Lahat ng Kabanata ng MY BROTHER-IN-LAW: Kabanata 41 - Kabanata 50

CAELEN VALENTINE'S POVI was sitting in my studio again, light spilling through the tall windows, the air thick with turpentine and quiet frustration.The painting on the easel glared back at me — half finished, half lifeless. I kept staring at it, knowing something was missing.That red.That perfect, vivid, cruel red I could never quite find.Then the door creaked open behind me.I didn’t even turn. “Lucian?”“Yes,” came his low voice, smooth and faintly amused.I glanced over my shoulder — and there he stood, still in his tailored suit, holding a heavy glass jar in one gloved hand. Its contents shimmered dark and rich, thinner than paint but just as alluring.“What’s that?” I asked, arching a brow.He smirked faintly. “Imported,” he replied, placing it on my worktable as though it were the rarest wine.I leaned closer to the jar. The red inside almost seemed to pulse. It was so… vibrant. Exactly what I’d been looking for.Lucian just stood there silently, watching me as I unscrewed

LUCAIN THRONE'S POVThe week blurred into a haze of negotiations, handshakes, and strategy sessions.From the outside, it might’ve looked like I was still ruling with the same iron fist — the same cold authority that had built this empire in the shadows. But this was different.I wasn’t fighting to expand anymore. I was fighting to secure my exit.Every morning I left the mansion before Caelen was even fully awake. Every night I returned long after he’d fallen asleep on my side of the bed — though most nights, I found him waiting in my art studio, his body curled up in the corner, pretending he hadn’t dozed off waiting for me.He never complained, but his quiet eyes said enough.I hated it.Yet this was necessary.For Caisen to take the throne I’d built, I needed to make sure the ground beneath him was stable — and for me to walk away without looking over my shoulder every second, I needed to lock in alliances of my own.I didn’t want to become the kind of man who’d one day have to cr

Caelen’s POVNext day.I stood in front of the mirror, fingers paused over the collar of my shirt as I caught sight of him behind me.We were getting ready for our “date.” And I’ll admit, part of me thought he’d cancel at the last minute, blame it on some underworld emergency, put his jacket back on and disappear into a boardroom or a warehouse somewhere. That’s what Lucian does — he wears suits like they’re a second skin, carries them like armor.Even at home, when he sheds the armor, it’s never entirely gone. He lounges in t-shirts and sweatpants, yes, but there’s always that edge in his shoulders, that cold calculation in his eyes — like even barefoot in the kitchen he’s still that man: the king, the killer.But today…When he stepped into the room, I froze.Not because he was dangerous. Not because he scared me. But because — for the first time — he didn’t look like the man who ran empires and spilled blood.He looked… like someone’s lover.He wore a ridiculous Hawaiian shirt — pi

Lucian’s POVThe mansion was humming with preparations.White-gloved staff moving like clockwork, chandeliers being polished, cases of champagne arriving by the hour, gilded invitations delivered to the most dangerous men and women alive.The underworld’s most untouchable names would soon gather under my roof to witness what no one ever thought would happen:Lucian Thorne relinquishing his throne.I stood at the window of my study, hands clasped behind my back, watching them drape black velvet over the railings of the grand staircase. My reflection in the glass looked calm. Immaculate. Like a man in complete control.It was a lie.Inside, my chest was tight with a feeling I couldn’t name.For years, my word was law in this world. I’d built this empire myself — brick by bloody brick. I’d been judge, jury, and executioner to half the men who’d be standing in this very room tomorrow night.And now, by my own hand, I was handing it all to a man I still couldn’t fully read.Caisen Valentin

LUCIAN THRONE'S POVWe were seated on the front-most velvet sofa, closest to the stage — not because I demanded it, but because no one else dared to take it.Caelen sat beside me, quiet, eyes trained on the crowd. He looked like sin wrapped in innocence tonight — in charcoal silk, with a crimson pocket square I'd placed myself. His hand was on his knee, fingers slightly twitching, but his spine was straight.He was holding himself together — and fuck, he looked exquisite doing it.The auction had been smooth so far. Piece after piece sold — his brutal portraits, his fragmented landscapes, the oil work of the little boy staring into a broken mirror. Some of them made the crowd lean forward in awe, some made them flinch.And yet — nothing quite caught fire like that painting.The watch piece.A canvas soaked in muted greys and slashes of red. The outline of a cracked watch, blood dripping from its shattered face, as if time had bled itself dry. It was personal. I knew the night he paint