The Son-In-Law’s 99 Days Of Deception

Chapter 3

That night at the Lancaster family villa, decorative lights and illuminants lit up the extravagant residence.

Tonight was the matriarch—Lady Lancaster’s sixty-fifth birthday banquet—an exorbitant display of old money and desperate social climbing.

Family members flew back from various countries just to be present. Not just that, Lady Lancaster's birthday made rounds throughout Moon City.

The living room was large, bright and filled with several sophisticated guests, all dressed in expensive clothes. Laughter and clicking glasses filled the air, the atmosphere full of celebration.

Though the Lancaster family was a second-rate family, there were quite a number of elites who were invited to the banquet.

At the center of it all sat Lady Lancaster, dressed in an elaborate red gown.

Grandchildren, cousins, and sycophants orbited her throne, offering up lavish tokens of tribute.

“Grandma, I got you a rare vintage wine,” a junior cousin smiled, presenting a blue-lined box. “Its a limited collector's edition.”

“How thoughtful,” Lady Lancaster murmured, her eyes barely flickering over the gift.

More gifts followed. Designer handbags, jewellery, imported antiques.

Then Edward, the eldest grandson, approached.

The room's attention shifted almost immediately.

He was Lady Lancaster's favourite. Everyone knew it, and nobody expected him to disappoint.

"Happy birthday, Grandma."

He presented a velvet box.

Lady Lancaster opened it herself.

A diamond necklace glittered beneath the lights.

"Oh!" Someone gasped.

Guests leaned closer, their admiration rippling through the room.

Lady Lancaster's smile widened. She rose and embraced Edward. "You know my taste so well.”

Edward smiled warmly, though a cold bead of sweat tracked down his collar—he silently prayed no one checks the authenticity.

Half an hour later, a car pulled up outside the gate of the villa.

A young man stepped out, dressed in an ordinary shirt and dark trousers. One hand gripped the handle of a large suitcase.

He looked at the villa.

Eleven years.

Eleven years since he'd last walked through those gates.

The security guards recognised him almost immediately.

Their backs straightened.

"Welcome back, sir."

He gave them a brief nod.

The gates swung open.

As he wheeled his suitcase inside, the noise from the celebration grew louder.

Guests occupied the garden, crowded around the swimming pool, and filled the entrance hall. Luxury cars lined the driveway in numbers that would have made an ordinary man stop and stare.

He was almost at the entrance when someone collided with his shoulder, splashing dark red liquid across his chest.

The lady recoiled as if she’d touched a corpse. “Watch where you’re going, you filthy—god, look at my dress.”

Turning to her friend, she muttered loud enough for him to hear, “Probably a beggar looking for scraps. Who even opened the gate for a tramp?”

She didn't wait for an answer. She brushed past him, wrinkling her nose.

The young man looked down at the spreading stain.

For a moment, his fingers tightened around the suitcase handle and took a deep breath. He had survived the worst today. This was nothing.

With a steady hand, he pushed the heavy oak doors open and stepped into the ballroom.

Nobody noticed at first.

He closed it gently behind him.

Click.

"Eww!"

An high pitched voice cut through the music in that instant m

Several guests turned towards the speaker, a young woman staring at the entrance as though something disgusting had crawled into the villa.

Her expression drew other eyes.

One by one, conversations faltered.

A man lowered his glass. A woman stopped halfway through a laugh.

Someone whispered.

Then another.

The young man kept walking.

He could feel their eyes crawling over his now stained clothes, his suitcase, his face. He heard the murmurs spreading through the room, but he didn't turn around to acknowledge any of them.

A glass slipped from someone's hand.

It struck the marble floor and shattered.

The sharp crack silenced the room.

"Killian?"

Sarah's mum, Katherine Lancaster stood several feet away.

Killian recognised his mother-in-law instantly.

She looked as though she'd seen a ghost.

Her face had drained of colour. Her lips parted, but for a moment, no sound came out. Then her gaze travelled over his face, searching for some detail that might prove her eyes had deceived her.

They hadn't.

"Killian," she repeated, louder this time.

The name travelled through the living room.

Lady Lancaster gripped the arms of her chair, her knuckles turning bone-white.

“Oh, my god...” Edward, Sarah's brother whispered, stepping out from the family cluster, his eyes bulging.

"That can't be him."

"Didn't he die in prison?"

"How is he here?"

The whispers multiplied.

Before Killian could take another step, the Lancasters closed in like a pack of starving wolves, their eyes burning with a hatred so pure it felt physical.

The crack of Katherine's palm against Killian's cheek silenced even the boldest whisperers.

Killian's head turned slightly with the impact.

He remained still.

Katherine's chest rose and fell. "Have you no shame? How dare you show your face here after what you did?"

Edward seized her arm before she could strike again.

"Somebody call the police!" She screamed, clutching her chest as tears streamed down her face.

Her voice broke on the last word.

"This murderer has escaped from prison!"

The word murderer travelled farther than her scream.

Guests backed away, but none seemed willing to leave. Several had already taken out their phones. Others stared at Killian with the avid fascination of people witnessing a scandal they would be discussing for weeks.

Killian stared at her, his eyes turning dark. Katherine and the Lancaster family had never liked him for their daughter. All through their 7 years of marriage, he endured their malicious acts, their maltreatment and their clear hate for him.

“I served the full eleven years you demanded,” Killian’s voice cut through her hysterics, chillingly calm.

The crowd murmured nervously.

“It’s been eleven years already?” Lady Lancaster muttered coldly, her eyes narrowing as if trying to calculate an old debt.

For a second, Killian nearly laughed.

Apparently, even remembering how long they had thrown him in jail was too much trouble.

"That doesn't change anything!" Edward snapped. "You're still a murderer. You should have stayed in that hellhole for the rest of your life!"

Lady Lancaster's fingers curled around the head of her cane.

“After killing my granddaughter, you dare show your face?” Lady Lancaster hissed, standing up with shaking fury. “What ungodly audacity!”

“I have nothing to prove to you,” Killian replied evenly. “I had never laid a hand on Sarah.”

A bitter laugh escaped Katherine.

"Of course. You just happened to hear rumours that she was unfaithful, and a few hours later, she was dead."

She stepped closer.

"What a coincidence, Killian. What an extraordinary coincidence."

Something shifted behind his eyes.

He remembered the day the rumour had reached him.

Sarah had never admitted to an affair. He had known her better than anyone. His wife was faithful.

And the Lancasters had never forgiven her for choosing him.

They had spent years trying to persuade her to leave him, parading wealthier, more suitable men in front of her and treating their marriage as an embarrassment.

And knowing the parasites standing in front of him, he wouldn't put it past the Lancasters themselves as they tried every means possible to ruin their marriage.

Edward sneered, looking down at Killian’s battered clothes before his eyes locked onto the worn leather suitcase.

“And where do you think you’re dragging that trash?” Edward barked, snapping his fingers at the private security guards stationed by the doors.

“To my old room. Where else?” Killian stepped forward.

Edward threw himself into Killian's path

and shoved his shoulder.

Killian caught his wrist.

The movement was quick, almost casual.

His fingers tightened just enough to make the warning clear.

"Get your fucking hands off me,”

With a casual flick of his wrist, Killian shoved Edward backward but Edward exaggerated the movement, stumbling violently and crashing hard into a glass display table, shattering it into a thousand glittering shards.

For a heartbeat, the room went still.

"Killian, you monster!" Katherine cried out in shock, rushing towards her son, her eyes filling with tears Killian wasn’t sure was real, "He's attacking him! He's trying to kill my son, just as he killed my daughter!"

The Lancasters glared at Killian with a hatred so pure it almost felt like a physical force.

"He's lost his mind!"

"Look at him! He hasn't changed at all!"

The voices rose over one another. Guests crowded closer, hungry for a better view.

At that moment, several guards rushed forward.

Lady Lancaster pointed her cane at Killian.

"Which one of you morons allowed this raccoon into my villa?"

The guards exchanged confused glances.

"All of us, ma'am," the head guard answered.

Katherine spun around and slapped him.

"You're fired!"

"Aunt, please." Fiona hurried to restrain her.

"Don't tell me to calm down!" Katherine shrieked, shaking off her hand. "Get this son of a bitch out of our villa!"

Lady Lancaster struck her cane against the marble floor.

"The rest of you had better learn from their mistake. Now, throw him out!" Lady Lancaster ordered with absolute, imperious authority.

Not a single guard moved.

Killian crossed his arms, watching the spectacle with an expression so cold and blank it was almost insulting.

Edward's face reddened.

"Did you not hear what my grandmother said?" he barked at the guards. "Are you all fucking deaf?"

Killian uncrossed his arms.

"You." He pointed at the head guard. "Take my suitcase upstairs."

The guard immediately stepped forward and collected it.

Edward was taken aback.

"What the hell is wrong with you? Who do you work for? This murderer or my grandmother?"

"The murderer, sir." The man bowed.