THE DEJECTED SON-IN-LAW

"You're a fool—how dare you think of coming home?"

"What would you even return for? To humiliate your brother?"

"He's competing for family head in the capital. If anyone learns he has an useless idiot brother, you'll ruin it all."

"Claim the Reeve name again, and your mother and I will break your legs."

"You're a disgrace. Don't contact us."

Cold handwriting. Familiar strokes.

Every character felt like a slap.

Callum Reeve lowered the letter slowly, light carving sharp lines across his face. Anyone who didn't know better would assume the words came from an enemy—not his own father.

A voice drifted from the doorway.

"Still refusing to let you go home?"

Outside the worn countryside cottage stood a white-bearded old man, hands tucked behind his back, brows knotted as he studied his disciple.

"Home?" Cal's tone was calm, almost airy. "That stopped being home a long time ago."

Twenty years was long enough for blood to dilute into nothing.

He tossed the letter onto the trash heap, watching it flutter among dry leaves and ash. A letter from home was supposed to be worth ten thousand in gold; this one didn't deserve a corner of the kindling pile.

"Why not go back and show them what you've become?" the old man asked.

"They don't want that," Cal replied. "They're afraid I'll stain the Reeve family's precious name. In their eyes, only my brother exists."

Fleeting memories brushed his mind—his brother surrounded by servants, dressed in expensive suits, basking in praise.

And him—sickly, hidden, silenced.

"Forget it," he sighed. "From today on, I'll take your surname."

The old man snorted. "Waste of effort. My surname is also Reeve."

Cal gave a small, helpless smile. "Then I'll be from the Reeve family of Stoneridge."

"Suit yourself." The old man waved him toward the gate. "Anyway, you've learned everything worth learning. Go down the mountain. The world's waiting."

Before Cal could respond, a distant engine stirred the quiet village.

Moments later, heavy footsteps approached—rhythmic, precise. Soldiers marched into the courtyard in perfect formation.

At their front walked a woman with a golden star gleaming on her shoulder. Her posture was sharp, her presence icy, her beauty edged with authority.

A general.

Her gaze locked onto him. "Are you Callum Reeve?"

He frowned. "And you are?"

"Morgan Steele. Eldest daughter of the Steele family." She paused, letting her rank and heritage hang in the air like a command. "I was your brother Clayton Reeve's fiancée."

Her next words dropped like a bomb.

"From today onward, I am your girlfriend. You'll follow me from morning to night. No need to thank me."

Cal blinked once.

His brother's fiancée… wanted him?

Morgan continued briskly, chin lifted. "The engagement between your brother and me was arranged long ago, but that bastard has the nerve to chase other women. If he can do it, so can I. And I've chosen you—his little fool of a brother. You're the one thing he's ashamed of. The perfect weapon. It will drive him insane."

"I refuse," Cal said simply.

Morgan froze. "…You're rejecting me?"

People didn't reject Morgan Steele. They didn't even breathe too loudly in her presence.

"Callum Reeve, I know your past," she pressed, voice tightening. "Born minutes apart with your brother, yet treated as if you were defective. Hidden away. Thrown out. He tells society he's an only child. Don't you want revenge? Take his fiancée—"

"No." Cal interrupted quietly. "First, I don't like you. Second, I won't be used. Third, the Reeve family of the capital has nothing to do with me now."

He stepped aside. "Please leave."

Morgan stared, stunned into silence. He didn't sound like a fool at all.

Her temper surged. "Think carefully! I am Morgan Steele—men line up for a chance to stand beside me! You have no wealth, no status, nothing! Reject me, and you'll—"

A door slammed open.

The old man stomped out, tossing a thick bundle of envelopes onto the ground.

"Boy, I prepared eighteen marriage proposals for you years ago. Pick one already. And return the rest, don't delay the girls."

He punctuated the sentence by lazily digging a finger in his nose.

Morgan's jaw dropped.

"Ei… eig— EIGHTEEN proposals?"

The old man finally noticed her.

"Hm? Who's this little girl?" He eyed her critically. "Decent-looking. You want to marry my disciple too?" He scratched his beard. "Get in line. Eighteen ahead of you."

Morgan's eyelid twitched so hard it nearly detached.

She had never been more speechless in her life.

Cal glanced at the bundle of letters on the ground, then back at the old man. "Master, who exactly were these proposals from?"

The old man's grin widened. "Oh, you'll find out soon enough. Some of them have gotten... impatient."