All Chapters of MARRIED TO MY EX-FATHER IN LAW.: Chapter 111 - Chapter 120

138 Chapters

THE OFFICE SUITS ME

Michael's POV The office suits me. That’s the first thing I noticed when I sat behind the desk for the first time three weeks ago. After all those years in the chair beside it, the chair at the side of the desk, the one that always faced the man in power and waited for him to finish speaking. Now I’m the one behind it. It fits me better than I expected, and exactly as much as I always knew it would. The organisation has accepted the change with the usual pragmatism these people have. They understand power is power no matter who’s holding it, and the alternative to going along with it is the kind of mess nobody wants. There was some pushback. Bryan was the loudest, young, loyal to Ocean in that simple, straightforward way young guys get loyal to powerful men. He came to me in the first week with his jaw tight and his eyes saying shit his mouth was trying not to. I listened to everything. Then I gave him a promotion. He’s running the east operations now. More responsibility, m

IT'S A BOY

Lola's POVThe doctor's name is Garrett. He shows up on a Thursday, drives himself in a plain, normal-looking car. He carries all his equipment in a bag that looks like it belongs to any regular family doctor, not someone doing secret ultrasounds in a safe house kitchen because his patient can't risk being seen anywhere public. He's clearly been doing this kind of work for years. You can tell right away. He doesn't ask any questions that aren't strictly medical, doesn'tlook around the cottage with curiosity, doesn't comment on the guards outside or the fact that we've pushed the kitchen table against the wall to make room for his portable machine. He just sets everything up quietly and gets straight to work. I like him immediately. Hannah sits in the corner of the kitchen while he does the first checks. Blood pressure is good, weight is fine. Baby is measuring right on track for the dates. He goes through everything step by step, and I answer every question while trying not to s

KEEP THEM SAFE

Ocean's POV Six weeks. I know because Daniel told me on Thursday that it had been six weeks since the tribunal, and I’ve been counting every single day since then. That’s what you do when counting is pretty much all you’ve got left. Days until the next visit, days since the last call. Days since Lola left the Romano estate and went somewhere I don’t know the location of and can’t reach. Six weeks. The baby is five months along now. I do that math too. Where she is in the pregnancy, what that means physically. What Miriam told us at that first appointment... the timeline of things, what happens at each stage. I paid attention to all of it back then, and I’m glad I did because now it’s pretty much all I have. Five months means the movements are real now, proper kicks. Not just the little flutters from the early weeks. I think about that, about her lying somewhere feeling those kicks without me there. Then I push it away and go back to work. Because pushing it away and going b

SHAPES

Hannah's POV Ezra arrives on a Wednesday. I hear the car crunching on the gravel and I’m at the window before I even realize I’m moving. It’s embarrassing as hell, but there’s nobody here to see it except Lola, who’s asleep upstairs, and the guard outside who’s professional enough not to comment on stupid shit. It’s him. He gets out of the car, says something to the guard, and the guard nods. Then Ezra looks up at the house. I step back from the window like a complete idiot, heart suddenly beating way too fast. I’ve been stuck in this cottage for six weeks. Six weeks of endless fields, the same four rooms, Lola talking softly to her stomach, the chess board always on the kitchen table, and marking days off on some dead woman’s old calendar. I didn’t realize how badly I needed to see a familiar face until his showed up in the driveway. He comes in through the back door like always. Security habit. He checks the perimeter first, then steps inside, closes the door quietly, and st

CONFIRMATION

Third PersonThe burner phone was bought at a newsagent in Elephant and Castle on a Tuesday morning three months ago. Lilo finds this after eleven straight days of digging. He cross-references cell tower data with the exact timestamps on the fake communications and calls in a big favor from a guy at a telecommunications company who owes Daniel more than he can ever repay. The tower data shows the phone was in four different spots over a two-week period. Three of them are nothing special... just normal residential streets. The kind of places a phone goes when its owner is living ordinary life and not thinking about being tracked. The fourth spot is a building in Bermondsey. A serviced office block that rents desks by the hour to people who want an address and no questions asked. Lilo pulls the rental records through the same contact. The desk was booked under a company name that doesn’t exist outside of some paperwork. But the payment leaves a trail. It always does. Daniel and

A SON

Ocean's POV Daniel shows up at eight in the morning. That's not the normal time. Our Tuesday visits are usually at ten. I notice the change the second he walks in, and I notice what he's carrying... or what he's not. No thick folder this time. No normal paperwork. Just Daniel, early, with a look on his face like he's been holding onto something he's ready to put down now. The guard lets him through. We sit at the kitchen table like always and the guard takes his usual spot in the doorway. Daniel starts with the regular surface talk. Legal updates. Timeline of the investigation, all the formal stuff a representative is supposed to say. But his eyes are telling me something else. They’re saying pay attention. They’re saying this is it. I pay attention. He walks me through it carefully, the burner phone, the cell tower data. The building in Bermondsey, the man they finally tracked down. He describes Carl without using his name. The tech skills. The eight weeks of work, the meetin

FOLLOWING.

Bryan's POV I've been following Michael Santos for three weeks now. Not every single day. That would be too obvious, and being obvious is the one thing I can't afford right now. Michael is too sharp. He’d spot a full-time tail in a heartbeat. So I do it smart... Tuesday evenings, Thursday afternoons, sometimes a weekend morning when he leaves his house in Hampstead and heads somewhere that isn’t the office. I switch cars, change positions and never use the same approach twice. Ocean taught me that. Not by sitting me down and explaining it, but by watching how he moves through the world. How he thinks about being seen and not being seen, and the difference between the two. I’ve been paying attention since I was twenty-three and Ocean Moretti gave me a real chance when he didn’t have to. That kind of thing sticks with you, it changes how you do everything. So when Michael took over the organisation and something felt off, I didn’t run my mouth to anyone. I just started watching.

MY WAY

Ocean's POV Daniel shows up on a Thursday. That’s not his normal day, not his normal time either. Seven in the morning, before the guard change, before anything else starts. I see him at the gate when I look out the window. The guard lets him through, and the way he walks across the gravel tells me everything before he even steps inside. He has it. Whatever it is, he has it. He sits down at the kitchen table. The guard takes his usual spot in the doorway, and Daniel puts a phone on the table between us. No folder, no normal paperwork, just the phone. He looks at me, then at the guard, then back at me. “Client update,” he says for the guard’s benefit. “New development in the case. I need you to listen to some audio evidence.” I nod. He presses play and I listen without moving. The audio isn’t perfect, background noise from the pub bleeds in. Some words get fuzzy, but the voices are clear enough. Both of them. Michael first. That voice, twenty years of hearing that voice i

TWO MONTHS

THIRD PERSON POV It takes nearly two months to put the damn thing together, piece by grinding piece. Not because the escape itself is all that complicated. Ocean has been figuring out ways to slip out of tight corners since he was in his twenties, back when the world felt smaller and his body didn’t complain so much about every damn climb. The mechanics here are straightforward enough once you bother to really look: four guards on at any given time, two planted at the front gate like they’re glued there, one stuck on the east perimeter, and one rotating around the rest. The whole pattern repeats every seventy-two hours like some tired, predictable song on loop. He had most of it mapped out by the end of the first week, sketching it mentally while pretending to read those endless legal documents. The real complication, the part that eats up the time and keeps him lying awake some nights, is everything around it. An escape that falls apart is worse than just staying put and rotti

RECORDING

Third Person The recording hits seven inboxes at midnight. By one in the morning, three of them have been opened. By two, the calls start coming in. Not panicked calls, these aren’t men who panic. They’ve been in this world long enough that staying calm under pressure is just how they operate, no matter how bad the shit is. But the calls are urgent, and they keep multiplying. Vincent Romano sits in his study until four in the morning. Sophia finds him there at three. She reads his face the way she’s done for thirty years and sits across from him without being asked. He plays her the recording without saying a word. She listens to all thirty-eight minutes. When it ends, she’s quiet for a moment. “Paolo,” she says. “Yeah.” “Michael Santos had Paolo killed.” Vincent nods. Sophia looks at her hands, then out the window at the dark garden. The same garden where she walked with Lola in the cold and told her the real question wasn’t about forgiveness, but what kin

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