My Brother in Law has Crush on Me

Hillary arrived in London after years of studying abroad, a knot of anxiety tightening in her stomach. Her mother-in-law's earlier call echoed in her mind: she wouldn't meet her fiancé, Marcus, before the wedding. It was a "business arrangement," a transaction between the Morgan and Zenith families. Her parents, bless their ambitious hearts, had sent her away to study medicine—this marriage to the Zenith heir, the repayment for their investment. Or so they claimed. A nagging doubt whispered it was about securing the Morgan Investment Company's power, not Hillary's happiness. "Power must be maintained," they'd insisted. "That's the real world." But was it? Standing outside the airport, awaiting for someone to pick her up, a sleek white sports car screeched to a halt. A breathtakingly handsome man emerged, his black hair tousled, blue eyes hidden behind sunglasses, his posture radiating an almost arrogant confidence. He had to be the son of some tycoon. A stranger. And at that moment, a stranger seemed infinitely preferable to the unknown quantity that was Marcus. He approached, removing his sunglasses. "Hillary Morgan," he said, his voice a surprisingly melodic counterpoint to his harsh appearance. Hillary was speechless. She glanced behind her, thinking he'd mistaken her. "Are you talking to me?" His face darkened. "Do you see anyone else here? Seriously? Are you dumb, or just playing dumb?" He spat the words out, his jaw clenched. "That was incredibly rude," she snapped, her own anxiety flaring. "Who are you? Don't tell me you're my fiancé." A slow grin spread across his face. "I'm much better than your fiancé," he purred, the arrogance laced with a hint of amusement. "Enough talking. Let's go." He unceremoniously grabbed her suitcase, tossing it into the back of his car. "Hey, wait!" she protested, her voice rising in alarm. "Just get in!" he commanded, his impatience evident. Hillary climbed into the passenger seat, her heart pounding. "So," she began, her voice trembling slightly, "are you going to explain anything?" He drove like a maniac, ignoring traffic lights, the car a blur of motion. The thumping music he'd blasted added to her rising panic. "I'm Zion Zenith," he finally said, his voice tight. "Your future brother-in-law." The second son. The notorious bad boy. "Oh," she said dryly, "so you're the jerk. The opposite of your Romeo brother." He remained silent, his focus solely on the road. "Whatever," he muttered, his voice barely audible above the music. What a jerk, she thought. But even as the thought crossed her mind, a strange thrill, a spark of defiance, ignited within her. This was definitely going to be an interesting stay in London. He pulled up in front of a sprawling Estate, easily twice the size of her own Condo. The gates swung open automatically as he pulled up. She got out, only to watch him speed away without her suitcase. "You jerk!" she yelled after him, her voice laced with fury. "How could you do this to your future sister-in-law?" He didn't respond. Just left her there. Great. Time to be independent. She'd lived abroad on her own, she could handle this... or so she hoped. She retrieved her suitcase and started walking towards the house, completely disoriented. She spotted an older man tending the gardens, his face etched with the lines of age and hard work. She tapped him on the shoulder. "Uh, grandpa," she said, her voice hesitant, "could you tell me how to get to the villa? I'm a bit lost." He set down his tools, his eyes kind despite the weariness in his face. He looked to be in his seventies. "Why are you here? Do you have an appointment?" "Oh, I'm Hillary Morgan," she explained. "I'm Marcus Zenith's fiancée. They insisted I stay here during my stay." She noticed he was sweating profusely and offered him her handkerchief, a swan-embroidered piece. "Here, grandpa. It's quite hot." "Oh, little girl, you're too kind," he said, his eyes widening at the delicate handkerchief. "This must be expensive." She smiled warmly. "It's nothing. Are they really that ruthless to a poor old gardener?" He chuckled, a low rumble in his chest. "Gardener… ah, yes. They're… demanding. I've been working here all day…" Hillary was shocked. The Zeniths were rude to a poor old man? "I'll speak to Mrs. Zenith about your situation," she offered, a surge of indignation fueling her words. "I'll give you some work at my villa. I'll treat you much better." "You're a kind and sweet girl," he said, his smile genuine. "Young Master Marcus must be very lucky." Oh, please. Was she really that delusional? "Thank you, grandpa," she said, her voice sincere. He offered to help her to the villa. "Grandpa, this really means a lot." "Nonsense," he replied, his smile warm. As they approached the villa, the head maid bowed deeply. She bowed to the old man, too. Wait… who was this old man? He wasn't just a gardener. "Lord Arthur," the maid announced, her voice precise, "lunch is served as you requested." Hillary's jaw dropped. "Wait… Lord… what…? Aren't you…?" Oh God. She'd just mistaken the head of the Zenith family for a gardener. She was doomed. She knelt, her face burning with shame. "Lord Arthur, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to call you a gardener. I mistook…" He chuckled, a hearty sound that eased her terror. "You're a kind girl, truly worthy of being my granddaughter-in-law. And you're beautiful, don't you agree, Marie?" The maid smiled. "Indeed, my Lord. The miss is truly beautiful and kind. Young Master Marcus is a lucky man." Lord Arthur led her to the dining room. She felt incredibly awkward, but he patted her hand reassuringly. "Don't be nervous. Just call me Grandpa, okay?" "Okay… Grandpa…" she replied, still slightly stunned. As they ate, Zion walked in and sat opposite her. That jerk. She tried to ignore him, focusing on the fact that Lord Arthur was present. He spoke, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Oh, so you found your way in. Looks like you can handle yourself. I thought you were a seven-year-old child. Mom even asked me to pick you up." Hillary decided to play the victim card. It was usually more effective than arguing. "Sorry for bothering you," she mumbled. Grandpa glared at Zion, silencing him instantly. Then he turned to Hillary. "I heard you just finished studying medicine abroad." "I completed five years," she replied. "I still have two years left, so I decided to finish my studies here." "Oh, really?" Grandpa said. "Zion, you should help your sister-in-law enroll in your school tomorrow." Zion's reply was nonchalant. "Yes, Grandpa." But the way he said it suggested anything but compliance. Hillary had a feeling this was far from over.