The Supreme Son in Law

"Hurry up, you useless dog!" Beatrice stood in the kitchen doorway, crossing her arms with a look of pure disgust. Her son, Derek, leaned against the counter beside her in an expensive gray suit, checking his gold wristwatch. "Mom, why are we even standing in this dump?" Derek laughed. "Look at him. Clara’s father died 2 years ago, leaving her nothing, and she married a stray who can't even hold down a job as a dishwasher." "Your father and I told her not to marry him," Beatrice sneered. "If Clara had listened, she would be with Multi-Millionaire Julian Mercer right now. Instead, we have to look at this beggar cleaning dishes with cold water." Ethan Vance didn't answer. He kept his head down and turned the faucet. Over three years ago, Ethan was poisoned by his family and left on the road to die. The cellular poison had crippled his lungs and burned through his veins. Mr Robert Sterling saw him and took pity on him. He brought him to the sterling family and saved his life. Over a few months, Robert got him married to his beautiful granddaughter, Clara Sterling. A few months after the wedding, Mr Robert passed away tragically due to unknown causes entrusting his grand-daughter to Ethan. A couple months after, Clara's own Father also passed away due to unknown causes. For over two years, Ethan had stayed in this cramped third-floor apartment, doing chores in silence for the Sterling family while his body fought off the remaining toxins. Derek stepped closer. His eyes dropped to Ethan’s left wrist. Ethan was wearing an old watch with a cracked brown leather strap. It was a forty-dollar watch Clara had bought him with her very first paycheck two years ago. "You still wear this garbage?" Derek sneered. Derek reached out, grabbed the leather strap, and yanked it hard. The worn leather snapped. Derek dropped the watch onto the linoleum floor and ground his heavy dress shoe right into the face. The glass cracked into tiny pieces. "My bad," Derek smiled. "My foot slipped." A flash of red heat hit Ethan’s eyes. His fingers curled into fists. But the moment his muscles tightened, a sharp, icy pain tore through his chest, forcing the air out of his lungs. The poison was still there. Ethan sank to his knees on the cold floor. Without a word, he picked up the broken glass and bent metal with shaking fingers. Beatrice rolled her eyes. "Don't bother playing the victim. Derek, come to the living room. Clara should be back from the bank by now." Before they could sit down, the front door clicked open. Clara walked in. Her black coat was soaked from the rain. Her dark-brown hair clung to her face, and her eyes were red and swollen. She kicked off her wet heels, leaning against the wall just to keep from falling. Beatrice rushed straight over. "Clara! Did the bank Postpone the $5 Million loan?" Clara stood still, staring at the floor. "No, Aunt Beatrice," Clara whispered. "What do you mean, no?!" Beatrice shrieked. "The bank said no," Clara said, her voice cracking. "Derek and Uncle Felix pulled their branch funds out this morning. The bank flagged that as high-risk. They want the full five million dollars paid back by tomorrow noon." Clara dropped her bag on the floor. Tears spilled down her cheeks. "If we don't pay tomorrow, the court takes the lab," Clara wept. "Grandfather spent forty years building those patents. It's all my father left me. It's all gone." Derek walked over, leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets. "I told you yesterday, Clara," Derek said. "A woman can't manage a laboratory. But Julian Mercer is coming to Grandmother's seventieth birthday party tomorrow night. If you get on your knees and beg him, maybe Julian will cover the loan." "I will never sell myself to Julian Mercer," Clara said, wiping her face. "You selfish girl!" Beatrice yelled, smacking Clara's arm hard. "Your father died broke, and now you want to ruin the entire family because of your stupid pride? You will beg Julian tomorrow, or your grandmother will throw your name off the family registry!" Clara didn't scream back. She didn't have the energy left. She pulled her arm away, walked into her dark bedroom, and shut the door. A minute later, Derek and Beatrice slammed the apartment door shut, their loud voices fading down the concrete stairs. The apartment went completely quiet. Ethan walked to the bedroom door holding a bowl of warm broth he had made for her. The wooden door was cracked open an inch. The bedroom lights were off. Clara sat on the edge of the mattress in the dark, surrounded by unpaid supplier bills and bank rejection letters. Her face was buried in her hands. She cried in complete silence, biting her lip so no sound escaped, her shoulders shaking under her wet clothes. She was twenty-four years old, her father died over two years ago and no one knew her mother, and now she was carrying the weight of the entire family company completely alone. Ethan stood in the dark hallway. His fingers gripped the warm ceramic bowl until his knuckles turned white. For three years, he had swallowed every insult, every bowl of dishwater, and every kick without caring. But seeing Clara break down in the dark made his chest ache more than the poison ever had. Ethan pulled the small burner phone from his pocket. The screen lit up with a green digital clock counting down: 20 Hours, 15 Minutes. Tomorrow night at eight o'clock. Old Madam's banquet. Ethan watched the seconds tick down into the dark. "Twenty more hours, Clara," Ethan thought, his jaw tightening. "Just twenty more hours."