The Forsaken Son-in-law

Chapter 3: The Man Beneath the Suit

Morning sunlight crept through the velvet curtains of the Damaris mansion, brushing across Billy’s face. He stirred, still half-lost in dreams of boardrooms and balance sheets. Beside him, Shantel slept peacefully, one arm draped across his chest — soft, trusting, and unaware of the distance growing between them.

Billy stared at the ceiling. For weeks he’d played the perfect husband: attending dinners, smiling at relatives, offering polite conversation. Yet the more he lived the part, the more it suffocated him. Every handshake at the company reminded him that he was still the son-in-law, not the master. Every compliment felt like mockery wrapped in silk.

He rose quietly, dressing in a navy suit finer than any he’d owned before. The mirror reflected a man who looked successful, but the eyes that stared back were tired and restless.

Soon, he thought. Once the old man retires, once I have an heir… everything will change.

---

At breakfast, the air was filled with the scent of coffee and the distant hum of the sea. Shantel entered wearing a light robe, hair still damp from the shower. She smiled.

“You’re up early again.”

“Meetings,” Billy said, glancing at his watch. “The company expansion talks.”

She poured tea, watching him. “You’ve been working too much. Father says you should slow down.”

He forced a smile. “If I slow down, someone else will take my place.”

Shantel sighed. “Billy, no one’s trying to take your place. You’re family.”

He almost laughed at that word — family. To him, it was a contract written in emotion, not ink. “I just want to prove myself,” he replied, kissing her forehead before heading out.

When the door closed, Shantel stood there for a long time, the silence heavy. Something about his touch felt colder these days, like the warmth was wearing thin.

---

At the Damaris headquarters downtown, Billy’s charisma worked like a blade. Employees admired him; investors trusted him. He was the young face of the old empire — sleek, ambitious, unpredictable.

But behind every polite smile lay a calculation.

During a private meeting, he leaned toward the marketing director, a sharp-eyed woman named Dalia Crest. “If I can get the chairman’s approval,” he murmured, “we’ll double the southern contracts. And if you help me make it happen, you won’t regret it.”

Dalia tilted her head, intrigued. “And what will your wife think of these late-night collaborations?”

Billy grinned. “She doesn’t need to know every detail of business.”

The flirtation was light, harmless — at least, that’s what he told himself. But when their hands brushed over the documents, something unspoken sparked. Dalia was dangerous — the kind of woman who smelled ambition before perfume.

As they left the meeting room, she whispered, “Be careful, Billy. The higher you climb, the thinner the air gets.”

He smirked. “I was born to breathe it.”

---

That evening, Shantel waited for him in the garden. She had prepared dinner herself — something simple, away from the servants and the glitter of family expectations.

When Billy finally arrived, two hours late, his tie loose and eyes weary, she smiled anyway. “I kept it warm.”

He sat opposite her, pretending to enjoy the meal, though his mind was elsewhere. The conversation drifted toward plans for the future — vacations, children, the kind of dreams Shantel loved to weave.

“I’ve been thinking,” she said softly. “Maybe it’s time we start our own family.”

Billy’s fork froze midway. The letter in the library flashed through his mind — the condition of inheritance. This was what he wanted, wasn’t it?

Yet, hearing her speak it aloud made him uneasy, as if love had turned into strategy.

“That’s a big step,” he said carefully. “Are you sure?”

Her eyes searched his. “Yes. I want to build something real with you.”

For the first time, he didn’t answer. He only nodded and poured more wine, drowning the faint sting of guilt.

---

Later that night, Shantel sat alone by the balcony, the city lights reflecting in her eyes. Billy was inside, pacing the room, phone pressed to his ear. She heard fragments — “investors,” “contracts,” “timeline.”

When he ended the call, she asked gently, “Do you ever stop thinking about work?”

He looked at her, irritation flickering. “Someone has to. That’s how things grow.”

“But what about us?” she asked quietly. “You’re here, but you’re not really with me anymore.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Shantel, please. I’m doing this for both of us.”

She rose, stepping closer. “No, Billy. You’re doing this for you.”

The silence that followed was thick enough to cut. Outside, thunder grumbled again in the distance — the same strange warning as before.

Billy turned away first. “I need some air.”

He left her standing there, heart aching. She looked out at Veradena’s skyline — a city glittering with promises — and wondered when her marriage had become a mirror of it: bright on the surface, hollow beneath.

---

Down in the courtyard, Billy lit a cigarette and stared into the night. Dalia’s voice echoed in his mind — The higher you climb, the thinner the air gets.

He exhaled, watching the smoke fade into darkness.

He thought he could control everything — the business, his wife, his destiny. But something inside him was beginning to slip, a crack running through the smooth mask he wore every day.

Above him, the lights in their bedroom went out.

For the first time since the wedding, Billy felt a chill he couldn’t explain — a sense that love was slowly turning its face away.

---