The Raise of James Morrison.

Chapter 2

The five men looked at each other in panic. The older man pressed his forehead nearly to the wet concrete.

"Please, Young Master, reconsider! The patriarch himself has given his word your inheritance will be restored, your name will be cleared, all the privileges, all the resources of the Morrison family will be at your disposal! You'll have everything you were denied!"

"Everything I was denied?" James's laugh was bitter.

"What I was denied was a mother who didn't have to work herself to death. A father who didn't have to take the most dangerous jobs just to make ends meet. A childhood that wasn't spent being reminded every single day that I wasn't good enough for the Morrison name."

He took a step forward, and the men flinched despite themselves.

"And you know what's the worst part? I'm suffering *now* because of them. I'm trapped in a marriage I never wanted because when the Morrison family finally kicked me out, I had nowhere to go. No money, no prospects, nothing. And the only person who offered me a hand was Old Master Anderson, who married me off to his granddaughter before he died, leaving me to spend every single day as a punching bag for her family."

James's voice shook. "So don't tell me about what the Morrison family is willing to give me now. They pushed me into this life. They made me into this. And now they want me to forget all of it and come running back like a grateful dog?"

"Young Master, we understand your anger, but—"

"You understand nothing." James's voice went flat. "This is the last time I'm going to say this, so listen carefully. I am never coming back to the Morrison family. Never. I don't care if my grandmother gets on her knees herself. I don't care if the whole family lines up to apologize. They can keep their money, their name, and their privilege. I want nothing to do with any of it."

"But Young Master—"

"I'm done talking."

The five men scrambled forward on their knees, hands outstretched, voices overlapping in desperate pleas.

"Young Master, please!"

"Just think about it!"

"The family needs you!"

"Your grandmother is begging you!"

"Everything will be restored, we

swear it!"

The rain intensified, a fresh wave of thunder rolling across the sky. The men's voices grew more frantic, more desperate, but James turned his back on them. His hands were shaking, whether from cold or rage he couldn't tell.

In the distance, the low rumble of an engine cut through the sound of the rain. Headlights appeared through the downpour, growing brighter. The bus.

James felt a surge of relief so strong it nearly buckled his knees.

The bus pulled up with a hydraulic hiss, its doors folding open. James moved immediately, stepping toward it without a backward glance.

"Young Master, wait!"

"Please, just take this!"

As James climbed the first step into the bus, all five men pressed their foreheads to the ground in a full bow, their backs parallel to the pavement, rain hammering down on them without mercy.

"If the Young Master ever changes his mind," the older man shouted, his voice barely audible over the storm, "please call this number! Please!"

One of the men lunged forward and threw something through the open bus door. A business card, crisp and white despite the rain, sailed through the air and hit James square in the chest before falling into his lap as he took his seat.

James picked it up, his first instinct to throw it back in their faces. But something stopped him maybe exhaustion, maybe the sheer absurdity of the moment. Instead, he stared at it for a long second, then shoved it into his shopping bag without reading it.

Through the rain-streaked window, he could see the five men still on their knees, bowed so low they were almost prostrate, even as the bus pulled away from the curb. Water pooled around them, their expensive suits ruined, their dignity abandoned.

James turned away and closed his eyes.

The mansion loomed at the end of a long, tree-lined driveway, its white columns and manicured gardens a monument to old money and older pride. Cars were already parked in neat rows along the circular drive BMWs, Mercedes, even a Bentley. Tonight was Grandma Anderson's eightieth birthday celebration, and it seemed like half of Hai City's elite had turned out for the occasion.

James walked up the drive with his damp shopping bag in hand, his jacket still wet from the rain. He felt out of place already, a shadow among the well-dressed guests streaming through the front doors.

Near the entrance, a woman stood with her arms crossed, her expression tight with impatience. She was stunning—long auburn hair that fell in perfect waves, sharp cheekbones, a designer dress that probably cost more than James made in six months. Her heels were tall, her jewelry tasteful and expensive, her makeup flawless.

Emily Anderson. His wife.

Technically.

When she saw him approaching, her expression shifted from impatience to something closer to irritation.

"There you are," she said, her voice clipped. "I've been waiting."

"Sorry," James said quietly. "The bus was delayed because of the rain."

Emily's eyes flicked to the soggy shopping bag in his hand, and her lips thinned. "Did you get it?"

"Yeah." He held up the bag. "Handmade chocolates from that little shop on River Street. The owner said they're Grandma's favorite."

Emily's gaze lingered on the bag for a moment, then she sighed. "Fine. Let's go."

She turned on her heel and started toward the door without waiting for him. James followed a step behind, his usual position. Over the past three years, he'd learned not to walk beside her in public it only made her more irritated.

As they reached the entrance, Emily stopped abruptly and turned back to him. Her voice dropped, her tone sharp and quiet.

"Listen to me carefully, James. Tonight is important. Grandma's friends are here, half the family is here, and a lot of people I know from work and school are going to be here. Do you understand what I'm saying?"