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122. KIM SEIRRA
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2025-08-26 00:30:22
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MY BROTHER-IN-LAW 126. DRUNK
LIAM MARTIN'S POVThe villa was silent when we got back. The kind of silence that wraps itself around your shoulders and makes you feel a little too aware of your own breathing. My head was already buzzing from the drinks at the club, but for some reason, I wasn’t ready to stop. The city lights still glimmered beyond the balcony, and the night felt too alive to surrender to sleep.I tossed my jacket over the couch and walked straight to the bar, pulling out a bottle I probably shouldn’t have been touching at this hour. The expensive kind, the kind Grayson always drinks with purpose, never for pleasure. He stood near the doorway, his tie loosened, his shirt cuffs rolled, looking at me like I’d just committed some minor sin.“You’ve had enough,” he said, his voice that familiar mix of authority and disinterest. Not angry, just… assessing.“Enough for who?” I muttered, already pouring the amber liquid into two glasses. “Come on, Pittman. Don’t be a bore tonight.”For a moment, I thought
MY BROTHER-IN-LAW 125. GRAYSON'S ENTRY
LIAM MARTIN'S POVThe private room’s door opened before we reached it. Two men stepped out, pale with the kind of fear that wears expensive shoes. They slipped past us muttering promises to improve. Inside, Namgyu lounged on a low couch like he’d invented comfort and licensed it. Dark suit, shirt open, a chain at his throat catching little moons of light. When he saw Sierra, his whole face changed, the posture of his mouth shifting from predator to man.“My wife,” he said, standing, voice like velvet cut on glass. She went to him without hesitation. He took her in with his eyes first, then his hands, as if to confirm the shapes matched. When his gaze flicked to me, the warmth didn’t vanish; it cooled. Not unkind. Appraising.“Liam Miller, Uhh Martin i mean.” he said. “You look like a trouble i am going to face soon.”“Definitely not responsible,” I replied, and earned myself a laugh.He poured drinks himself, which is how you know a king is in a good mood. “To art & my love,” he said
MY BROTHER-IN-LAW 124. KIM NAMGYU
LIAM MILLERSierra’s fork hovered in midair like a threat. “You’ve heard of the organization, right?” she said, low enough that the candle between us flickered like it understood secrets. “The one everyone pretends doesn’t exist but somehow makes half the city behave? Leader’s name is Grayson Pittman.”My appetite evaporated so fast the steam off my pasta looked offended. “Never heard of him,” I lied, twirling noodles anyway like performance art.She leaned in, eyes bright. “They say he sits at the top like a beautiful guillotine. That he’ll smile at you while you talk and by dessert you’ll be missing a piece of yourself. There’s a rumor about a guy who lied in a deal. Came back without a tongue. Another one about a pit in his mansion. People go in. Don’t come out. Someone said he fed a traitor his own hand.” She shivered. “Pure psycho.”The meatball on my fork suddenly looked like evidence. “Fantastic dinner talk.” I swallowed hard enough to bruise my pride. “You’re ruining marinara
MY BROTHER-IN-LAW 123. THE KILLER PAST
LIAM MARTIN'S POVThe pan hissed as the butter melted, thick and slow. My knife moved on its own—slice, scrape, drop—while my head wandered somewhere I wished it wouldn’t. That’s the curse of a quiet house: too much room for ghosts.Grayson Pittman was here tonight. Rare thing. Usually, the mansion just held his echo—meetings, flights, calls that never stopped. Lately, with Caisen in the mix, they were tearing themselves thin trying to leash a kingdom that didn’t want a leash. From what Conrad said, it was like herding wolves with a gold thread. Alliances where there used to be vendettas. Powerhouses who once spat in each other’s shadows now clinking glasses over the same table. Only those two could pull that off—Grayson with his cold precision, Caisen with that simmering steel in his veins.But all I could think about, standing there with garlic stinging my fingers, was how none of this started clean. Not for him. Not for me.I was seven when I met him. He was thirteen—already taller
MY BROTHER-IN-LAW 122. KIM SEIRRA
LIAM MARTIN'S POVThe cursor blinked at me like it knew I was a fraud. Ten chapters in, and my manhwa already felt like it was circling the drain. Not exactly the dazzling debut I had pictured when I signed that contract. The comments section was a battlefield of “The story's bland” and “No spice, could be better,” sprinkled with a few dagger-sharp reviews that still managed to live rent-free in my head. I pretended they didn’t bother me. They did. I was mid-sulk when my phone started vibrating across the desk like it had a personal vendetta against my coffee mug. I glanced at the screen: Kim Seirra.I swiped to answer. “Seirra. To what do I owe this disruption to my artistic misery?”“Liam! You sound like you just got evicted,” she chirped, her voice annoyingly bright for someone who probably had a functioning serotonin supply. “Are you working?”“I was, if you can call staring at an empty panel ‘working’,” I said, spinning in my chair until the room blurred. “What’s up? Did your
MY BROTHER-IN-LAW 121. THE STARTING (LIAM x GRAYSON)
LIAM MARTIN'S POVThe screen glared at me, empty panels waiting to be filled with brilliance, and all I had to offer was…a half-dead brain and too much instant coffee. My studio—fine, Grayson’s guest room that I’ve colonized with sketchpads and ramen cups—looked like a battlefield. And I was losing.I dragged the pen across the tablet, trying to summon a new character. What came out? Another tall, broad-shouldered man with a jawline sharp enough to slice bread. Black suit. Cold blu eyes & blonde hairs. Menace radiating off him like bad Wi-Fi.“Goddammit,” I muttered, staring at the sketch. “That’s just Pittman again.”I erased the lines with unnecessary violence. This was getting pathetic. My readers wanted angst and passion, not an unauthorized fancomic of my homicidal landlord. And yet, every time I sat down to work, Grayson’s face crawled into my imagination like an unpaid intern refusing to leave.I leaned back in my chair, staring at the ceiling. What’s wrong with me? Why am I me
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