Three-Year Son-in-Law: I Am the Lord of the Northern Border

The golden champagne tower refracted cold light under the chandelier; the air was thick with the scent of expensive perfume and hypocritical pleasantries. This was the Upper East Side of Manhattan, the heart of the Susanna family's annual gala, and my cage of three years.

My name is Adrian. Three months ago, I was a high-ranking official in the Northern Command’s supreme decision-making body. To keep me away from a lethal assassination plot, the Command forced me into a "dormant period." To repay the Susanna patriarch for saving my life on the battlefield three years ago, I had to suppress my identity and enter this mansion as a "crippled son-in-law."

"Adrian, did you not hear what I just said?"

Elena’s voice was as cold as if she were auditing a tedious invoice. She wore a custom-made deep red gown, the emerald necklace around her neck—worth hundreds of thousands of dollars—seeming particularly garish against her arrogance. She stood on the steps of the ballroom, looking down at me from on high.

The surrounding socialites ceased their chatter, casting glances toward me—glances filled with scrutiny, mockery, and even a sliver of cheap pity.

"The way you look right now is disgusting my investors." Elena pointed toward the dishwashing station at the back of the ballroom, her brows furrowed. "Marcus has already brought a five-billion-dollar business engine to the family, and he needs to sign the contract here. For the sake of the family, be a dear and disappear until the contract is signed. Go there; don't let your 'poverty-stricken' aura offend the guests' senses."

Without waiting for my response, she turned gracefully and took the arm of Marcus, who stood beside her. Marcus looked over, flashing me a victor’s smirk. He was a typical opportunistic broker, using fabricated market reports to gnaw away at the family’s originally stable foundations.

I watched their retreating backs. My pocket watch vibrated weakly.

Twenty-four hours left.

I took a deep breath. No anger, no argument. To an ordinary person, this was humiliation that dragged one into the dust; to me, it was merely the final note of a long mission. Over these three years, I was not only the Susanna family’s husband but their shadow "cleaner." Every overseas risk-aversion transaction and every intervention in foreign military security was executed by me through advanced commands from the hidden compartment in my study.

I was their protective umbrella, the secret pillar allowing these elites to profit safely in a volatile North America. Yet, they mistook this protection for luck and my forbearance for weakness.

I pushed open the door to the dishwashing station. It was damp, noisy, and reeked of detergent and leftover scraps. Every employee here thought I was nothing but a punchline.

As I sat in the corner, a sheet of white paper was flung onto the steel table in front of me.

It was the draft of an Equity Quitclaim Agreement.

After Elena dropped the document, she didn't even glance at me, turning to clink glasses with her guests instead. Her radiant smile was for the corporate sharks; this mockery was for the "son-in-law."

I picked up the paper. Every clause attempted to sever all connections between me and this family. She thought she was ascending to a new commercial peak through Marcus, not realizing this was a self-destructive ritual hurtling toward the abyss.

Watching her arrogant back, I felt like I was watching an oblivious child joyfully reaching out to touch a high-voltage cable.

These three years of protection were born of my personal integrity, not my feelings for this woman. Now, the contract was ending. Since they insisted on destroying this protection, why should I waste my breath?

I pulled a charcoal-gray pen from my pocket and signed my name. The sound of the nib crossing the paper was so faint it was nearly inaudible, yet it felt like the severing of an era.

Marcus walked over, taking the document, his eyes shimmering with unmasked greed. He gave me a triumphant look and whispered mockingly, "Adrian, you’ve finally realized the reality. Once you leave here, you’re nothing but a stray dog that nobody wants. After tonight, Elena will belong entirely to me, and you... you only deserve to rot in this dark corner."

I leaned against the wall, watching him with cold, clear eyes, looking at him as if he were already a dead man.

"Marcus," I spoke calmly, my voice devoid of ripples. "Once this agreement is signed, all security authorities for your family in the Northern Territory will be voided. In this volatile country, you haven't learned yet what the price of losing this layer of protection truly is."

He was stunned for a second, then erupted into a harsh, shrill cackle, as if he’d heard the most childish joke of the century.

"Threats from a pauper." He turned and handed the contract to Elena on the stage.

The ballroom erupted in enthusiastic applause. Elena raised her glass, announcing that the family would completely merge with Marcus’s group and publicly stating that they would "thoroughly clear out the rotting remains within the family."

I knew she was talking about me.

I looked down at my pocket watch. The hands moved at a steady pace. Twenty-four hours remained until the contract expired. I wasn’t just observing; I was counting down.

This grand farce would eventually end, and when the sun rose, the entire Susanna family would realize that the biggest mistake they ever made was trying to personally excise their "Guardian God" from their world.