Rise Of The Rejected Son-in-law

The Whole Lannister Will Pay

The courtyard erupted into laughter.

“Did I hear that right?”

“He wants us to kneel and apologize? The lunatic’s gone soft.”

“Madmen never learn. He’s talking nonsense. Anna pushed our boy—shouldn’t they be the ones apologizing?”

“What if he has a psychotic episode? Killing’s nothing for a madman. Better be careful — it’s not like the law would blink.”

Cold light flared in Ethan’s eyes. The murderous intent that had hovered behind his restraint now grazed the surface, dangerous and bright.

Sandra’s voice trembled as she sought out the family patriarch. “Grandpa—” she begged, looking at Lord Reginald Lannister, the old man who had presided over every banquet and every verdict in that house. Reginald’s face folded into a disdainful snort. To speak to Sandra would be to soil himself with the very thing he pretended to govern. He felt no obligation to mediate; humiliation, in his view, had already done its work.

From the fringe of the family, a portly, smug man stepped forward — Gideon Faraday, Violet’s father. He grinned with predatory relish and said, loud enough for all to hear, “Justice? You call that justice? Sandra tripped my grandson. She deserved a lesson. Foolish people must know their place. Letting her and that ragged child into our home was mercy enough. Now she wants us to coddle her? Kneel, woman. Apologize to my grandson and maybe I’ll spare you. Refuse, and I’ll break the legs of every one of your kin today.”

Sandra went pale and reached for Lord Reginald as if for refuge. “Please—” she cried again.

Ethan moved like the shadow of a fast thing: in one step he had positioned himself between Sandra and that swollen, sneering man, his wife and daughter pressed behind him. The last thin thread of his patience snapped.

“Very well,” he said, voice low and cold as iron. “So that’s your answer. Noted.” He let the words hang. “I gave you a chance.”

He lifted his chin as if to show them there was mercy in restraint. Then, with the quiet brutality of someone who has already decided consequence, he added, “If you refuse, it won’t be my fault. You all said yourselves — if I kill, it isn’t a crime. Remember your own words.”

Before their stunned faces had time to register the menace, Ethan closed the distance to Violet in two long strides. She flinched, lips curling in a sneer. “Bastard,” she spat.

His hand moved quicker than anyone expected.

Slap!

The slap was so loud, a clear, ringing sound that cut through the courtyard’s stunned silence.

“That was for my daughter.”

Before Violet hit the ground properly, he followed with a hard, controlled kick, sending her stumbling backwards onto the marble.

“And that was for my wife.”

The shock that fell over the Lannisters was a living thing. People who had comfortably sneered one heartbeat before now gaped; their perfectly arranged world had been breached by someone they’d dismissed as harmless.

Gideon Faraday’s face went an ugly red. “He wants to die!” he shouted. “Guards! Seize him — beat him to death!”

At his cry, the villa’s security of the Lannisters sprang forward. They all circled, Ethan, Sandra, and Anna.

Ethan stood like a living bulwark, his presence alone swallowed the courtyard whole. Even if another twenty men came at him, they would still end up on their knees.

He had faced the world’s Eight Legends five days ago and walked away the victor. What was this motley Lannisters clan compared to that storm? If he willed it, entire houses like the Lannisters or the Morleys would crumble beneath his name.

“Take action!” Lord Reginald’s voice cut through the stunned stillness. He barked.

At his command the villa guards surged forward. Ethan didn’t step back. He moved like a season-hardened machine.

Boom! One guard went flying as if struck by a battering ram.

Boom! Another slammed into a fountain, water and stone exploding.

Boom! Boots and bodies scattered across the marble.

Wherever Ethan moved, a trail of broken forms and groans followed. He advanced with a simple objective: shield his family. In less than a minute every commissioned guard lay strewn across the courtyard. Some were unconscious, some badly bloodied, a few worse. Blood darkened his coat and hands, but his face remained an unreadable mask, the killing intent in his eyes roaring like a furnace.

He drew a slow, dangerous breath. “Who else?” he demanded, his voice was cold enough to freeze blood.

But no one dare to answere. Faces that had been loud seconds before now avoided his gaze, mouths working without sound. Even the servants held their breath.

Sandra gaped at him, disbelief making her entire frame tremble. Could this battered, relentless man really be the husband who’d vanished five years ago? The “madman” he’d pretended to be? The one who’d abandoned her?

Seeing the fright crawl over the Lannisters’ faces—seeing them finally small—brought an odd, fierce warmth to Sandra. For the first time since those years of humiliation, she felt a protection she had never known: as if Ethan’s arms knitted a sky above them, keeping storms at bay.

Anna—bruised and clinging to her mother—peeked up with wide, tentative wonder. “Mummy… is he really my daddy? My daddy is amazing.”

The courtyard itself seemed to harden around that moment. The pressure from Ethan’s body sealed the air, the family’s chatter fell into a brittle hush.

A new voice then sliced through the tableau—deep, official, and calm. “What on earth is going on here?”

All heads turned to the entrance. An elderly man in a public security uniform had appeared, a silver star blazing on his shoulder. He walked with steady authority, flanked by four crisp officers.

Recognition went through the Lannisters like a current. Shame flared across many faces. Thye felt embarrassed at having been cowed by a man they’d dismissed as mad.

Gideon Faraday pushed forward, face flushed. “Mayor Hargreaves!” he cried, his voice was oily with contrived deference. “What brings you here? Surely you can see this lunatic has attacked our people?”

The man in uniform was Sir Malcolm Hargreaves, the mayor of Brentwood Vale and the sort whose word could turn fortunes.

Violet’s face swelled with relief as if a saviour had arrived. Two maids supported her, her voice a strained murmur. Gideon hurried on in explanation. “Mayor, this deranged beggar assaulted my grandson. Look at the security guards! They lie beaten and broken. He has attempted murder. He must be arrested and made to pay for medical expenses. He must be made an example of.”

Like a wave, the rest of the family found its backbone. Accusations sprang up in chorus—sharp, rehearsed.

“Humph. If he’s so brave, let him try to beat up the public security men. He’ll spend the rest of his life in prison. Then Sandra and that child can rot away.”

“Arrest him and let the law decide,” another voice urged, hungry for retribution.

“Imagine the scandal if we let this stand,” someone added. “How dare he—”

Every finger pointed, every face swallowed with hope at the thought of his arrest. For them, the sight of Ethan restrained, humiliated, and carried away promised the sweetest revenge.