All Chapters of Runaway To My Alpha Brother-In-Law: Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

[--Kaiser Volkov--]Her passing out wasn’t something I anticipated, but I didn’t panic. Nor did I rush to catch her. The carpet beneath her was thick and cushioned, and a bean bag had conveniently broken her fall, cradling her unconscious body with its softness. For a moment, I stood there, merely observing the stillness of her form, the way her body had gone slack, her limbs limp like a puppet with its strings cut. There was a serenity in the scene that felt almost out of place as if she had chosen this exact moment to surrender to the world.I rolled my eyes, not out of indifference, but more out of a quiet amusement at the unpredictability of it all. This was far from what I had imagined would happen. Still, I wasn’t overly concerned. After all, fainting wasn’t exactly life-threatening, and I knew she’d come to her senses soon enough. With a sigh, I redirected my attention to the task at hand. There was a box of items meant for her training, a collection of objects she could use to

[--Kaiser Volkov--]I lit a cigarette and leaned back on the chair as the three alphas attempted to intimidate me. What a bunch of losers. They can’t affect me with this macho BS.“You know we have a rule against vampires.”“I know it’s borderline speciesism and I don’t have to blindly follow your family’s rules. The vampires I’m meeting happen to hate you, hate big dumb and stupid over there, and I’m sure they’ll come to hate Berney and his ugly face soon enough. But they don’t hate me. I’m the new guy, I’m nice, I’m a kiss ass to them. And I can get alot of resources to expand my sectors. While you’re forming enemies I am trying to think bigger than the picture laid out for me.”Elias slams his glass down, and I puff out smoke. Clipping the cigarette between my fingers.“You... what the fuck is speciesism?”“Speciesism refers to the idea of discrimination based on species, where one species sees itself as superior to another.”“That is not what is happening.”“Oh really, then tell m

[--Esmarie Cruz--]Kaiser sleeps through to the next morning, which is shocking. But I’m feeling productive the next day, blame that on whatever you want to blame it on. Pleasure or the fact that last night I deliriously considered Kaiser to be my vice.I shudder at the thought, but I’m going to blame it on the cold. This morning the twins are well fed and listening to a cute ten-hour video about the best kiddy songs invented. They play each song, so yay me. But I’m not sitting there in the living room with them.I decided to show more progress by taking a walk around the compound. The large gates are interesting. I don’t have to worry about what’s on the outside. Martha should be coming over this afternoon so we can bake together. I’d also like to go to the beach.Or a lake. Those are the types of places Kaiser and I used to meet. God, there’s so much room in my head now that I have hopes and dreams and I’m not trying to focus on simply surviving. This is life!A honking sound drags

[--Esmarie Cruz--]Doctor Jacob heads down the stairs, his feet dragging like lead, and I catch a glimpse of him from the kitchen. He looks beyond exhausted, worn out by the weight of whatever news he’s carrying. The lines on his face are deeper than usual, his shoulders slumped like the world is pressing down on him. I stop stirring the pot on the stove and step toward him before he can make it to the door. Something is wrong, and my gut is twisting into knots.“How’s Kaiser?” I ask, my voice barely hiding the worry.Jacob lets out a deep sigh, the kind that says more than words ever could. His hand lifts to rub the back of his neck, as if trying to work out a kink that’s been there far too long. “Just my advice,” he starts, his tone careful, deliberate, “but what exactly has Kai told you about his past?”I swallow hard. “Nothing, really. I mean, I know enough. He was suffering when we were younger, facing abuse while we were friends. I could see it. His family... well, the way they

[--Esmarie Cruz--]Martha lingered in the kitchen with me, her hands moving with the easy grace of someone who had done this a thousand times, and yet there was something undeniably warm about her presence. She chopped, stirred, and mixed with calm precision, her eyes occasionally darting up to meet mine, offering a small, encouraging smile. The kitchen filled with the comforting aromas of spices, garlic, and simmering herbs, each scent like a balm, bringing a sense of grounding that I so desperately needed. I tried to focus on the task, on slicing vegetables and stirring the broth just right, letting the familiar rhythm of cooking distract me, if only for a moment.As we worked, the conversation was light, almost aimless. Martha told me a story about her sister’s garden, about the lavender and rosemary she had planted, and how they flourished under her care. I smiled, trying to picture it—the delicate rows of purple blossoms, the strong scent of herbs wafting in the air. For a short