The Billionaire's Hidden Son-in-Law

Chapter 6: The Will

The sun barely broke the morning sky when the nurse walked out of Henry Donovan’s room, her face pale and lips trembling.

“He’s… he’s gone,” she whispered.

Silence hit the Donovan mansion like thunder. Nobody moved. Breath seemed to leave everyone’s nose for a second.

Henry Donovan—patriarch, empire builder, the man whose voice could make or break fortunes, had died. Just like that.

Michael stood frozen, his chest heavy, his eyes fixed on the floor as if the tiles could offer him answers. The only man who ever treated him like more than a stray, more than a shadow… was gone.

Victoria let out a shaky cry, though it didn’t reach her eyes. She collapsed into the nearest chair, but even her tears seemed half-formed.

Sophia turned away, dabbing at her cheeks with a silk handkerchief, her brows creased, not in pain, but in calculation.

Only Michael stood there, quiet. Still. Like the news had struck somewhere deeper, somewhere words couldn’t reach.

The family meeting Henry had called was immediately cancelled. The announcement he planned to make vanished with his final breath.

Bohemia, dressed in his usual expensive suit, walked up to Michael as everyone started to disperse. He looked him up and down, smirked, then leaned in, his voice low.

“So tell me,” he said, tilting his head. “What exactly was your motivation for marrying Sophia? Knowing you’re nothing but a striking poor trash, eh?”

Michael didn’t answer.

Bohemia chuckled. “Was it hunger? Or maybe you thought love would make you a Donovan? Sorry, bro. Even cockroaches can’t inherit thrones.”

Michael just turned and walked away.

There was nothing to say. Not to a man like that. Grief had already buried itself in his chest like a nail, and every word Bohemia said only pushed it deeper.

Sophia stood at the stairwell, watching. Her face was unreadable, like a mask that had been worn for too long. She didn’t go after Michael. She didn’t go after anyone.

Instead, she retreated quietly to her room.

Whatever mourning she had to do, it would be done alone and only if it didn’t get in the way of her next move.

Victoria, on the other hand, was already deep in thought. She had barely wiped her eyes when she whispered to Sophia later that night.

“We can’t let the company slip from our hands,” she said. “Dad’s gone. You’re still a Donovan by blood, and your name is on all the major documents.”

Sophia nodded slowly. “Michael doesn’t know anything about the business. We’ll make sure it stays that way.”

They clinked wine glasses in the dark dining room, their black dresses still on from the day’s mourning.

Meanwhile, Michael sat alone in the servant quarters. No one had asked him to leave, but no one acknowledged him either. He stared at the photo he’d secretly taken of Henry months ago, just a random shot in the garden when Henry was reading the newspaper.

Now, it was the only thing he had left of the man.

Tears rolled down his face slowly, without sound.

************************

The burial came two weeks later.

They made it grand, of course they did. The Donovan name demanded nothing less. There were black cars in a straight line, long speeches from men who barely knew the deceased, gold-framed photos at every corner, and cameras flashing like it was a movie premiere.

Sophia and Victoria arrived in high heels and dark designer gowns, each trying to outdo the other in quiet poise. They stood beside their mother. Bohemia stood beside Sophia like a new king waiting for his crown.

Michael came in simple clothes; plain black shirt and trousers, no shine, no polish. He stood at the far end of the family section, far from the glossy coffin, far from the whispers.

Nobody offered him a seat. Nobody acknowledged him.

But he stayed.

Because Henry would have wanted him there.

He watched as the coffin was lowered. Dirt hit the polished wood with a heavy finality. Somewhere inside him, something cracked.

After the ceremony, the whispers began.

“Who’s taking over the company?”

“Will it be Sophia or Bohemia?”

“Maybe Victoria will fight for it...”

Nobody mentioned Michael. Nobody even looked his way.

Later that evening, back at the estate, Victoria poured herself a glass of champagne.

“He’s gone,” she said, raising the glass. “Time to take back what’s ours.”

Sophia sat quietly, her eyes on her phone. She hadn’t spoken to Michael since Henry’s death. No apology. No explanation. Nothing.

“I think we should throw him out,” Victoria added. “Now that Dad is gone, there’s no reason for him to be here.”

Sophia didn’t answer. But she didn’t stop her either.

In the days that followed, the sisters started making bold moves. They sent out company memos, scheduled meetings, signed off documents. It was as if Henry’s death gave them the full freedom they had long desired.

Michael remained in his servant quarters. He cleaned. He stayed out of their way. But he was watching. He saw the changes, the power play, the way even the staff began to treat him like he was a nobody.

No one knew that something else was being prepared behind the scenes.

Something that would change everything.

Two weeks after the burial, the family was summoned to the estate’s private lounge.

The lawyer arrived with a thick envelope and a firm expression.

Bohemia, relaxed as ever, sat beside Sophia. This time, he wasn’t asked out of the room. Perhaps, the lawyer didn’t have that power to.

Victoria wore a bright red dress, like she was expecting a coronation, not a legal meeting.

Michael came last. Still in plain clothes. Still silent.

The lawyer stood and cleared his throat.

“As the legal representative of the late Mr. Henry Donovan, I have been instructed to read out his final will and testament, which was updated shortly before his passing.”

Everyone straightened. Eyes sharpened.

The lawyer opened the envelope, removed the neatly folded papers, and began to read.

“To my children, Victoria and Sophia, I leave my blessings, and my hope that they will live with honour.”

There was a pause.

“To my most trusted… Michael Hargrove…”

Gasps filled the room.

Victoria’s glass slipped from her hand.

“…I hereby bequeath all my assets; shares in Donovan Industries, personal properties, real estate holdings, vehicles, stocks, and control of the Donovan Empire, to him, effective immediately.”

The room was dead silent.

“However,” the lawyer continued, voice steady, “this transfer stands on one condition…”

Everyone leaned in.

“…Sophia must still be married to him. Should she not, then, it is left for Michael Hargrove to decide whether to include my two daughters in the inheritance or not.”