For the Glory of My Family

The crystal chandelier in the living room shattered into countless shards of light, piercing painfully into the eyes. I stared at the gilded wedding invitation on the coffee table, my fingertips repeatedly tracing the names 'Caleb Lopez & Melissa Scott,' the edges of the paper worn and frayed beneath my touch. In the corner of the invitation, two clasped hands were printed, silver powder shimmering under the light, like the delicate diamonds on Caleb's engagement ring. The phone suddenly vibrated in the palm of my hand, the buzz numbing the web between my thumb and index finger. Assistant Ann's message hit like a thunderclap: 'Ms. Scott, the Lopez Group has just withdrawn all its investments. The account shows three transactions, all completed ten minutes ago.'Three red exclamation marks followed the "", her panic palpable even through the screen. I clenched my phone tightly, the plastic case pressing into my knuckles, turning them white. Three evenings ago, Caleb Lopez still held my hand on the seaside chapel's terrace; the evening breeze carried a salty tang. He said, "Melissa, let us choose this place. Let the waves be our witnesses." In that moment, the pad of his finger brushed the ring mark on my ring finger, the warmth searing like a brand. The chapel's stained glass cast kaleidoscopic light upon his profile; the smile in his eyes shone brighter than the sunset glimmering over the sea. "Melissa!" My mother's voice crashed from the vestibule, trembling with sobs. She clenched a soaked handkerchief in one hand, while the other gripped the doorframe so tightly that her knuckles pressed into the wood, "Your brother... Your brother went to the Lopez Group's headquarters and was taken hostage! Just now, someone from Lopez Group called, saying... saying you have to go negotiate in person!" Her hair was disheveled, stray strands clinging to her sweat-dampened temples, and her usually pristine makeup had smeared into a blurred streak. I grabbed the car keys and dashed out, the metal keychain's jade pendant—the safety amulet Caleb gave me last birthday—cutting painfully into my palm. As the elevator descended, my pale face reflected in the mirror, the corner of my lips still stained with the coffee I had just drunk—that brand Caleb Lopez favored; he always said it had to be bitter enough to keep you awake. An advertisement for a wedding company was stuck on the elevator wall, the bride's smile radiant as a blooming flower. I stared at that smile, suddenly finding it painfully glaring. The door to the top-floor office of the Lopez Group stood ajar. A breeze slipped through the crack, carrying Caleb's voice. His voice was cold as ice, a tone I had never heard before: 'Let Melissa Scott come to see me. No one else will do.' From inside the door came the rustle of paper and a faint scent of perfume—not my usual woody fragrance, but the sweet, cloying floral aroma Mindy favored. I pushed open the door. He stood facing the floor-to-ceiling window, smoking. The ashtray brimmed with half-smoked cigarette butts, like a small graveyard. The sunset pinned his shadow to the floor, stretching it long and thin. The cigarette between his fingers burned, ash trembling on the edge. His suit sleeves were rolled up, revealing the luxury watch I gave him on his wrist—the hands fixed at six-thirty, the time we had planned to dine together every day. "Let my brother go," I said, my voice steadier than I had expected. My fingertips curled into fists behind me, my nails digging deep into my palms. He turned around, cigarette ash falling softly onto his dark gray suit trousers like a delicate snowfall. "Alright," he said, brushing his pants with measured slowness, as if flicking off inconsequential dust, "but you must agree to one condition." His gaze swept over my face, appraising me like a commodity. I stared into the red veins in his eyes—was it from last night's sleeplessness, or... something to do with Mindy? At the collar of his shirt was a thin, long strand of hair—not mine. "After the wedding, let Mindy move in," he said with a sudden smile, though it never reached his eyes. "You two need to get along peacefully. She's alone, and I can't bear to leave her that way." He reached for the glass on the table, its surface faintly marked with a lipstick stain. Mindy. His mentor's daughter—the woman who always feigned timidity before him, yet revealed a provocative glint in her eyes the moment I turned away. Last week at the charity gala, she deliberately spilled red wine on my gown, then sweetly murmured, "Ms. Scott, I'm sorry," though the triumph in her eyes was impossible to hide. The culprit behind all this. "Impossible.""I laughed aloud, the sound ricocheting off the glass with a cold bite." Caleb should know that I, Melissa Scott, have never been one to be manipulated. Before my father passed, he gripped my hand and said, a daughter of the Scott Family must have backbone. He stubbed out his cigarette, the butt spinning halfway around the ashtray. "Then I can only congratulate you," he leaned over, picked up a document from the table, and slid it toward me. "The Scott Family is soon to be allied by marriage with the Xavier Family. Dylan's side has already sent the betrothal letter." The edges of the document were worn, as if it had been leafed through countless times. The name 'Dylan Xavier' was signed on the document with strong, commanding strokes. That man with the deceptively gentle eyes on the cover of finance magazines is, by all accounts, a ruthless operator—the very definition of a wolf in sheep's clothing. Last year, at an auction, he quietly drove three rivals into bankruptcy over a single parcel of land. As I stepped out of the Lopez Group building, rain began to fall. Raindrops pelted the phone screen, blurring it into a misty haze. The phone rang again; the caller ID read 'Dylan Xavier.' This number was only saved in my phone three days ago; he is the son of a longtime friend of my father, and their generation once joked about merging families through marriage. "Ms. Scott," his voice flowed through the line like silk soaked in warm water, carrying just the right amount of concern, "I heard you're in trouble. I just passed by near the Lopez Group and saw your car." In the background, the faint sound of rain mingled with the steady swish of windshield wipers. "What advice does Mr. Xavier have?" I wiped the rain from my face, unable to conceal the sharp edge in my voice. Rain slid down my neck into my collar, cold and piercing to the bone. "I can help you rescue Mr. Scott," he paused, the faint rustling of papers whispering in the background. "But in return, are you willing to marry me?" His tone was calm, as if he were discussing the weather. I gazed through the rain at the city's blurred silhouette, neon lights fracturing into a sea of light amid the downpour. "My dowry is five hundred overseas arms depots," I said, my voice as soft as raindrops. It was my father's lifelong labor, hidden in secret corners across thirteen countries; no one but me knew all the coordinates. There was a three-second silence on the other end of the phone, then his warm laughter came through: "Then I look forward to this wedding. In an hour, I'll go pick up your brother and bring him home."