THE BATTALION SON IN LAW

CHAPTER 3- Dutiful son-in-law

the Hamilton estate's grand dining room, where the family's daily ritual of breakfast unfolded with military precision. The mahogany table, polished to mirror perfection, reflected the stern faces of the Hamilton clan as they assembled for their morning meal—all except one.

Andrew Hamilton, the family patriarch, sat at the head of the table like a king surveying his court. His steel-gray hair was immaculately groomed, his posture rigid as a soldier's, even at seventy-two. His piercing blue eyes swept across the empty chair that should have held his daughter.

"Where is Rebecca?" Andrew's voice cut through the morning air like a cavalry saber.

Alex Hamilton, ever the dutiful son-in-law, dabbed his mouth with a pristine napkin before responding. "She seemed... distressed last night, Father. Perhaps she's feeling unwell."

"The Hamilton family does not miss breakfast unless they're dead or dying," Andrew declared, his tone brooking no argument. "Margaret, send someone to fetch her immediately."

As if summoned by his words, Rebecca appeared in the doorway, her usually perfect appearance disheveled. Dark circles shadowed her eyes, and her hands trembled slightly as she took her seat.

"Forgive me, Father," she said quietly, avoiding his penetrating gaze.

"Forgiveness is earned through explanation," Andrew replied coldly. "What exactly kept you from your obligations this morning?"

Rebecca's throat worked as she swallowed hard. "Max... Max wants a divorce."

The silence that followed was deafening. Alex's coffee cup froze halfway to his lips, while Andrew's face turned to granite.

"Divorce?" Andrew's voice was barely above a whisper, but it carried the weight of a thunderclap. "That pathetic excuse for a man dares to speak of divorce?"

"He says he's tired of being treated like—" Rebecca began.

"Like what?" Alex interjected with a cruel laugh. "Like the charity case he is? Like the nobody who crawled into this family through the back door? Poor Max, feeling sorry for himself again."

They still see me as nothing, Max thought as he stood outside the dining room, having arrived just in time to hear Alex's venomous words. Even after five years, I'm still the outsider.

Max pushed open the dining room doors, his entrance causing an immediate hush. He was dressed simply—jeans, a worn flannel shirt, and work boots—a stark contrast to the family's formal attire.

"Good morning," Max said evenly, taking in their hostile faces.

"Well, well," Andrew said, his voice dripping with disdain. "The prodigal son-in-law finally graces us with his presence. I hear you have something to discuss with me."

"I do," Max replied, his voice steady despite the tension. "But first, I'd like to finish my breakfast with the ranch hands. They're better company."

Alex's face flushed red with rage. "How dare you insult this family in our own home! You ungrateful piece of—"

"Alex." Andrew's single word silenced his son immediately. "Let him speak."

"I want out of this marriage, out of this family, and out of this house," Max said bluntly. "I've had enough of being treated like hired help by people who should show basic human decency."

"You signed a contract when you married my daughter," Andrew said, his voice deadly calm. "You took the Hamilton name, accepted Hamilton money, and swore Hamilton oaths. You don't get to simply walk away when things become inconvenient."

"Even prisoners get parole eventually," Max shot back.

The old man's eyes flashed dangerously. "Prisoners? You live in a mansion, drive expensive cars, and want for nothing. What exactly are you imprisoned by?"

"By the constant reminders that I don't belong here," Max said, his voice rising. "By the daily humiliations your family dishes out like it's their favorite sport. By sleeping in a separate room from a wife who treats me like a business arrangement."

Rebecca flinched at his words, but remained silent.

"The Military Honor Ceremony is in three months," Andrew said firmly. "I will not have scandal attached to the Hamilton name during such an important event. You will wait."

Max had expected this. In his previous life, Andrew had used the same excuse to delay and control him.

"Then let me serve at the Meridian Border Station," Max said, watching Andrew's eyebrows rise in surprise. "I'll represent the Hamilton family in military service. It's dangerous enough that if something happens to me, you won't need to worry about divorce proceedings."

Perfect. This will get me away from here and give me the freedom I need to rebuild my life.

Alex laughed harshly. "The border station? That's where they send the criminals and the desperate. How fitting for someone like you."

"Someone like me?" Max turned to face Alex, his eyes blazing. "You mean someone who actually worked for everything he has? Someone who didn't inherit his position through Daddy's connections?"

"Enough!" Andrew's voice boomed through the room. "Alex, leave us. Rebecca, you too. I need to speak with Max privately."

Later, in Andrew's wood-paneled study, the two men faced each other across a massive oak desk. Military commendations and family portraits lined the walls, silent witnesses to generations of Hamilton power.

"You're serious about the border station?" Andrew asked, his tone more measured now.

"Dead serious," Max replied. "It serves both our purposes. You get your precious ceremony without scandal, and I get away from this toxic environment."

Andrew studied him for a long moment. "The Meridian Border Station has a forty percent casualty rate. It's not a posting—it's a death sentence."

"Better than the slow death I'm experiencing here," Max said without hesitation.

The old man's weathered hands drummed against the desk. "Very well. I'll make the arrangements. You'll leave within the week."

"And the divorce?"

"Will be processed after your tour of duty," Andrew said curtly. "Assuming you survive long enough to see it through."