The Accidental Son-in-law Is A Genius

Module 3 - HER BROTHER-IN-LAW, CLIFFORD

Winifred stepped out of the car, her assistant close behind, holding her tablet and phone as if they were precious artifacts. The morning sun reflected off her brown heeled boots as she adjusted her oversized sunglasses. Her Versace dress hugged her figure, and the brown blazer she wore over it gave her the poised look she always carried.

“Wait in the car,” she instructed coolly. “This won’t take long.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the assistant replied, stepping back as Winifred sauntered towards the hospital entrance.

She wasn’t thrilled about this detour. Contraceptives weren’t exactly something she wanted associated with her name, even in private. But it was necessary. She wasn’t about to let her disastrous marriage to Clarke become even more complicated.

As she entered the hospital’s front hall, the cold air-conditioned breeze hit her, along with the unmistakable scent of antiseptic. 

She wrinkled her nose slightly as her heels clicking against the polished floor. She made her way toward the pharmacy counter but stopped in her tracks when her eyes landed on someone she knew.

Sitting in one of the waiting area chairs was none other than Clarke’s younger brother, Clifford.

Her stomach twisted. 

She instinctively adjusted her sunglasses, hoping to stay out of his line of sight. Clifford was the last person she wanted to see. He was no different from Clarke - poor, plain, and entirely unremarkable.

Clifford appeared to be waiting for someone. It was obvious from his long legs stretched out and relaxed posture. A magazine was open in his lap, but his focus wasn’t on it. 

His head turned slightly, and for a moment, Winifred thought he might have noticed her.

She immediately spun around, heading back out the way she came. The assistant standing by the car looked up in confusion as Winifred briskly approached.

“Let’s go,” she ordered curtly.

“But ma’am, didn’t you need—”

“I said let’s go!” she snapped, sliding into the backseat and shutting the door with a sharp click.

As the car pulled out of the parking lot, Winifred crossed her arms. She was annoyed and her annoyance was simmering just beneath the surface. ‘Of all people to run into…’ she thought, grinding her teeth.

She didn’t have the time, patience, or inclination to deal with Clarke’s family today… or any day. Contraceptives could wait. Nothing was worth subjecting herself to even a passing interaction with Clifford or anyone else from that wretched family.

And that's why she's been avoiding the talk on taking her to meet his family whenever he brought it out. 

Getting to know Clifford was Clarke's brother was simply because he stood as a witness on the day she signed the marriage papers with Clarke.

—

As soon as Clarke found a moment of reprieve, he glanced around Michelle’s ward. He noted that Mrs. Nate’s attention was momentarily absorbed by her phone. Which was a good thing.

Taking his chance, he slipped out of the room, his steps measured but purposeful.

The air in the hospital corridor was cool, and the faint hum of activity filled the space. Clarke’s eyes scanned the waiting area until they landed on his younger brother, Clifford, seated with an air of casual confidence that didn’t quite match the sterile surroundings.

“Cliff,” Clarke called out sharply as he approached. His voice, no longer the mild and obliging tone of the meek son-in-law, carried a commanding edge that turned heads. 

Clifford, reclining with one leg crossed over the other, looked up and smirked.

“Big brother,” Clifford greeted, rising from his seat. “So, you did see me.”

“What are you doing here?” Clarke demanded, his tone was almost biting. There was no warmth in his expression either. Only steely resolve.

Nathan shrugged, slipping his hands into the pockets of his designer jacket. “Relax, I’m just delivering a message. Dad sent me.”

Clarke’s jaw tightened. “I don’t care what he wants.”

“Well, you might care about what he sent,” Clifford replied, a sly smile spreading across his face. “Two Porsche 911s, one silver and one jet black. Brand new, fresh off the line. Oh, and a couple of other things; an offshore account with a hefty deposit, a penthouse in the city, and…” Clifford leaned in slightly, lowering his voice for dramatic effect. “...the family yacht. All yours if you just come back home.”

Clarke’s expression didn’t waver. His brother’s tone was teasing, but there was a flicker of challenge in Clifford's eyes, testing him.

“I don’t need any of that,” Clarke said flatly. His voice with authority left no room for debate.

Clifford raised an eyebrow. He was amused. “You sure? Because from where I’m standing, it doesn’t look like you’re doing too great here. Playing houseboy for a scrawny family can’t be much fun.”

“Let me make this clear, Cliff,” Clarke said, stepping closer. “I’m not coming back. Tell Dad to stop sending you with these ridiculous offers. My answer won’t change.”

For a moment, the tension hung thick between them. 

Clifford studied his brother until his smirk faltered slightly. There was something different about Clarke; something solid, unyielding. Clarke's changing.

“Alright, alright,” Clifford said, raising his hands in mock surrender. “I’ll let him know. But you know how Dad is.. he doesn’t take ‘no’ lightly.”

Clarke turned to leave without another word, but Clifford's voice stopped him.

“Just so you know,” Clifford called out. “the door’s always open. You’ll come back eventually. They all do.”

Clarke didn’t respond. He strode away, his steps firm and unhurried, leaving Clifford behind in the waiting area.

As he made his way back to Michelle’s ward, his face hardened with resolve. He didn’t need the wealth, the cars, or the yachts. He didn’t need anything from the life he had been chased away from. He needed an apology and if he couldn't get that.. his choices were his own. And he would bear the consequences of them, no matter how difficult.

—

When he got into the ward again, Mrs. Nate's sharp eyes lingered on him for a moment longer before she turned her attention back to Michelle.

He stepped over to the chair he had occupied earlier, adjusting it slightly before sitting down. His mind, however, was far from the sterile room. 

Clifford's words echoed in his head, but Clarke pushed them aside. His resolve was firm and there was no place for hesitation.

Michelle shifted slightly, drawing his attention back to her. “You’re back,” she said softly. Her voice was weak but tinged with something close to gratitude.

“Yes, Ma,” Clarke replied, his tone respectful. “How are you feeling now?”

“Better,” she admitted reluctantly. Her eyes narrowed as if she was trying to decipher his character. “But don’t think I’ve forgotten the situation between you and my daughter. I don’t trust you, Clarke.”

He didn’t flinch. Instead, he offered a small nod. “I understand.”

Mrs. Nate, now watching the interaction, huffed and crossed her arms. “Well, at least you’re good for something today,” she muttered.

Clarke didn’t respond, choosing instead to focus on adjusting Michelle’s pillow and ensuring she was comfortable. His actions spoke louder than any words he could offer, and for now, that was enough.

The room settled into a quiet hum of activity, but beneath the surface, Clarke’s thoughts remained steady. ‘I had made my decision long ago, father. And no offers or insults would change my path. Maybe an apology would.’