The Invincible son-inlaw Secret Identity

Chapter 9:The Thompson family gathering[Recalibrated]

The dining room looked the same, but the atmosphere was a toxic, heavy shroud. The polished silver and crystal seemed to mock the three people sitting around the long table.

There was no glittering circus tonight. Only silence.

Margaret sat at the head, her expensive dinner dress looking like a shroud. She wasn’t wearing any jewelry. Every diamond, every gold chain, was already flagged for liquidation. She didn’t scold or scream; she just poked mechanically at the expensive food. She was utterly broken.

Mr. Thompson, across from her, kept checking his phone under the table, hoping for a miracle that would stop the torrent of bad news. Every message was a hammer blow: another company asset seized, another account frozen.

The family was financially burning down around them, and the only one who seemed to understand the flames was Clara, who had returned to the house to gather her final things before making a decision about The Commander's offer.

Clara sat silently, watching them. She was no longer looking at a powerful, arrogant family. She was looking at two scared, foolish children who had finally learned the price of cruelty.

***

The silence was finally broken not by an insult, but by a sound of defeat. Mr. Thompson let out a long, painful sigh and dropped his fork onto his plate.

“I heard about Leo,” he mumbled, staring into his plate. “He’s facing five years. His whole firm is gone. The press is calling us ‘associates of a charity fraud.’”

Margaret shuddered. “That boy… Ethan… he did this, Robert. He told me he was ‘just beginning.’ And we laughed at him. We were so stupid.”

She looked up at Clara, her eyes red and puffy. It was the first time Margaret had looked at her daughter with anything other than demand in three years.

“Clara, I’m sorry,” Margaret whispered, the words grating, unfamiliar on her tongue. “I’m sorry for making you marry him. And I’m sorry for making you divorce him. I thought he was dragging us down. I thought he was our shame.”

Clara looked at her mother, feeling nothing but cold acknowledgment. “He wasn't our shame, Mother. He was our quiet dignity. He was the one kind thing in this entire greedy house, and we crushed it until it broke free and became a tidal wave.”

Mr. Thompson looked at Clara with a sudden, painful realization. “You… you knew how badly we treated him. You always defended him, didn’t you? That time you refused to let him clean the pool in the rain. That time you covered for him when he broke that ugly antique vase.”

Clara nodded slowly. “He did all the work, but he never complained. He did everything you asked, and the only thanks he got was a clean slate for the divorce papers. He deserved so much more.”

“He did,” Margaret conceded, her voice barely audible. “And you were right to defend him. I was wrong to stop you.”

It was the confession Clara had waited three years to hear, and it tasted like ash. It only came when their entire world was crumbling.

Margaret leaned across the table, her despair overcoming the last of her pride.“Clara, you have to find him,” she begged. “You were the only person he was ever kind to. You were his protected asset. That woman—Anya—she said you were free. You are our last chance.”

Clara’s eyes narrowed. “You want me to go to him? To the Commander who just bankrupted you? Why?”

“Go back to him! Beg him to stop! Tell him you still love him!” Margaret pleaded, desperation making her insane. “Tell him you’ll remarry him immediately! If you are his wife, he won’t let his wife’s family be destroyed! He’ll save us! He has to save us!”

Clara pushed her chair back, her eyes blazing with righteous anger. She finally stood up, facing the people who had sacrificed her peace for their greed.

“You don’t want me to save you, Mother. You want me to be your shield again! You want me to be the bribe you throw at the king to save your gold! You are still exactly the same person you were three years ago!”

"But if you don't," Mr. Thompson cried, "we lose everything! The house, the cars, the name—"

"Then lose it!" Clara yelled, the pent-up frustration of three years finally bursting free. "You taught me that dignity is more important than money! Ethan showed me that true power can endure a thousand insults. I am leaving this toxicity, and I will not be your sacrifice anymore!"

Clara walked out of the silent dining room and up the stairs.She reached her room, her heart pounding. She had her bag, the cleared debt bill, and the golden keycard Anya had given her.

She had a choice!

She could stay here and watch her family burn down to the foundations, or she could go to the Sky Citadel.

She knew one thing for certain: she was going to face Ethan, the Shadow Monarch's Heir, not as his wife or his protected asset, but as Clara, the only person who had ever truly tried to be kind to him.

She stopped at her dresser and looked at the divorce papers one last time. She reached into her bag and pulled out the thin, golden keycard. The card was cold and heavy.

She turned and looked out the window one last time. The Sky Citadel, miles away, was still shining its cold white light.

As she turned to leave the room forever, her phone buzzed with an incoming picture message. It was from an unknown number—the same one that had warned her to leave.

She opened the picture. It was a close-up photo of a black document case, sitting on a massive, expensive desk. The case was open.

Inside, resting on velvet, was her signed half of the divorce papers, the ones Margaret still clutched downstairs.

But across the paper, a new line of text had been added, written in a bold, sweeping script that spoke of absolute ownership.

It read: "MARRIAGE CANCELED. CLARA THOMPSON NOW RECLAIMED BY THE COMMANDER."Clara stared at the photo. She wasn't just walking away; she was being taken. She didn't have a choice anymore.

She put the phone away, took a final deep breath of the house's toxic air, and walked out of the Thompson family home. She didn't look back. She was heading to the Sky Citadel, not for her family's sake, but for her own, ready to face the man who had traded his humiliation for a crown.