Justice of the Supreme War God

Chapter 4: The Mother's Fury

The morning sun had barely warmed the villa when the front doors burst open with enough force to rattle the chandelier. Catherine Morrison swept into the foyer like a hurricane in Chanel, her designer dress flowing behind her, diamonds glittering at her throat and wrists.

"Where is he?" Her voice echoed off the marble walls, sharp and lethal. "Where is this nobody who's destroyed everything?"

Diana appeared at the top of the staircase, already dressed in an emerald cocktail dress for her great-grandmother's birthday. "Mother. You're early."

"Early?" Catherine's perfectly made-up face twisted with fury. "My daughter secretly marries some street vagrant, and you think I'd wait politely for an invitation? Where is he, Diana?"

"Right here, Mrs. Morrison."

Marcus emerged from the sitting room, wearing the navy suit Diana had ordered for him. It fit perfectly, though the quality couldn't quite hide the fact that he carried himself differently than the men Catherine usually associated with—no swagger, no peacocking, just quiet presence.

Catherine's eyes raked over him like daggers. "So this is him. This is the nobody who ruined everything."

"Mother, please—"

"Be quiet, Diana." Catherine circled Marcus slowly, her lip curled in disgust. "My God. I thought Diana was exaggerating when she said you looked like a beggar, but she wasn't. You actually are nobody. I can see it in every cheap thread of that suit, every callus on your hands, every—what is that, a discount haircut?"

Marcus said nothing.

"What do you do for a living?" Catherine demanded. "And don't lie to me. I can smell desperation from a mile away. Let me guess—construction worker? Janitor? Do you mop floors for a living, Mr. Hayes?"

"I've done various things," Marcus replied evenly.

Catherine laughed, the sound like breaking glass. "Various things. How delightfully vague. That's code for 'unemployed,' isn't it? You're a professional leech who saw an opportunity and latched onto my daughter like a parasite."

"Mother, that's enough," Diana said, her voice cold but controlled.

"Enough? I haven't even started!" Catherine whirled on her daughter. "Do you have any idea what you've done? Ryan Steel was perfect—wealthy, connected, from a good family. But instead you married this... this thing out of spite!"

"Ryan Steel is a coward who can't function without his mother's approval," Diana shot back. "I made my choice."

"Your choice is going to cost us everything!" Catherine's voice rose to a shriek. "The Steel family is furious. Our business relationships are hanging by a thread. And for what? For this?"

She turned back to Marcus, her expression shifting from rage to calculated coldness. Catherine reached into her Hermès handbag and withdrew a leather checkbook, flipping it open with practiced drama.

"Let's not waste time with pretense," she said, pulling out a gold pen. "You married my daughter for money. Fine. I understand transactional relationships. The question is—how much will it take to make you disappear?"

Marcus's eyebrows rose slightly. "Excuse me?"

"Don't play stupid. It's beneath even you." Catherine clicked her pen. "I'm offering you a one-time payment to divorce Diana immediately and leave Phoenix City forever. No lawyers, no complications, just a clean exit. Name your price."

"Mother!" Diana's face flushed with anger. "You can't just—"

"Ten million," Catherine interrupted, writing the figure with a flourish. "Ten million dollars to walk away. That's more money than someone like you will see in ten lifetimes. Take it."

She held out the check.

Marcus looked at it, then at Catherine, and something like amusement touched his eyes. "Mrs. Morrison, I appreciate the offer, but ten million wouldn't even cover my monthly expenses."

For three full seconds, absolute silence filled the foyer.

Then Catherine burst into hysterical laughter. "Monthly expenses! Oh my God, Diana, where did you find this one? A comedy club?" She clutched her stomach, wheezing. "Ten million won't cover your monthly expenses? What do you have, sweetheart—a yacht? A private island? Multiple international bank accounts?"

"Several of each, actually," Marcus said calmly. "Plus real estate portfolios across six continents and a few private military contracts that generate substantial recurring revenue."

Catherine laughed harder. "Stop, stop! I can't breathe! Private military contracts! You can't even afford a decent suit, but you have military contracts! What's next—are you secretly the president?"

"Mother, enough," Diana said sharply, though her own expression betrayed uncertainty. She was looking at Marcus with new eyes, trying to determine if he was joking, delusional, or something else entirely.

"Oh, this is wonderful!" Catherine wiped tears from her eyes, careful not to smudge her makeup. "He's not just a gold-digger—he's completely insane! Diana, darling, you really should have vetted this one more carefully. He's clearly delusional. Someone who can't even dress properly expects us to believe he owns global properties? He's a good joker, I'll give him that. Very entertaining. But as a husband?" She turned to Marcus, her voice dripping with false sympathy. "Sweetie, you should have thought twice before spinning such ridiculous lies."

"I'm not lying," Marcus said mildly.

"Of course you're not." Catherine patted his cheek condescendingly. "And I'm the Queen of England. Now, about that check—"

"Catherine, stop it."

Richard Morrison's voice cut through the tension as he entered from the garden entrance. Diana's father looked tired, his eyes shadowed with worry, but his voice carried authority. "This isn't helping anyone."

"Richard! Finally, someone with sense!" Catherine rushed to her husband. "Tell them—tell Diana this marriage is insane. We need to fix this before—"

"Before we're late for Grandma Elizabeth's birthday," Richard interrupted firmly. "Whatever issues we have can wait until after the celebration. Let's try to maintain some dignity today."

Catherine's mouth opened, then closed. Even she wouldn't dare disrespect Elizabeth Morrison by causing a scene before her birthday celebration.

"Fine," she said icily. "But this conversation isn't over. Not by a long shot."

She swept past Marcus, deliberately bumping his shoulder, and headed for the waiting limousine outside.

Richard paused beside Diana, his hand briefly touching her arm. "Are you sure about this?" he asked quietly.

Diana's jaw tightened. "It's done, Father."

"That wasn't what I asked."

Diana glanced at Marcus, who stood patiently waiting, his expression giving nothing away. "I'm sure," she said, though her voice lacked conviction.

Richard sighed. "Then let's go. And Marcus—be prepared. What you just experienced from Catherine? That's nothing compared to what's waiting at the Steel estate."

The drive to the Morrison family estate took thirty minutes through winding mountain roads. Catherine sat in frigid silence, shooting poisonous glares at Marcus through the rearview mirror. Diana stared out the window, her face unreadable. Only Richard attempted normalcy, commenting occasionally on the scenery.

Marcus observed it all with the calm of someone who'd faced far worse than angry in-laws.

As the limousine pulled up to the sprawling Morrison estate—three stories of white columns and manicured lawns—Marcus noted the security presence. Professional guards at every entrance, cameras in obvious positions, the subtle tells of a family that valued protection.

They stepped out into afternoon sunshine. Immediately, whispers started.

"That's him?"

"Diana's husband?"

"He looks so... ordinary."

"I heard he answered a newspaper ad—"

"—mail-order husband—"

"—probably cost less than her shoes—"

The relatives gathered on the front lawn turned as one, their expressions ranging from curiosity to outright contempt. And there, near the entrance with his hand still splinted, stood Liam Steel.

His eyes locked onto Marcus with pure, undiluted hatred.

"Well, well," Liam called out, his voice carrying across the lawn. "Look who decided to show his face. How's your hand feeling, Hayes? Mine's still broken, thanks to you."

The whispers intensified. Marcus said nothing, but his eyes swept the gathering, cataloging faces, positions, potential threats with the automatic efficiency of long training.

Diana's hand slipped through his arm—not affectionately, but territorially. "Ignore him," she murmured. "And whatever happens in there, remember the contract. You're here to play a role, nothing more."

Marcus looked down at her, this woman who'd once shared steamed buns with a starving boy and forgotten him entirely.

"Of course," he said quietly. "Just a role."

But his eyes, scanning the hostile crowd ahead, suggested he was playing a far more complex game than anyone realized.