THE DEJECTED SON-IN-LAW

*You’re a fool—how dare you think of coming home. What would you even return for, to humiliate your brother? If anyone learns he has a useless i***t for a brother, you’ll ruin everything. Claim the Reeve name again, and your mother and I will break your legs. You’re a disgrace. Don’t contact us.* Cold handwriting. Familiar strokes. Every character felt like a slap. Callum Reeve lowered the letter slowly, the afternoon light carving sharp lines across his face. To a stranger, these would be an enemy’s words. Not a father’s. “Still refusing to let you go home?” A voice drifted from the doorway of the worn countryside cottage.A white-bearded old man stood there, hands tucked behind his back, his knotted brow fixed on his disciple. “Home?” Cal’s tone was calm, airy. “That stopped being home a long time ago.” Twenty years was long enough for blood to dilute into nothing. He tossed the letter onto the trash heap, watching it flutter among dry leaves and old ash. A letter from home was supposed to be a treasure. This one was garbage. “Why not go back and show them what you’ve become?” the old man asked. “They don’t want to see it,” Cal replied, a weary edge finally touching his voice. “They’re afraid I’ll stain the Reeve family’s precious reputation. In their eyes, only my brother exists.” Fleeting memories brushed his mind—his brother, Clayton, forever surrounded, dressed in silks, basking in praise. And him—the sickly shadow,hidden away, told to be silent. “Forget it,” he sighed, the resignation final. “From today on, I’ll take your surname.” The old man snorted. “Waste of effort. My surname is also Reeve.” A faint, helpless smile touched Cal’s lips. “Then I’ll be from the Reeve family of Stoneridge.” “Suit yourself.” The old man waved him toward the gate. “You’ve learned all I can teach you that matters. Go. The world’s waiting.” Before Cal could reply, the growl of a high-performance engine shattered the village quiet. Moments later, heavy, precise footsteps echoed through the courtyard. Soldiers marched in perfect formation. At their front was a woman with a golden star gleaming on her shoulder. Her posture was a blade, her beauty sharp and icy with authority. A general. Her gaze pinned him. “Callum Reeve?” He didn’t flinch. “Who’s asking?” “Morgan Steele. Eldest daughter of the Northern Steeles.” She let the weight of her name and rank hang in the air. “I was your brother Clayton’s fiancée.” Her next words were delivered like a tactical strike. “As of today, I am your girlfriend. You will accompany me. Consider it an order, not an offer.” Cal blinked once. His brother’s fiancée… claiming him? Morgan’s chin lifted, her eyes glittering with cold fury. “The engagement was arranged by our families. But that bastard thinks he can humiliate me, chasing his whores in the open. If he can play games, so can I. And I’ve chosen his greatest shame—his hidden, ‘defective’ brother. You are the perfect weapon to break his pride.” “I refuse,” Cal said, simple and clean. Morgan froze. “You’re… refusing me?” People didn’t refuse Morgan Steele.They obeyed. “Cal, I know your history,” she pressed, her voice tightening. “Born minutes apart, yet treated like a mistake. Hidden. Discarded. He tells the world he’s an only child. Don’t you want to tear that down? Take his fiancée. Take your revenge—” “No.” His interruption was quiet but absolute. “First, I don’t know you. Second, I am not a weapon to be wielded. Third, the Reeve family of the capital is dead to me.” He stepped aside, gesturing to the path. “Please leave.” Morgan stared, truly speechless for the first time in her life. This was not the broken, eager fool she had anticipated. Her temper ignited. “Think carefully! I am offering you stature you could never dream of! You have nothing! Reject me, and you’ll spend your life in this dirt—” SLAM! The cottage door flew open. The old man stomped out, a thick bundle of sealed envelopes clutched in his hand. With a grunt, he tossed them at Cal’s feet. “Boy, enough dithering. I’ve been holding these for years. Eighteen marriage proposals. Pick one. Send the rest back—it’s rude to keep those girls waiting.” He punctuated his sentence by digging a finger lazily into his nose. Morgan’s sharp intake of breath was the only sound in the courtyard. “Eigh…eighteen proposals?” The word came out a strangled whisper. The old man finally seemed to notice her. He looked her up and down with a critical eye. “Hm?Who’s this one? Not bad.” He scratched his beard. “You want to marry my disciple too? Get in line. There are eighteen ahead of you.” A violent twitch jerked at Morgan’s eyelid. The world, and all its logic, had just tilted off its axis. Cal looked from the pile of letters—each seal looking more official and imposing than the last—to his master’s innocent grin. A slow dawning of understanding, and impending chaos, settled over him. “Master,” he said, his voice dangerously calm. “Who, exactly, are these from?” The old man’s grin widened into something ancient and knowing. “Oh, you’ll find out soon enough. A few of them have gotten… impatient with my stalling. It’s why you have to leave today, actually. Things are about to get noisy.”