The Forsaken Son-in-law

Chapter 8: The Price of Silence

The morning after Shantel’s departure felt colder than winter.

The Damaris mansion, once full of her laughter and the scent of fresh lilies, now stood empty and echoing — like a monument to everything Billy had lost.

He sat at the edge of their bed, the letter still on the floor, the ring glinting faintly in the pale morning light.

He hadn’t slept. He hadn’t even moved since she left.

When his phone rang, he almost didn’t answer. But the name on the screen — Mr. Damaris — forced him to.

“Billy,” came the old man’s heavy voice. “We need to talk.”

Billy’s throat tightened. “About what?”

“About your actions,” said Mr. Damaris. “The auditors found enough to involve the police. I tried to keep it quiet, but you’ve gone too far.”

Billy stood, heart hammering. “You called the police?”

“I called justice,” the old man said coldly. “You broke this family’s trust — and my daughter’s heart.”

“Shantel—” Billy started.

“She’s with me,” Mr. Damaris interrupted. “And she doesn’t want to see you. Not now. Maybe not ever.”

The line went dead.

Billy dropped the phone, his pulse roaring in his ears.

His whole body trembled — not from fear of prison, but from the crushing realization that there was no one left to fight for him.

No father. No wife. No home.

Just the echo of his own ambition.

---

By midday, two police cars pulled up outside the mansion gates. The officers entered calmly, but their presence filled the air with a suffocating tension.

“Mr. Billy Damaris?” one of them asked.

Billy straightened his shoulders, forcing composure. “Yes.”

“You’re under investigation for corporate embezzlement and fraud. We’ll need you to come with us.”

He didn’t resist. He simply nodded, slipped his watch off his wrist, and followed them out. The neighbors peeked through their curtains as the once-proud son-in-law of Veradena’s wealthiest family was escorted into a patrol car.

As the car pulled away, Billy stared out the window — the city rushing past like a blur of ghosts.

He thought of Shantel, of the day she said yes to him under a shower of white petals. He thought of her laughter, her belief, her faith in a man who had never deserved it.

And for the first time, he wept.

---

The cell at the Veradena police headquarters was small, dim, and smelled faintly of rust. Billy sat on the metal bench, head in his hands, when the door clanked open.

Mr. Damaris entered, accompanied by a detective. His suit was immaculate as ever, but his eyes carried something harder than anger — disappointment.

“Why did you do it, Billy?” he asked quietly. “I would have given you a place, a legacy. All you had to do was wait.”

Billy didn’t look up. “I was tired of waiting.”

“Patience builds empires,” said the old man. “Greed destroys them.”

Billy’s voice cracked. “You made me feel small… like I didn’t belong.”

Mr. Damaris exhaled, the weight of his years showing in his face. “You didn’t need to steal to prove yourself. You just needed to be honest.”

“I didn’t do it for the money,” Billy whispered. “I did it because I thought… if I became powerful, you’d respect me.”

The old man’s eyes softened — just for a moment. “Respect is earned through character, not wealth.”

He turned to the detective. “I’ll handle the charges privately. Release him.”

Billy’s head snapped up. “You’re… dropping them?”

“For Shantel’s sake,” Mr. Damaris said. “Not yours.”

The detective nodded reluctantly and unlocked the door.

---

Outside, the afternoon sun stung Billy’s eyes. Freedom — but hollow.

He looked at Mr. Damaris. “What now?”

“You’ll leave Veradena,” said the old man. “You’ll take nothing from this family. No money, no name, no favors.”

Billy swallowed hard. “And Shantel?”

“She’s healing,” Mr. Damaris said. “Don’t go near her. Not until you’ve learned what love truly means.”

Then he walked away, leaving Billy alone on the steps of the police station, his future stripped bare.

---

Weeks passed.

Billy moved into a small apartment at the edge of the city, far from the glass towers that once defined his life. The walls were cracked, the furniture secondhand. Every sound from the street outside reminded him how far he’d fallen.

He tried to find work — any work — but every door closed in his face.

His name was poison now. Veradena’s elite whispered about him as if he were a ghost of scandal.

Sometimes he saw Shantel’s face on the news, standing beside her father at charity events. Her smile was faint, distant — but she was healing. Moving on.

He, meanwhile, lived with silence.

Silence and regret.

---

One night, unable to sleep, Billy wandered down to the docks where he had once met Dalia. The water shimmered darkly under the moonlight.

He half-hoped to see her there — to demand answers, to curse her. But she was gone, vanished like smoke. The investors, the deals, the promises — all illusions that had dissolved into ruin.

As he stood there, the wind carried a whisper across the water, or maybe it was just his own thoughts:

You had love. You traded it for power.

Now you have neither.

Billy sank to his knees, staring at his reflection in the rippling water. He barely recognized the man staring back — hollow eyes, weary face, stripped of all arrogance.

For the first time, he whispered the truth out loud.

“I did this to myself.”

---

Two months later, Billy received a letter — plain white envelope, no return address. He opened it with trembling hands. Inside was a single line, written in familiar handwriting:

> Forgiveness isn’t easy. But healing starts when you stop running.

— Shantel.

A tear slipped down his cheek.

He folded the letter carefully, holding it to his chest. For the first time in months, he allowed himself to hope — not for wealth, not for glory, but for redemption.