The Supreme Son in Law

Chapter 2

It was old Madam Sterling's 70th birthday today, all the family and friends came to attend the Banquet.

"Ethan, sit down," Clara whispered, pulling his sleeve. "Please."

Ethan didn't move. He stood next to Table Twelve by the kitchen doors, looking across the hall.

Up front at Table One, Derek held up a small wooden box lined with yellow silk.

"Grandmother, sixty thousand dollars," Derek said loudly. "Certified green jade from the capital."

Old Madam smiled, touching the stone with two fingers.

Aunt Beatrice clapped her hands, grinning ear to ear. "My Derek always honors this family! Not like some useless Son-in-laws."

Old Madam looked right past Derek, straight at Table Twelve.

"Three years you’ve been living off our family name, Ethan," Old Madam said. Her harsh voice carried across the quiet room. "What did you bring me tonight?"

Clara started to get up. "Grandmother, the lab had to pay—"

Ethan put his hand on Clara's shoulder and pushed her gently back down.

"Sit," Ethan whispered.

He looked across the room at the old woman.

"Clara used every dollar she had to pay the factory workers this morning," Ethan said. His voice was steady. "We didn't have money left for jewelry."

Beatrice jumped up from her seat, her face twisted with anger.

"Shut your mouth!" Beatrice hissed.

She grabbed a bowl of cold chicken broth off the table and threw it straight at Ethan's chest.

The ceramic bowl cracked against his ribs. Cold broth and yellow grease soaked through Ethan's shirt and trousers, dripping onto the carpet.

"Have you no shame?" Beatrice yelled, pointing a finger in his face. "Your late father-in-law died leaving this family with nothing, and Clara married you... a beggar into our house! You do nothing but eat and sleep, how much more embarrassment can this family take?"

Ethan didn't wipe the broth off. He stood still, keeping his body between Beatrice and Clara.

The heavy double doors of the hall banged open.

Julian Mercer walked in. He wore a crisp navy suit, his hands in his pockets. Two tall men in black jackets followed right behind him.

"Julian!" Clara's uncle, Felix smiled, standing up fast. "You made it!"

Julian didn't look at Felix. He walked straight through the tables and stopped two feet from Ethan.

Julian looked at the grease running down Ethan’s shirt, then shook his head with pity.

"So this is the famous live-in husband," Julian said.

He pulled a folded white paper from his inside pocket and slapped it hard against Ethan’s wet chest.

"What's that?" Ethan asked.

"Your wife’s loan note," Julian said, his voice loud enough for the whole room to hear. "The city bank called in her five million this morning. Mercer Group bought the debt two hours ago. As of right now, Clara owes me directly."

Clara stood up, her face completely pale. "Julian, why would you do that?"

Julian didn't look at her. He kept his eyes locked on Ethan.

"You're her husband, right?" Julian said quietly. "Here’s how this goes. Sign the divorce papers tonight. I give you ten grand cash to pack your bag and leave Riverdale. Clara gets married to me, and I tear this five-million-dollar debt up. Everyone lives happily ever after hmmm?"

Julian leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper.

"Say no, and I take her lab, take your apartment, and put you both in prison for fraud by tomorrow noon. You choose."

Ethan looked Julian dead in the eye.

"No."

Julian's smile died.

"Excuse me?" Julian said.

"I said no."

Julian grabbed Ethan's jacket by the collar and kicked Ethan's legs out from under him.

The poison in Ethan's chest flared up like fire. His legs gave out. He went down hard on the carpet, landing on his hands and knees.

"Ethan!" Clara screamed, lunging forward.

One of the bodyguards grabbed Clara’s arm and shoved her roughly back into her chair.

"Sit down," the guard barked.

Julian picked up a heavy glass of red wine from the table. He turned it upside down right over Ethan’s head.

The cold red wine poured over Ethan's hair. It ran into his eyes, down his nose, and soaked through his collar.

Derek leaned forward at Table One, laughing out loud. "Look at him! The dirty look really fits you doesn't it?!"

Beatrice sneered, crossing her arms in satisfaction.

Julian stepped closer. He raised his right foot and set the hard sole of his leather dress shoe against the side of Ethan's jaw, grinding his face into the carpet.

"You think you're a man?" Julian hissed, pressing his weight down until Ethan's teeth bit into his own lip. "Lick the wine off my shoe. You have thirty seconds, or my men break both your arms, right here, right now."

"Julian, stop!" Clara cried out, fighting against the guard's grip. Tears poured down her face. "Leave him alone! Please!"

Ethan lay flat on the floor. His cheek was pinned against the dirty carpet.

Blood trickled from his cut lip, mixing with the red wine pooling beneath his chin.

He didn't scream nor did he beg.

He kept his eyes open, staring past the black leather shoe at the red digital clock on the far wall.

7:59:57.

7:59:58.

7:59:59.

8:00:00!!!

A deep, heavy vibration buzzed against Ethan's hip.

Inside his chest, the icy knot that had choked his breath for three years shattered like thin glass. The coldness vanished. A surge of raw heat flooded his veins, rushing through his lungs, his shoulders, and down into his fingers.

Julian pulled his foot back, swinging his heavy heel toward Ethan's ribs.

"Time's up, trash—"

Ethan’s right hand shot off the carpet.

SMACK.

Ethan’s fingers locked around Julian's ankle in mid-air.

Julian froze. His kick stopped dead two inches from Ethan's side.

"Let go of me b***h," Julian said, trying to yank his leg back.

He pulled with all his weight. Ethan’s hand didn't move an inch. It was clamped around his ankle firmly.

The room went silent and the laughter stopped.

Ethan slowly pushed himself off the floor with his other hand.

Through the red wine dripping from his dark hair, Ethan looked up.

His eyes were cold and sharp.

Ethan's fingers tightened.

CRACK.

Julian's face turned white with terror.