My Wives are Beautiful Demons-Chapter 292: Alexa Seeks Revenge

The bar was steeped in shadow, the heavy stench of stale beer and cigarettes clinging to the walls. The counter was worn wood, scratched by decades of frustrations and drunken confessions. And there, sitting alone in a dark jacket with her hair tied back in a messy bun, was Alexa Wykes.

She stared into the bottom of her glass as if it could reveal some meaning to the chaos in her head.

The drink burned down her throat. But it wasn't enough to silence the voices. The screams. The eyes of those who trusted her… and died.

"…I'm sorry," she murmured, barely audible.

The memories came in flashes… the smell of fresh blood, the stained wooden floor, the mutilated bodies. One of them was still smiling… even without a head.

Ian. The most loyal beta she had ever had. Loved poetry, hated violence. He had sworn to protect her until the end.

The end came far too quickly.

She poured herself another shot, but her hand trembled. She closed her eyes for a moment, breathing deeply.

That's when her phone buzzed in her jacket pocket.

It took her a moment to reach for it. Something heavy weighed on her soul, and the world could wait. But when she looked at the screen, her blood turned to ice:

Vergil.

A photo came first.

She tapped it.

His face.

Alex.

Bruised, chained, more beast than man… but still breathing. Still alive.

Her glass slipped from her hand and shattered on the floor, spilling what remained of the drink.

Alexa's pupils dilated. "This isn't real… it can't be real… Am I drunk?"

But before she could react, the phone buzzed again. A call. She answered it on instinct, nearly breathless.

"H-hello?" Vergil's voice came through, laced with that infuriating sarcasm — almost playful.

"Check the photo I just sent you. I'm waiting at home. That piece of shit you wanted erased from existence? Yeah… I found him on one of my trips. Left out there like a stray dog."

Alexa couldn't answer right away. The sounds of the bar faded. The conversation became everything. A dull hum filled her head. Her hands clenched the phone hard enough to nearly snap it.

"...What condition is he in?" she managed to ask, her voice shaky.

The answer dripped like sweet poison:"Perfect. Whole. Pretty. All dolled up so you can do whatever you want. Kill him… torture him… tear him apart with all that rage you've been bottling up."

Alexa bit her lip until it bled.

She could see him. As if he were right there. As if those chains weren't holding a monster, but the past — a trauma with a name, a face, a scent.

"Consider my basement the VIP room of your revenge, Alexa."Her name, from Vergil's mouth, cracked like thunder in the back of her skull.

Her eyes began to glow — amber, supernatural. The bar lights flickered, reacting to the emotional surge pouring from her body. freёwebnoѵel.com

She closed her eyes. The faces of her fallen raced through her mind.

Ian. Sasha. Derek. Lya. So many others… All dead because of him.

And now… now she could finish it.

"I'm on my way," she whispered, her voice a promise — not just of revenge, but of closure. Of release.

The call ended.

She stood there for a moment, staring at the phone like it had just opened the gates of hell… and she was ready to walk through.

Then she rose. Tossed a few bills onto the counter, grabbed her jacket, and walked out the door, her eyes still burning.

Outside, the morning cold was still sharp — the kind that froze your lungs on the first breath. But inside her… something was on fire. Not rage. Not sorrow.Something older. Deeper.A blaze that refused to be caged anymore.

She left the bar without looking back. The broken glass, the averted eyes, the silence after her outburst — none of it mattered anymore. The weight of memory, the voices of her dead, the hollow stares she had sworn to protect… all of it came flooding back with the touch of that call. With his name.

She stopped in front of the motorcycle for a second.

But her body refused the idea.

There was no time. No patience. No brakes.

In a single motion—pure instinct—Alexa vanished.

Her fiery orange hair with green tips became a blazing blur of speed. She cut through the streets like a silent lightning bolt, slipping between cars, ignoring traffic lights, tearing through the logic of the city—and the world.

The wind howled around her. People only saw the streak she left behind.

The fire inside her—the same one once fed by love and later twisted by pain—was now pure fuel.

Fast.

Alexa reached the mansion without feeling her legs—or the passage of time. She broke through the gates with a furious shove and didn't stop to breathe. The front door gave way under her force, slamming against the wall with a loud crack.

And then—shock.

Right in the entrance stood a voluptuous woman with raven-black hair—tiny bikini, tight shorts, and the expression of someone completely unfazed by anything. Morgana. Beside her, a little girl in sunglasses calmly held her hand as if they were heading to the park. Alice.

Further down the hall, Sapphire sauntered like a catwalk model, wearing a red and gold swimsuit that matched her feline gaze. And they weren't alone. Katharina leaned against the wall, sipping a chilled drink. Roxanne, Ada, Stella, Raphaeline—all dressed in swimwear, as if the mansion had turned into a pool party.

Alexa didn't ask a single thing.

The fire inside her met a different cold now: confusion. But before she could erupt—again—Katharina gave her an annoyingly serene smile and pointed with her glass:

"Out back, second staircase on the right. He's in the basement. With your brother."

That was enough.

Alexa didn't speak. She just ran.

She flew down the stairs as if the world were about to collapse. Each step disappeared beneath her feet at near-supernatural speed—heart pounding, throat dry, eyes ablaze. The basement's darkness quickly gave way to a warm glow coming from inside.

And then she stopped.

Vergil was there. Sitting on a plain wooden stool, wearing… beach clothes. Floral swim trunks, an open shirt, sandals. Barely ten minutes had passed since the call—and he looked like that?

"Well… your sister's here," he said with that laid-back smile, standing up as if they were about to head out to a Sunday BBQ.

But the moment he stood, Alexa was already on him.

The impact of the hug was almost a tackle. A desperate, burning motion—crashing against his chest like she was about to fall apart.

Vergil blinked, caught off guard. He chuckled, not sure what to do at first—then finally wrapped his arms around her, feeling—truly feeling—how much she was shaking.

"Hey, hey… easy," he murmured, his voice softer now, low like he was speaking to something far too fragile for this world. "I told you I'd bring him for you to kill, remember? No need to get all emotional."

But Alexa didn't answer.

Not a single word.

She just held the hug tighter, like she was trying to fuse herself to him. Like holding on to him was the only way to keep the chaos inside from devouring her.

And for the first time in a long while, Vergil didn't break the moment with words. He just stood there. Holding his dear friend like a steady harbor in the middle of the storm raging inside her.

"How pathetic."

The voice cut through the silence like a filthy blade.

Alexa blinked, the warmth of the hug still pressed to her chest as she heard the comment coming from the cell ahead.

"So that's what this was about? You kidnapped me because you're screwing my sister?"

Alex.

His tone was repulsive, venomous—clinging to mockery like it gave him some sort of power.

Vergil didn't even glance at him.

"Alexa," he called calmly, eyes fixed on her. "Can I do something?"

She hesitated, confused by the question.

"Huh? Y-yeah, I think so..." she replied, still shaken, not quite understanding.

That was all he needed.

Vergil gently pulled away from the embrace, took a deep breath… and without rush, opened the cell door.

Alex was still chained, but like a cornered rat, he lunged anyway—claws extended toward Vergil in one last desperate act of arrogance.

But it didn't matter.

With a simple flick of his hand, the claws shattered like thin glass.

"Hey, little worm..." Vergil said, stepping closer, voice low and almost playful, "Let me tell you something."

Before Alex could react, a scream tore through the air.

"AAAHHHHH!!"

The sound of pain was sharp, grotesque. His fingers were crushed—one by one—with a single brutal, clean strike.

Vergil didn't stop.

He grabbed Alex's mangled hand with the ease of someone holding garbage. Then, his eyes darkened into shadows.

"You laid a hand on her," he said, voice now seething with fury.

He raised Alex's blood-soaked hand and, with the other, grasped his head—fingers positioning around his left eye.

The same side as Alexa's scar.

"You hurt what's most precious to me."

No magic. No weapons.

Just cold, merciless rage.

With deliberate, precise cruelty, he pressed in—and tore Alex's eye out with his bare hand.

The scream that followed wasn't just pain—it was desperation, helplessness.

It was the sound of a monster realizing it had finally met a greater predator.

Vergil dropped the eye on the floor like trash.

Then turned to Alexa, eyes still dark—but his expression... calm.

As if to say: "Now, it's your turn."