THE RETURN Of the LEGENDARY KING of WAR

003: He Is Back!

As if on cue, the door creaks open behind him. Lillian steps out, holding a document, and a pen, out to him. Her face is unreadable, distant, and almost relieved.

Andrew stares at the papers. For a moment, he feels like the ground beneath him is giving way. But he still persists. “No, I'm not signing this!” He says and Burke's fists connect to his bleeding lips again, making it bleed more.

“Of course, you will!” Liliana grits out, clenching her jaws. “Or else, you'll regret this. Or… you've grown too accustomed to being clingy and ripping my daughter off her hard work right?!” She asks, angry.

“Well, that has to stop from now on! So go in there, pack your filthy belongings and get the fuck out of my daughter's life!” She points towards the house, her voice rising to a pitch.

“But mom—” Andrew begins, but a hand from madam Liliana shuts him up.

“One word from you and I'll have Burke land another hit to your pathetic looking face!” And then, she lifts Andrew's hand with her one hand before forcefully placing the divorce papers into his palm with the other.

“Now, sign. Them,” she orders with a note of finality.

‘One step away, and her daughter will be free,’ Lilian thinks. She knows her daughter has the potential of becoming a successful business woman and today, the contract signing… is proof!

She has effortlessly signed the contract and she believes more would come.

Plus, in a few days, her daughter will be officially opening her company. Mrs Liliana is already imagining how made and wealthy, her Lizzy would be in the next two years—successful and influential—and she didn't want a leech of a son-in-law to rip her off!

Andrew takes the pen from her, and Liliana's eyes lit up! But then it dims and determination flashes across Andrew's eyes. “I'm not going to sign this. She is my wife and that's it.

Lizzy,” Andrew pressed further, turning to Lizzy, with a look of something unspoken. “Have a rethink,” he begs, “I don't want you to regret this.”

“Ha! Regret?” Lizzy turns to Burke, lips quirked up in a cruel sneer before looking at Andrew. “He says I'll regret it. Look, I'm a CEO of a fashion industry, and I just landed a contract of millions of dollars, but what about you?

Nothing! Nothing to write home about. Just some worn out clothes and rags you call clothes, and you dare to say I'll regret this?!”

Lizzy thinks Andrew must be high on something to think that. No, high on something is an understatement, he must have lost his sanity to have even thought of that!

Andrew's hands clenched into fists at his sides, crumpling the papers in the process and it feels like something inside of him has shifted. Finally, he's had enough!

Enough of the fighting for someone who never once fought for him. Enough of being the only one trying. Enough of the humiliation and definitely enough of the heartbreak, and the empty hope he has stupidly clung to.

He straightens, the last remnants of hope dying quietly inside him. There is no anger, nor pleading, just a cold, cutting finality in his heart that has now finally turned cold.

‘Lizzy wanted freedom, right? So I will fulfill that wish for her!’ Andrew thinks

‘However, I will never forgive her for killing the man who once believed in love,’ he adds.

He starts walking off by himself, not minding to sign the divorce papers. He will do this, but now on his terms! Starting now, everything will play out by his rules. They wanted him to sign it, but he wasn't going to. After all, he is no longer their son in-law, right?

So he wouldn't take orders from them. And talking about orders…

Andrew reaches into his pockets and fishes out his phone. With a calmness that belies the fire burning in the chest, he dials a number that connects on the first ring.

“Hello…” inside a big mansion filled with elite men, a man answers, voice tight with anticipation. He bows instinctively even though Andrew cannot see him—a gesture born not of habit, but of deep-rooted fear and reverence.

The rest watch him like a hawk. And then…

“I am ready,” Andrew says, in three words—yet they fall like cannon fire through the receiver.

Thick, absolute silence follows.

The man straightens, adrenaline slicing through his veins as he lowers the phone. He didn't need to say it, the three words are enough. But then he turns to the rest and nods once before he says…

“It's time.”

On the couch, Caspian lets his coin hit the floor.

“Finally,” he mutters, standing and rolling up his sleeves. “I was starting to rot in this palace.

Markus cracks his neck, already waiting for this day. He didn't understand why their master would abandon his life to live in solitude.

Markus cracks his neck, already walking. “All squads. Now.”

They start moving like shadows cut loose, precisely silent and electric and purposeful. Doors fly open. Men rush out in coordinated rhythm. Vests are strapped on, earpieces fitted, and blades are holstered.

“Gideon, call the first motorcade. Tell them that the Master is ready.” Mason barks. “Tell them to roll in. Convoy style.”

“Already done,” Gideon replies, punching numbers into a second phone. “They're ten minutes out.”

Outside, the rumble starts. Engines roar. Black SUVs and bikes pour through the front gates in a tight V formation. The mansion's security lights flare white, painting the lawn in blinding brilliance.

The drivers of each car slam the doors shut, awaiting orders. Mason steps outside, a dark, dangerous silhouette against the evening light. “Light them up!” He orders. “We move on his word.”

Each and everyone of them couldn't wait to see him, their master.

He raises his phone to glance at the name and he freezes again. “Sir,” he says, after answering the phone.

Andrew places his hands on his pants pockets, aura still blazing. His features are dangerously hard and so is his voice when he speaks, “I know what you're planning,” he says as if he can actually see them. “However, I want solo.”

He frowns, but with cautiousness, Mason asks, “but… but why, Master?” He understands that he wants solo, but what he doesn't, is why he wants solo and not on convoy.

Andrew remains silent, a silence loud enough for Mason to hear. He breathes out, and then… “Yes, sir.”

Andrew ends the call and his features slip into a thoughtful one. He didn't want to create a scene on the highway.

After all, his marriage to the McCalls isn't the only reason he wanted to keep a low profile. How could he forget the bullet that ruthlessly pierced his chest?

He couldn't afford to alert them. Hence the decision.

The sound of screeching tires brings Andrew out of his reverie. Mason steps out of the car and walks to meet Andrew. He salutes, raising his right arm and pointing it to his head. “Sir!”

“At ease, Mason,” Andrew replies, and Mason relaxes his tense posture. “This way, sir,” he gestures, opening the car door.

Andrew walks into the car and Mason walks into the driver seat.

“How are my boys?” Andrew breaks the silence the moment they finally settle in. The car starts moving.

“They're fine.” Mason responds, eyes fixated on the road. “They missed you, and were a bit disappointed that you called off the convoy.”

Andrew frowns, his finger making a cracking noise as he curls it into a tight fist, then tension in his jaw matching the storm brewing in his eyes.

He doesn't know what comes over him when he agrees to be a live-in son in-law. He has a family—bound by war and unity—and he's been such a fool to think the McCalls would ever accept him as family.

But now, he's back, and he's going to bring the fire of hell into bolivard!