The Rise Of The Humiliated Son-in-law

Goodbye, Rafe Miller

Rafe finally stood up and dragged himself toward the sink and splashed cold water on his face, watching the pink-tinted drops fall into the basin. 

His reflection stared back, hollow eyes, bruised lip, jaw tight with exhaustion.

He had almost died a few minutes ago.

He pushed away from the mirror, pacing.

It wasn’t just humiliation anymore. They actually wanted him gone.

Then, a faint chime.

The air in the room seemed to hum. Rafe froze. The reflection in the window flickered, then the System appeared again, lettering glowing faint blue across the glass.

[SYSTEM ALERT: USER EXPOSED TOO EARLY] Threat Level: Critical. Observation Detected – Multiple Entities.

Recommendation: Relocation Required.

Rafe blinked hard, his breath catching. “What do you mean exposed?” he muttered. 

“You’re saying people know… about you?”

The text pulsed.

System: “Attention has been drawn to your sudden rise, Rafe Miller. Visibility threatens continuity.”

Rafe rubbed his temples, forcing himself to think. His pulse was still pounding from the fight, but the meaning hit him fast: He’d become a target.

The Lis were after him.

He slumped onto the worn sofa, breathing hard. “So what do I do? I can’t stay here.”

The System flickered again, this time more urgent, like it could sense the panic building inside him.

[NEW MISSION GENERATED] 

MISSION: FAKE YOUR OWN DEATH

REWARD: £100,000,000

Objective: Convince all parties that Rafe Miller no longer exists.

Time Limit: 24 Hours.

Rafe’s heart stopped for a moment. “One hundred million…” he whispered.

He looked around the small flat, the peeling wallpaper, the cracked mug on the table, the secondhand couch he’d bought for twenty pounds off F******k Marketplace.

It all felt temporary now. Fragile.

He stood and began pacing, his mind racing faster than his heartbeat.

He could disappear. He had to. The Li’s thought he was still weak, still stuck in his old life, but if he vanished, if he let them believe they’d finally destroyed him, he’d have time to rebuild.

The System’s voice cut through his thoughts again, cold and precise.

System: “Death is the only camouflage they will believe. Destroy all traces. Leave nothing for retrieval.”

Rafe scoffed. “You’re telling me to burn my life down?”

System: “Yes. And in return…begin a new one.”

He stood there in silence for a long moment.

Then, slowly, a small, bitter smile touched his lips.

“Alright,” he said quietly. “Let’s die, then.”

Two hours later, the street outside Rafe’s building was silent except for the low growl of the wind. He moved like a shadow, gloves on, hood up, methodically collecting anything that could tie him to his real identity: letters, old photos, a passport, even the torn remains of his old Li Group ID card.

He stacked them in the center of the room, along with the few personal items he owned: a box of books, a cracked phone charger, a broken wristwatch.

As he poured lighter fluid across the pile, his reflection in the window caught his eye. 

He looked different.

He struck the match.

The flame caught slowly at first, then hungrily, devouring the papers and curling black smoke toward the ceiling. The glow filled the tiny flat with an eerie orange light.

Rafe stepped back, staring at the blaze as the System appeared once more in the smoke’s shimmer.

[MISSION PROGRESS: 45%]

Stage One: Residence Destroyed.

The heat licked his skin as he whispered, “Goodbye, Rafe Miller.”

Then he turned, walked out into the night, and never looked back.

By morning, the South Bank was in chaos. Fire trucks crowded the narrow street. Smoke billowed from the charred remains of the old apartment complex.

Neighbors gathered in robes and slippers, whispering, filming, speculating.

“Poor bloke,” one of them muttered to a reporter. “He was quiet. Kept to himself. The kind you wouldn’t expect to… you know…”

Within hours, headlines flooded every media outlet:

“Former Li Group Son-in-Law Rafe Miller Dead in South Bank Fire.” 

“Police Believe the Blaze Was an Accident—Arson Not Ruled Out.”

“Rafe Miller’s Final Days: From Scandal to Tragedy.”

Photos of him, old, unflattering ones from when he was still with Clara, were plastered everywhere. In every picture, he looked broken. Defeated.

Perfect.

Exactly the image he wanted to leave behind.

Meanwhile, the Li mansion was alive with hushed voices and flashing phone screens.

Mr. Li sat in his usual armchair, staring at the news broadcast on the massive flat-screen TV. The old man’s brows were furrowed, a heavy silence filling the room.

Finally, he spoke. “So,” he said slowly, “it seems our little problem took care of itself.”

Clara’s head snapped toward him. She’d been standing by the window, pale and shaking slightly. “What do you mean?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Mr. Li turned his cold eyes to her. “The men I sent were only supposed to… frighten him. A warning. But perhaps things went further than expected.”

Clara’s breath hitched. “You—You sent thugs?!?”

Her mother sighed, as if bored by her outrage. “Clara, please. That man was a disgrace to this family. If not for your father’s intervention, he would’ve dragged our name further into the mud. Consider it… damage control.”

Across the room, Jacob Levi leaned casually against the marble counter, swirling the wine in his glass, his lips curling into a faint devilish smirk. 

“Well, at least now he won’t be an embarrassment to anyone,” he said softly. “A tragic end for a tragic man.”

Clara turned toward him, her eyes narrowing. “Don’t talk about him like that.”

Jacob raised a brow. “Why not? You divorced him. You said it yourself that he was worthless.”

“Yes I did, but—“she started, but the words died in her throat. She turned away, hugging her arms tightly around herself. The flickering newslight painted her face pale. “I didn’t want this,” she whispered.

Jacob shrugged. “You didn’t have to. Sometimes fate just…corrects itself.”

Behind them, Mr. Li muted the television. “Enough. There’s no use dwelling on the past. We move forward.”

Jacob stood straight now, adjusting his cufflinks. “Rafe Miller made his choices. The world is better off without him.”

But somewhere deep down, he couldn’t shake a strange unease.

The timing, the fire, the lack of a body, something about it felt too clean. Too easy.

Across the city, far from the chaos and flashing cameras, Rafe watched the coverage from a dingy motel room near the outskirts of London. The television flickered faintly against the peeling wallpaper.

The System’s voice echoed quietly in his mind.

[MISSION COMPLETE: FAKE YOUR OWN DEATH]

Reward Credited: £100,000,000

Rafe exhaled, long and slow. His hands were steady now, his heart calm. 

On the TV, a photo of him burned beside the headline: “Disgraced Ex-Son-in-Law Dies Alone.”

He smirked faintly. 

Then he quietly spoke, “Phase two begins.”

The System pulsed one last time before fading:

System: “Welcome to your second life, Alaric Cyrus. Make it count.”