Chapter 1 — The Worthless Son-in-Law
“You have thirty days to leave my daughter’s house.”
Marcus slowly raised his eyes.
Across the dining table, Adrian Cross leaned back in his chair with a smug smile.
“Did you hear me?”
Marcus placed his fork beside his plate.
“I heard you.”
Isabella’s mother scoffed.
“Thirty days is already too generous.”
Marcus looked toward Isabella.
She sat silently beside her brother.
She didn’t defend him.
She didn’t even look at him.
Adrian smiled.
“Three years, Marcus.”
He shook his head.
“Three years of living off my sister’s money.”
Marcus remained silent.
“What have you actually contributed to this family?”
Nothing.
Marcus could have answered.
He could have told them that the company Adrian was so proud of had survived its worst financial crisis because Marcus quietly advised Isabella behind the scenes.
He could have told them that several of their biggest clients had been introduced through connections they didn’t even know he possessed.
But he said nothing.
Because there was no point.
Adrian leaned forward.
“You’re leaving.”
Marcus looked at Isabella one last time.
“Do you agree?”
Isabella finally looked at him.
Her eyes were cold.
“Maybe it’s time.”
Those four words hurt more than everything else.
Marcus nodded.
“Okay.”
He stood.
Adrian laughed.
“Where are you going?”
Marcus picked up his old coat.
“Home.”
“You don’t have a home.”
Marcus stopped at the door.
For the first time that evening, a faint smile appeared on his face.
“You’re right.”
He walked out.
Nobody followed him.
Nobody cared where he went.
But three minutes later, a black Rolls-Royce stopped outside the mansion.
An old man stepped out.
He looked around before walking directly toward Marcus.
“Young Master.”
Marcus stopped.
His expression hardened.
“Don’t call me that.”
The old man’s eyes reddened.
“Your father is dead.”
Marcus stared at him.
“My father died twenty years ago.”
The old man shook his head.
“No.”
He slowly removed a black envelope from inside his coat.
“Your father died three nights ago.”
Marcus’s heart stopped.
He took the envelope.
His father’s name was written across it.
DAMIAN VALE.
Marcus hadn’t seen that name written in twenty years.
He opened the envelope with trembling fingers.
Inside was a photograph.
His father stood in front of a massive black throne.
Twelve men stood behind him.
All dressed in black.
At the bottom of the photograph were six words:
THE BLACK CROWN HAS WAITED FOR YOU.
Marcus turned the photograph over.
There was another message.
Trust no one in the Cross family.
Marcus froze.
The Cross family.
Isabella.
Adrian.
Her parents.
Everyone he had lived with for three years.
He slowly looked back at the mansion.
His wife was still standing at the window.
Watching him.
Then his phone rang.
Unknown number.
Marcus answered.
A man’s voice whispered:
“If you want to know who killed your father, come to the Black Crown before midnight.”
The line went dead.
Marcus stared at the phone.
Then the old man beside him spoke.
“Young Master…”
Marcus looked at him.
Victor lowered his head.
“It’s time to come home.”
