Rise Of The Rejected Son-in-law

Kneel and lick it clean

Ethan had spent the night on the cold doorstep. Before dawn he slipped out and bought a bag of warm fried dough sticks and two cartons of milk. He returned to the iron door where his family slept. The room inside smelled of damp and the faint bleach the public restroom provided; it offered no table, no chairs, nothing that said “home.” So, they carried breakfast out to the nearest park bench and sat close enough to share the small warmth of the meal.

Amelia tore into the dough sticks with the fierce gratitude of a child who’d never known abundance. Three sticks vanished in minutes. She downed two small cartons of milk, after eating, “Woo—” she squealed, her cheeks were full. “Mummy, this is the best thing ever. My belly’s so full!” She laughed, the sound so bright Ethan felt like he might break.

Sandra watched her with a smile. Ethan’s throat tightened; he wanted to gather them both into his arms and never let go. Instead, he sat very still and pretended the bench was enough.

The walk to Amelia’s school took them past the resettlement block. The kindergarten was squeezed into a low, tired apartment building; its windows were small and the paint on the stairwell peeled. Inside there were eight children, ages three to six, their clothes patched and their hair unstyled. Amelia waved at her friends.

She hugged them all, then turned back, cupping Ethan’s cheek for a second and making a ridiculous, exaggerated wink. Before she slipped into class she sidled up and whispered in his ear, “Dad—good luck,” and pulled a little face behind the teacher’s back. Ethan smiled and nodded.

Sandra hurried toward the bus stop. Ethan stayed a pace behind. She frowned, looking at him over her shoulder. “I’m going to the office,” she said. “Why are you coming with me?”

“Because I will not stand by while they humiliate you,” he answered simply.

Sandra stopped and considered him for a long breath. Then she set her jaw. “No violence,” she said, eyes hard. “If you can’t keep that promise, you should stay away. If you can’t do it, then don’t come.”

Ethan opened his mouth, then closed it. He sighed and nodded.

Forty minutes later the glass tower of the company rose before them. Twenty stories of mirrored ambition. The name at the top read LANNISTER GROUP in block letters.

As they reached the main gate a uniformed figure stepped forward. “Stop there,” the guard snapped.

“Who gave you permission to enter? Do you even work here?”

Sandra produced her ID, “Of course I work here.”

The man sneered, “an ID card? That could be forged. Who are you trying to fool?”

Ethan moved a step forward. “Clear the way,” he said. His voice was low and cold enough to inflict bruise.

The guard’s mouth snapped into a guttural swear. “You—who do you think you are? Get out of here. Brothers—backup!”

Like chess pieces sliding into place, security spilled through the gate. Dozens of guards, rubber batons in hand, phones raised to record the theatrics. They were practiced at this kind of violence; they had been trained to turn humiliation into content.

“You think you’re strong?”

“Want to start something? Lift a finger and we’ll make you a viral spectacle.”

Someone else snorted, “Arrogant bastard—thinks he’s untouchable because he can fight a bit. Fool.”

The lead man clicked on his walkie. “Manager—sir, the people you were waiting for are here.” It was showtime. Sandra’s lips went white. She had recognized the choreography—Violet’s meticulous cruelty, the way private grudges got dressed in company uniforms and sent out to trample the less fortunate.

Ethan watched the faces of them. “I’ll say it once, anyone who values their life should get out of the way.”

The guards answered with a laughter. “Oh? You looking to pick a fight?”

“We’ve got orders. We’ll finish him quick.”

Kelvin Lannister’s name cut the air. The manager stepped forward, immaculate and perfectly posed, backing his guards with the full weight of the Lannisters’ arrogance. “Shut off your cameras,” he ordered; a dozen phones blinked dark in a practiced, instant response.

Suddenly, dozens of guards charged forward. Sandra’s hand seized Ethan’s sleeve, “Ethan, remember. No violence,” she pleaded, voice thin and urgent. “Please.”

“Sandra, you see this? They’ve gone too far. Enough.”

Sandra’s hand tightened on his sleeve. “Ethan—you promised. And a man keeps his word.”

A vein thudded at Ethan’s temple. He clenched his fists so tight. Ethan let the silence grow long, then spoke again, “fine. I won’t break my promise. No violence today.”

“But we’re not leaving. Not today. Not until these gates open for us. And we will not only go in. We will make them beg us to let us through.”

A bark of derisive laughter erupted from the nearest guard.

“Pfft. How grandiose,” he spat, amusement bright in his tone.

That laugh was the cue. Violet made her entrance.

She rolled forward on a borrowed attention, swathed in sunglasses and a surgical mask that did little to hide the purple swelling of her face. Her lips were a thin line of fury; beneath the shades the bruise around one eye was darker than the other. She had pushed herself here despite the pain—despite the doctor’s warning that the blow had fractured facial bone. The possibility of lasting damage had not stopped her. If anything, it fed the cruel script she’d rehearsed: she would attend, she would preside, and she would preside as a martyr of injury.

“Sandra, has your mad husband had another episode? Always daydreaming, always boasting. It’s a pity you ended up with such a waste.” Sandra said.

Kelvin materialised at her shoulder, immaculate as ever, a patron of their small cruelty. He let out a short, contemptuous laugh. “Boasting never incurred a tax, eh?” he said loudly. “Why don’t you toddle off and parade your fantasies elsewhere, Ward? Beg us to let you in—make a show of it. We’ll all have a good laugh.”

The guards exploded into laughter.

Sandra’s face flamed crimson. She wanted nothing more than to disappear. But she had a child whose school waited on a meagre salary, and a job she could not afford to lose. So she swallowed the shame.

“Violet, I—” Her throat closed. She steadied herself and forced the words out. “What happened yesterday was wrong. I’m sorry. On Ethan’s behalf, I apologise. We will cover your medical expenses. Please… please don’t revoke my position. Amelia needs to go to school.”

Violet peeled off the surgical mask. The bruise across her face looked worse without the pale fabric; swelling and purple mapped the bone beneath. She sneered.

“Phooey.” She spat onto the polished ground. “Do you even see this face?” she snapped, voice raw. “Do you know how much it hurt? Do you know how many teeth I lost? An apology? A cheque? Pathetic.”

“If you think a simple apology will fix this, you’re deluded. Kneel. Lick this up and crawl on your knees. Then maybe I’ll consider forgiveness.”

Sandra’s body trembled; her anger was rising. “Don’t you dare,” she hissed. “You started this—”

"It was your fault yesterday, and you shouldn't forget that Lannister Group is the company of the Lannister family. Violet shouldn't forget that I also surnamed Lannister and also has a share in the company.

Violet cut her off with a laugh. “You—delusional?” she mocked. “You actually think you own a piece of this company? That’s laughable. Who gave you the right to speak about Lannister Group? You embarrass the name.”

“Stop it!” Sandra’s voice broke. “I am Lannister. I have a right—”

“Right?” Violet barked back. “You have one right: to know your place. If you don’t want to kneel, then maybe you’ll compensate me properly.” She raised one hand, palm up as if counting out terms. “Two million. That will fix my face and buy some dignity back. Can you afford that, Sandra?”

Sandra recoiled as if struck. “Two million?” she breathed. “You’re shameless.”

Violet’s face went cold with fury at the insult. “Bitch!” she spat. “How dare you call me shameless?” She flicked her eyes toward her brother. “Kelvin give her a lesson.”

Kelvin sneered and walked up, "I am good at this kind of thing."

"I advise you not to dodge, otherwise losing your job won't be that simple! tsk, tsk, slapping such a beautiful face should be very painful."

Kelvin swung his arm and fiercely slapped Sandra's face.