Not Your Typical Live-In Son-In-Law

The glass doors of the Torque Solutions corporate lobby hissed open as Julian Ward stepped inside, his shoes quiet against the marble. He paused just inside the threshold, taking a second to absorb the space—not out of awe, but from habit. It was a trait left over from his old job in supply chains, a quiet instinct to evaluate every new space: exits, security cameras, guard presence, seating layout.

It was all there. Opulent. Glassy. Self-congratulatory.

He walked up to the front desk with a calm smile, holding out a printed authorization letter with the gold-embossed Lancaster crest.

“I’m here to collect a sealed delivery packet for Charlotte Lancaster. Torque Solutions was expecting someone from our side.”

The receptionist—a polished blonde in a navy-blue blouse—blinked, then gave a quick glance at the letter. Her smile stayed neutral, but Julian caught the quick mental calculation behind it: well-dressed man, but no tie; polished shoes, but scuffed from wear. He doesn’t look important. Probably a glorified assistant.

“I’ll call upstairs,” she said, and pressed a button.

Julian stepped back, hands behind his back, posture relaxed. It was midmorning, and the lobby buzzed with movement—account managers, interns, over-dressed analysts hustling in and out. Nobody paid him any mind. He preferred it that way.

Until he heard the voice.

“Well, well. If it isn’t Julian fucking Ward.”

Julian didn’t flinch. He simply turned his head.

Logan Pike stood a few feet away, designer jacket slung over one shoulder, phone in hand. He looked as if he had just stepped off a TED Talk stage—overconfident, slightly sweaty, and desperate to be noticed.

Julian offered a mild nod. “Logan.”

“Jesus. It’s been what, four years? Five?” Logan said, stepping closer, already grinning too wide. “Didn’t expect to see you here, man. You still doing delivery work?”

Julian blinked slowly. “I’m running a pick-up.”

“For the Lancasters?” Logan’s eyebrows lifted, mock surprise thick in his voice. “Wow. You’re their guy now? The in-house assistant? Not bad. You always had a way of staying...useful.”

There it was. A calculated jab, wrapped in fake friendliness. Julian had seen Logan do it a thousand times back at their old job—dress up cruelty as banter. The man hadn’t changed. The startup beard just made him smugger.

Julian gave a calm smile. “How’s your company?”

Logan puffed up, like a pigeon mid-courtship. “Crushing it. You know how it is—seed round, Series A, government contracts. Logistics tech is the future, man. People want speed and precision. Got VC calls every other week. What about you? Still… doing pick-ups?”

The receptionist had glanced up. Two passing interns slowed their pace. Logan was raising his voice now, his tone not hostile, but performative, like this was a stand-up set.

Julian said nothing. He simply reached into his jacket, pulled out a pen, and clicked it once.

Logan blinked. “You writing this down?”

“No,” Julian replied. “Just remembering which tone you used when you said that.”

Logan laughed, but there was a twitch in the corner of his eye now.

“Come on, man. I’m just giving you shit. You married rich, right? To that Lancaster girl? What’s her name…Charlotte? Good for you. Smart move. Ride that train.”

Julian’s smile didn’t move.

Then, behind Logan, the elevator pinged.

A woman in a pantsuit approached with a sealed envelope in hand. “For Mrs. Lancaster,” she said, handing it to Julian with a small bow of the head.

He accepted it. “Thank you.”

And without another word, Julian turned and walked out.

Charlotte was barefoot on the kitchen island when Julian got home that evening, a glass of wine in one hand and her hair pinned up in a loose twist. She was still in her work clothes—blazer off, blouse half-unbuttoned, sleeves rolled to her elbows.

He placed the envelope on the counter.

“That it?” she asked without looking.

“Torque delivered,” Julian said.

She picked it up, gave it a shake, then set it aside and looked at him. “You ran into Logan Pike today.”

It wasn’t a question.

Julian didn’t flinch. “He happened to be in the lobby.”

“Security footage says he wasn’t just in the lobby.”

Ah.

Julian took a slow breath, then walked over to the fridge. “It’s not worth worrying about.”

Charlotte set her wine down. “He mocked you. Loudly. In front of interns, clients, vendors.”

“He mocks everyone.”

She stood and walked over to him, resting her arms gently around his waist from behind. “He called you my errand boy.”

“He’s not wrong,” Julian said. “It was an errand. And I did it.”

Charlotte didn’t laugh. She turned him around gently, eyes searching his. “Are you okay?”

He nodded. “It didn’t matter. I’m not in this family to impress people like Logan.”

Her voice dropped. “But I am. And when someone thinks they can mock my husband in public, they’re really saying I have no judgment. That I picked a man beneath me. That’s not something I let slide.”

Julian studied her face—cool, regal, but under the surface, a fury barely leashed.

“You’re not planning to retaliate,” he said.

She tilted her head slightly. “I wasn’t.”

Pause.

“But now?”

She gave him a small, thin smile. “Now I’m curious.”

Later that night, when Julian was brushing his teeth, Charlotte was out on the balcony, phone to her ear.

“Maxine,” she said. “You still have ears inside Torque’s supplier circle?”

Pause.

“Good. Find out who Logan Pike’s investors are. And who his clients are. I want to know if any of them are poaching from our freight lanes. If he’s clean, I’ll leave it. If not, I want him bleeding revenue by the end of next quarter.”

Another pause.

“No. No contact with Julian. This doesn’t come from him. In fact, it doesn’t come from me either.”

Silence.

“Yes. Let Eleanor take the credit.”

Click.

She stood in the breeze, wine glass in hand, staring down at the glittering city lights.

She hadn’t married weak.

And the world was about to remember that.