The Forsaken Son-in-law

Chapter 2: The Inheritance Whisper

A month had passed since the wedding, and the glow of celebration had dimmed into the dull rhythm of routine.

The Damaris mansion stood on the edge of Veradena’s richest district — a fortress of glass and stone overlooking the coast. Inside, servants moved quietly through the corridors, and the scent of imported roses lingered from Shantel’s morning tea.

Billy adjusted the cuffs of his white shirt as he stood before the mirror. The reflection that stared back at him was sharper now — tailored, refined, and hungry. His marriage to Shantel had polished him into something respectable, but deep within, the old hunger still burned.

He wasn’t satisfied being Mr. Shantel Damaris-Lawson. He wanted to be the man who owned everything the Damaris name stood for.

---

That afternoon, the family gathered for brunch in the garden. The weather was perfect — a soft breeze from the sea, golden sunlight spilling over the table set with silver and crystal. Shantel’s laughter filled the air as she teased her mother about childhood stories. Billy sat beside her, playing the charming husband, nodding, smiling, occasionally touching Shantel’s hand as if affection came naturally.

Mr. Damaris, seated at the head of the table, watched them with a thoughtful gaze. His hair was silver now, his posture proud but weary. He’d built an empire out of sweat and cunning — a man whose name made senators bow.

Between mouthfuls of toast and tea, he turned to Billy. “You’ve been spending time at the company,” he said. “Tell me, what do you think of our operations?”

Billy straightened, sensing opportunity. “It’s impressive, sir. The network, the management — but there’s potential for expansion. Especially in the southern trade routes.”

The old man’s eyes narrowed slightly, intrigued. “You’ve been observing closely.”

“I like to learn,” Billy replied. “And I want to understand everything about this family’s business. One day, I hope to be worthy of your trust.”

Mr. Damaris chuckled softly. “Trust is earned, Billy. But you have the drive — I see that.”

Shantel smiled proudly, squeezing Billy’s hand. “See, I told you father believes in you.”

Billy’s lips curved. “I’ll make sure I don’t disappoint him.”

But as he looked into the older man’s eyes, something flickered — curiosity, suspicion, or perhaps recognition. For the briefest moment, it felt as if the patriarch could see through Billy’s carefully built façade.

---

That evening, Billy wandered the mansion’s library. It was a vast, quiet room lined with books and old portraits — the kind of silence that hums with secrets. He ran his fingers along the spines of dusty ledgers, business files, and journals.

Then he noticed a half-open drawer in the old oak desk. Inside lay a sealed envelope stamped with the Damaris family crest. He hesitated — the rational part of him warned against it — but curiosity won.

He opened it.

It was a private letter, written in the old man’s elegant handwriting.

> “To my family, upon my retirement or passing, the company and assets shall remain under the control of my daughter, Shantel Damaris-Lawson. Her husband, Billy Lawson, shall be considered a trustee only, with no legal claim to ownership unless a direct heir is born.”

Billy froze. His heartbeat quickened.

A direct heir.

So that was it — his entire future, his access to wealth, everything he had schemed for, depended on having a child with Shantel.

He closed the letter quickly as footsteps echoed in the hallway. Shantel entered, barefoot, holding two glasses of wine. “You’ve been hiding here,” she teased. “I thought you went to bed.”

He forced a calm smile. “Just reading.”

She set the glasses down, sitting on the edge of the desk. “Father said he wants to mentor you more closely. That’s good news, isn’t it?”

Billy nodded, though his mind was already spinning. A child… He’d never planned for that. He didn’t want attachments — only assets. Yet, to secure his future, he’d have to play the part of a loving husband even better than before.

He took the glass she offered. “It’s wonderful news,” he said smoothly. “Your father’s faith means everything.”

Shantel tilted her head, studying him. “Sometimes, I feel like you’re hiding something, Billy. You get quiet and… distant.”

He chuckled softly, masking his panic. “Maybe I’m still adjusting to being a husband. But I’m not hiding anything from you.”

She leaned in, her voice gentle. “Then promise me something.”

“Anything.”

“Promise you’ll love me for who I am — not for what my family has.”

The words cut deeper than he expected. For a moment, he almost said something honest. But instead, he brushed a lock of hair from her face and whispered, “You’re everything I need.”

Her eyes softened, and she kissed him — slow, tender, believing every word he said.

Billy kissed her back, but his thoughts were elsewhere, locked on that letter in the drawer.

---

That night, long after Shantel had fallen asleep, Billy stood by the window, the moonlight washing over his face. Down below, the city of Veradena shimmered — a thousand lights dancing like promises.

He thought about the life he’d dreamed of: power, wealth, and respect. Now he was so close, but the last barrier stood between him and his inheritance — the child clause.

He could pretend to be the devoted husband. He could make her trust him more. He could even convince her they needed to start a family soon.

But something — a whisper deep inside him — asked if he really wanted to trap an innocent woman in his lies forever. He ignored it.

“Whatever it takes,” he muttered under his breath. “I’ll have it all.”

Outside, thunder rolled faintly across the horizon, though the sky was clear. It was the kind of sound Veradena’s elders used to call an omen — a warning that the winds of fate had started to shift.

Billy didn’t hear the warning. He only saw his reflection in the window: handsome, hungry, and blind to the storm waiting to swallow him.