The Contracted Son-in-law

The air was thick with the usual market smells—fresh vegetables mixing with the stench of wastewater—but Ryan had gotten used to it by now.

His stand was just a few feet from the main thoroughfare, where the old and the young hustled side by side, trying to eke out a living.

He watched the chaos, feeling oddly at peace. There was something almost beautiful about the mess—life happening in real time, right in front of him.

But then he heard that voice. Jake. The kind of guy who thrived on other people’s fear.

His gut twisted because he knew whatever Jake was up to, it would not end well.

Ryan turned hishead, just in time to see Jake grabbing Mr. Lee by the collar.

The old man was barely hanging on, his face red as Jake spat his words.

"Don't tell me that, old man! Enough of your excuses."

Ryan's calm shattered, replaced by a scrunch of worry as he watched.

The crowd, which usually moved like a restless sea, had stopped. They just stood there, eyes wide, but no one dared do a damn thing.

Behind Jake, his lackeys loomed, grinning like they were in on some big joke.

"If you know you can't pay that small amount of money that is used for the benefit of you and others here, why don't you shut down your business and go back to your family?! Don't you have children?!"

"These scumbags," Ryan muttered under his breath and shook his head.

He didn’t need to be close to the scene to figure out what the fuss was about. It was the protection money—same thing Jake and his crew demanded from everyone on this street, and he was no exception. He was behind on his payment too.

They claimed it was for protection of their goods, but that was a joke. Their stalls and shops had been broken into more times than he could not count anymore, goods stolen, and they never did a thing to help.

It was just another way to squeeze money out of them, but no one dared refuse to pay. No one except him, and even then, he had just been laying low, trying to avoid any heat.

Mr. Lee was gasping for breath, pleading with Jake to give him more time, explaining that he was already drowning in debt. But Jake wasn’t having any of it. Instead, he barked at his boys to trash Mr. Lee’s shop and they sent his fruits rolling all over the place.

As Ryan watched Mr. Lee struggle, knowing how fragile his health was, he could notjust stand by. The old man didn’t deserve this. Without hesitating, he stepped in to try and defuse the situation.

“Here, take it,” he said, holding out twenty dollars to Jake, his expression calm even though Jake still had Mr. Lee by the collar.

"Let him go and tell your boys to stop," Ryan added.

Jake locked eyes with him and let out a low chuckle before releasing his grip on Mr. Lee.

“You messing with me?” Jake asked, shoving Ryan in the chest.

Ryan didn’t budge.

“How dare you play the hero when you haven’t even paid up yet? Or do you think I’ve forgotten?” Theywere standing face-to-face, so close Ryan could feel Jake's breath, but Ryan held his ground.

“I know,” Ryan said calmly.

"This is Mr. Lee’s payment. I will settle mine tomorrow.”

Jake stared him down for what felt like an eternity, then suddenly snatched the money from his hand.

Jake jabbed a finger at Ryan, his eyes narrowing. “Tomorrow… you know what?”

He let out another dark chuckle. “I hope you can’t pay tomorrow. Then you will learn the hard way that heroes sometimes regret their choices—and end up with a sad ending if they think they can be one.”

With that, he signaled his boys, and they turned to leave.

After they were out of sight, Mr. Lee turned to Ryan, gratitude in his eyes.

He promised to repay Ryan before tomorrow evening, but Ryan shook my head.

“Don’t worry about it,” he insisted and told Mr. Lee that he would settle his payment the following day.

"Hope you are not hurt?"

After checking his neck and confirming that Jake’s grip only left a bruise, Ryan and a few others helped himgather up the scattered fruit.

Once everything was back in place, Ryan returned to his stall.

Later that night, after closing up shop, he made his way to a nearby bar called “Rose.”

It was named after the owner, a wealthy and stunning woman, and it had become his sanctuary. He did go there virtually every night to unwind with hisusual drink before heading home.

“Your usual?” Zach, the bartender who was about his age, asked as he took a seat on the stool outside the bar stand.

Ryan nodded, and Zach started pouring whiskey over ice.

As he did, he mentioned that Rose had called a few minutes ago to ask if Ryan had shown up yet.

“Call her and let her know I’m here,” Ryan said, my expression unreadable.

Zach paused, then looked at Ryan with curiosity. “So, how did you manage to get her attention? I mean, plenty of rich and powerful men have tried to marry her or get involved with her, and she has turned them all down.”

Without looking at Zach, Ryan asked him. "Why is it strange?"

Ryan's voice dropped low. "Because I’m just a poor nobody?"

“No…” Zach quickly waved his hands, denying it. “That is not what I meant.”

“Well, I don’t care." Ryan shrugged.

"We are just friends. There is nothing special going on between us.”

That was what he always say whenever people ask about hisrelationship with her, but no one ever believed him. She didn’t help either; she would take any chance to tell people he was her boyfriend, showing him off like a trophy.

He had met her in this same bar six months ago. He was minding his own business, nursing a whiskey, when some rich brat started causing a scene. The best was throwing a fit, breaking glasses, and threatening her because she had turned down his proposal.

Ryan couldn’t just sit there and watch, so he stepped in and put the best in his place—literally brought him to the ground.

Since that day, they had been drawn to each other. The connection was real, and he did enjoy her company every night. But he kept his distance emotionally because he was not ready for any kind of commitment, let alone love.

Today was her birthday. She wanted them to spend the day together, but he turned her down and said they would celebrate here instead. Weird, right?

A few moments later, he heard the echo of heels clicking on the floor. He knew it was her from her scent.

“I thought you were going to ditch me again tonight," she teased, her voice pulling hisgaze toward her.

With a faint smile, he wished her a happy birthday.

“No hug?” she asked, spreading her arms wide.

He stood up and pulled her into a tight embrace, holding on a little longer than usual.

They found an empty table in the corner and sat down.

He apologised for being late, explaining that business was unusually good tonight.

“It’s okay,” she replied, her voice soft and forgiving.

Then she reached into her purse and handed him a small envelope. Inside was an invitation card.

"I will be having a small party for my birthday this weekend and you are invited. It is compulsory you attend if you really want me to forgive you for turning me down and to make up for showing up late tonight," she added.

"Okay, I will think about it," he replied even though he had decided to go.

Just as she opened her mouth to reply, the bar’s door flew open, and Lancelot, a fellow market trader, burst in, looking like he was running for his life.

He scanned the room, his eyes landing on Ryan.

Gasping for breath, Lancelot shouted, “You need to get out of here—right now!”