Lewis's side.
I watched him return to the places we once battled, handling the company like nothing had changed.
But before long, I noticed him chasing after women who resembled me.
The first woman he brought home, he looked at her with a tenderness that ignited my jealousy.
"What's your name?" Charles Lewis asked her.
"My name is Lydia Young." She answered shyly.
I was furious and spent that night stirring up eerie noises all around the house.
The cup smashed suddenly on the floor, the lights flickering on and off, and Lydia screamed, terrified, running out of the room—and never coming back.
Charles Lewis gazed at the empty room, his face sinking into a dark, dreadful shadow.
But he didn't give up; he found a second, then a third stand-in.
Each one, I scared away in the exact same way.
I wanted him to know—if he betrayed me, there was no way he could just find a stand-in to soothe himself.
When he dug up my grave, I was there watching, right beside him.
The cold earth was ripped open, my coffin laid bare to the open air.
Charles Lewis stood off to the side, eyes empty of guilt—just a twisted kind of obsession.
"Zoe Yates, if you won't stay put, then I'll keep you by my side—even if you're just a corpse." He muttered under his breath.
I watched what he did, and my heart felt like it was being sliced open.
We'd battled all our lives, only to end up like this.
Honestly, Charles and I weren't always like this.
When we were kids, our families were neighbors, and he'd even share his candy with me.
Back then, his eyes held none of the coldness or calculation that came later—just the pure innocence of a child.
Everything changed the year we were fifteen.
Charles Lewis's mother died suddenly, and everyone said my mom was to blame.
I remember that day clearly—Charles burst into my house, his eyes red and wild like a furious lion.
"Zoe Yates! Did your mom kill my mom?" He grabbed my shoulders and shook me violently.
I was dizzy from the shaking, but I stubbornly shot back, "It wasn't my mom! Don't blame her for something she didn't do!"
"Wronged?" He sneered coldly, eyes burning with hatred. "My mom lost it because of the fight with your mom! None of the Yates family are decent people!"
From that day on, he was different.
He stopped talking to me, targeted me at every turn. We went from childhood sweethearts to bitter, irreconcilable enemies.
All these years, I tried to explain, but he never gave me the chance.
I watched the new stand-in by his side—Maggie Shaw.
This woman looked seven parts like me, especially her eyes—uncannily like how I looked in my youth.
Charles Lewis was ridiculously good to Maggie Shaw.
He'd cook for Maggie himself, watch her favorite movies with her, and spoil her like a princess.
All of that was something I never got.
That day, I saw Charles Lewis holding Maggie Shaw's hand as they strolled through the mall.
Maggie pointed at a skirt, her eyes shining with admiration: "Charles, this skirt is really beautiful."
Charles gently stroked her head: "If you like it, then buy it. Whatever you want, I'll give it to you."
I stood to the side, jealousy inside me spiraling wildly like a tangled vine.
Why? Why does this woman get his tenderness, while all I can do is watch?
I started taking revenge on Maggie Shaw.
While Charles Lewis wasn't home, I shredded Maggie Shaw's favorite skirt to pieces.
Seeing it, Maggie broke down crying, tears streaming like rain, and called Charles.
When Charles came back, he saw the ruined skirt and glanced at Maggie, trembling in fear; his face darkened instantly.
"Who did this?" His voice was ice-cold, his gaze sweeping across the entire room.
I hovered beside him, taunting, "It's me, Charles Lewis. If you've got the guts, come and catch me."
But he couldn't see me at all, so he just swallowed his anger and comforted Maggie Shaw, "Don't cry, I'll buy you a new one, something even better than this."
Watching them so close, my hatred just kept growing.
Charles Lewis, what you owe me, I'll take back piece by piece.
Maggie Shaw slowly began to sense my presence.
But she wasn't scared; in fact, she started deliberately provoking me.
That day, Charles was away on a business trip, and Maggie was the only one left at home.
She sat in the living room, talking to the air, her voice dripping with contempt: "Zoe Yates' ghost, huh? You really think you can scare me off like that? Listen, Charles loves me—you're nothing but a ghost nobody wants."
I shook with fury and slammed into the vase beside me.
The vase crashed to the floor with a loud clang, shards scattering all over.
But Maggie Shaw wasn't scared in the slightest; she just laughed even harder, full of smug triumph: "What's the matter? Mad? If you've got the guts, come out—stop hiding in the shadows playing ghost."
I snuck up behind her and blew on her hard.
Maggie shivered, but still put on a tough front: "It's just the wind—what's there to be scared of?"
But I knew, deep down, she was already starting to panic.
A few days later, Maggie told me she was pregnant.
Charles was so thrilled when he heard the news, he spun Maggie around like a kid.
"Maggie, thank you. We're going to have a baby." His voice was bursting with joy.
Watching their happiness, my anger surged, ready to explode.
Why the hell can they be so happy while I'm stuck suffering through all this?
That night, Maggie Shaw started provoking me again.
She rubbed her belly and said to the air, "Zoe Yates, look, I'm carrying Charles's child. From now on, I'll be the mistress of the Lewis Family. You'll never be able to influence us again."
I couldn't hold back any longer, so I rushed over and shoved her hard in the stomach.
Maggie screamed in agony and collapsed to the ground, blood quickly soaking through her skirt.
She looked around in terror and hissed, "Zoe Yates! It's you! You monster!"
I stood there, feeling no guilt at all—only a fierce, burning thrill of revenge.
When Charles Lewis came back and saw Maggie Shaw lying on the floor, blood pooling around her, he completely lost his mind.
He grabbed Maggie and rushed to the hospital, yelling over and over, "Maggie, hold on—the baby can't be hurt!"
But in the end, the baby couldn't be saved.
After returning from the hospital, Charles sat in the living room, his eyes so cold they were terrifying.
"Zoe Yates, I know it was you." He spoke to the empty room, "You think this will make me back down? Not a chance."
The next day, he called in a Taoist priest.
The priest wielded a peachwood sword, swinging it all around the room, and plastered talismans everywhere.
"Mr. Lewis, I've set up a barrier. That ghost can't come near you for now," the priest said.
I tried to get close to Charles Lewis, but an invisible shield stopped me.
I stared at him, hate and desperation burning inside me.
Charles Lewis, are you really that cold-hearted?
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