The Billionaire's Hidden Son-in-Law

Chapter 8: The Storm Returns Home

The black Maybach S680 Virgil Abloh Edition, sleek like a panther and silent as a whisper, cruised effortlessly through the city streets. Inside, Michael sat in silence beside Clarissa, still trying to process everything that had happened in court.

The car’s scent, a mix of leather, money, and power, didn’t shake the heaviness in his chest.

Clarissa, calm and graceful as ever, was typing something on her tablet when Michael’s eyes darted to the road.

“Wait… this isn’t the way to the Donovan estate,” he said, sitting up straight. “Where’s he taking us?”

Clarissa didn’t lift her eyes. “Home,” she replied softly.

Michael’s brows pulled together. “What do you mean, home?”

She finally turned to him, meeting his eyes. “The Ainsley Estate, Michael. Your rightful home.”

Michael paused. The air in his chest tightened. He looked out the tinted window again.

“Turn around,” he said suddenly, leaning forward to speak to the driver. “Go back to the Donovan estate.”

Clarissa blinked. “What?”

“I said go back,” he repeated, his voice firm. “There’s something I need to finish first.”

She stared at him, confused. “Michael, they tried to destroy you. Why are you going back there?”

He didn’t answer. Just stared ahead, face hardening like stone.

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

The Maybach pulled into the Donovan estate barely twenty minutes later. As if alerted by the devil himself, Sophia, Victoria, and Bohemia were already outside, waiting like vultures.

They didn’t even pretend. No greetings. No politeness. No shame.

Their lawyer had already briefed them on how the court case unfolded. They were shocked at first, but quickly took it as joke.

They couldn’t believe Michael would be any heir to a trillionaire empire. The same Michael they all knew?

Sophia folded her arms tightly across her chest, eyes cold. “What are you doing in my house?” she asked flatly.

Michael looked around, then let out a slow laugh, quiet at first, then louder.

“Your house?” he said, eyes fixed on her. “Sophia, I think you forgot. This house, the companies, the shares, the lands, everything your late father owned, he willed them all to me.”

Victoria snorted and took a step forward. “So this is how mad men behave,” she spat. “You really think this lie you’ve cooked up will fly?”

Bohemia stepped beside Sophia, arms folded across his broad chest. “Guy, see ehn, just disappear. You’ve embarrassed yourself enough. We don’t want to involve police again.”

Michael didn’t flinch. “This is my house,” he said again, calmer this time. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

Victoria’s face turned red. The fury she’d been bottling up since the will reading exploded.

“If you don’t leave here this minute, Michael,” she growled, stepping closer, “I swear on my Dad’s grave, I’ll do something you won’t live to tell anyone!”

Bohemia quickly held her back. “Vic! Calm down,” he said. “He’s not worth it.”

Michael stood his ground.

“You think I’m afraid of you?” he asked, looking her dead in the eye. “You all think this is a game? That man you insulted… lied against… buried in shame… he was the only father I knew. And you disgrace his name like this?”

Before anyone could reply, Sophia turned and walked inside.

Michael’s eyes followed her.

She returned moments later with a brown folder and flung it at him. It hit the ground in front of his shoes.

“Open it,” she said, her voice like ice. “Read it. Maybe that will reset your brain.”

Michael didn’t bend.

His driver rushed forward, picked it up, and handed it to him.

Victoria and Sophia burst into small mocking laughter, covering their mouths like schoolgirls mocking a beggar.

Michael flipped the first page open and began reading.

His face changed instantly. First it was confusion… then disbelief… then rage.

“This is impossible,” he muttered. His eyes scanned more lines. “No… no… this isn’t right.”

He looked up at Sophia, his hands trembling. “How dare you tamper with your late father’s will? How do you sleep at night? Where is your honour?”

Sophia said nothing.

The document showed clearly; every asset Henry Donovan owned had been left to his daughters: Sophia and Victoria.

No mention of Michael. No condition. No clause. Just a smooth transfer of wealth to blood.

Even worse, the signature at the end looked exactly like Henry’s.

Michael’s hands dropped to his sides. His chest tightened.

Could they have forged the signature?

A moment later, Sophia’s phone rang. She pulled it out and stepped away to answer.

“Hello?”

The voice at the other end was male, polite.

“Hi Sophia. Just calling to confirm your meeting with the Ainsley Group President next Tuesday at 10AM.”

Her eyes sparkled. “Thank you so much,” she said sweetly. “I really appreciate it.”

They ended the call.

Sophia turned around, victorious. “You see,” she said, looking at Michael with a mocking smile. “While you’re here shouting over fake wills and hallucinations, I’m out here securing real contracts. Maybe next time, you’ll think twice before calling yourself a Donovan.”

Victoria clapped slowly. “Clap for yourself, Sophia. This guy really thought he could come and snatch our inheritance like puff-puff.”

Bohemia laughed loudly. “Mad man.”

Michael’s lips parted as if to respond. But then, he felt a hand on his shoulder.

He turned to face Clarissa.

Her touch was firm, yet calming. She looked him in the eye and shook her head slightly.

“This isn’t worth it, Michael,” she said quietly. “Let’s go. The document they gave you speaks for itself.”

Michael looked at her, then at the laughing trio in front of him.

They truly believed he was finished.

He turned without another word and walked back to the car with Clarissa. The Maybach door closed instantly. They drove off.

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

At the legal firm, the reception was tense.

Michael and Clarissa entered the office of the same lawyer who read the will two weeks ago. But it was empty. No file, no nameplate, nothing.

A young man at the front desk approached them.

“Sorry, sir. The barrister has left. He resigned last week.”

“Left to where?” Michael asked.

The man shrugged. “He didn’t say. He just dropped a letter and vanished. We’ve tried calling but his line has been switched off.”

Michael’s throat dried instantly. It was now clear.

They had gotten to him.

Silence stretched between him and Clarissa as they stepped out of the office.

“They bribed him,” Michael muttered. “Or scared him. Either way… he’s gone.”

Clarissa leaned closer, her voice low and calm.

“You can’t fight people like this with bare hands,” she said. “You need power. You need firm ground under your feet. Come with me. Come take your place as the true heir of the Ainsley family. Then come back… and teach them the lesson of their lives.”

Michael looked at her, breathing deep. The weight of betrayal still pressed on his chest, but somewhere inside, something stronger had started to rise.

He smiled slowly. A tired, yet determined smile.

“You’re right, Clarissa,” he said. “Let’s go.”