Chapter 4
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"Mr. Grant," his tone wasn't deferential but equal, even carrying a hint of command, "your daughter Amy has been subjected to systematic attacks and exploitation by the Grant family. She and I have reached an agreement. We need your participation to form a united front. I suggest you fly here immediately."
And so Amy's father, Daniel Grant—a man who had existed mostly in news reports and occasional phone calls—appeared before them in less than ten hours, bringing with him the dust of travel and the fire of paternal rage.
He rushed first to the hospital, and upon seeing his father-in-law barely clinging to life, this iron-fisted political figure's eyes immediately welled with tears. Later, seeing his daughter in the hotel suite—pale-faced yet with newfound determination in her eyes—alongside an unfamiliar man radiating authority, his paternal instincts flared with hostility toward Shane.
"Who the hell do you think you are? What gives you the right to make agreements with my daughter?"
"Father!" This time, Amy stepped forward, shielding Shane. Though physically frail, her eyes blazed with resolve. "This was my decision. Shane is right—this is war. I need an ally I can trust completely."
Shane then calmly outlined his capabilities to Daniel—his military background, the legal and intelligence resources at his disposal that operated outside commercial and political spheres.
Daniel, a pragmatist hardened by years in politics, quickly grasped the cruel yet efficient logic behind this "deal" after his initial shock. Looking at his daughter's determined face, he finally nodded slowly.
The alliance for revenge was officially established.
In the study, Daniel tactfully excused himself to make a phone call, leaving father and daughter alone.
Daniel looked down at his daughter, his heart heavy with regret.
He'd heard the Grant family had adopted a daughter but hadn't given it much thought.
After all, he'd assumed anyone with sense would understand the difference between an adopted daughter and a legitimate niece with a politically powerful father.
"Amy, I've failed you as a father. I didn't see what was happening in the Grant family. I thought they were treating you well."
Amy studied her father as he humbled himself before her.
"It's my fault for not reaching out sooner. You've actually done well. You've never shown this much concern for your stepmother's family before."
This polite yet detached response left Daniel speechless. He sighed deeply as silence filled the room.
That evening, Daniel stood alone by the window smoking. Shane approached with purposeful strides and stopped beside him.
"Sir, you may not believe this, but I swear I have absolutely no interest in Amy's fortune."
Daniel said nothing, just continued smoking.
"I always scoffed at love at first sight—until I met Amy when I was fifteen. Unfortunately, she already had a boyfriend then."
Smoke obscured Daniel's expression.
"Now Amy is finally single. Uncle—no, Dad—you know me. I won't waste this chance."
"I'll be watching you. Make one wrong move, and I won't hesitate to act."
"And listen, punk, I'm still your uncle. What's with the 'Dad' business?"
"Ow! That hurts—"
That evening, the hotel's presidential suite transformed into their command center. Charts mapping Grant family relationships and company structures covered the walls, while documents littered every surface.
Shane methodically analyzed each enemy's weaknesses and vulnerabilities. Daniel worked the phones, calling powerful "friends" throughout political and business circles.
And Amy, sitting between them, was no longer just a victim who could only cry.
Her eyes scanned the evidence of betrayal on the screen as her grief hardened into cold, razor-sharp resolve.
At City Hall's registry office, harsh fluorescent lighting cast an official, impersonal atmosphere.
No flowers adorned the space. No guests filled the room. No church bells rang.
Shane had enthusiastically proposed a grand wedding—a ceremony to announce to the world that "Amelia Grant belongs to Shane Evans." Amy had immediately refused.
"I don't have energy to waste on a wedding, Shane," she'd replied coolly. "My only focus is reclaiming what's mine as quickly and efficiently as possible. I need legal status, not a spectacle."
Shane had studied her face before choosing compromise and respect.
So now, only the essential people stood present: Amy, Shane, Amy's father Daniel and stepmother, Shane's parents, and—sitting in a wheelchair with a solemn expression—Amy's grandfather, her sole "family representative."
The entire process had the quiet gravity of a high-level corporate merger.
When the gray-haired registrar prompted their vows in a formulaic tone, Shane spoke first. His voice was steady and firm—devoid of romantic rhetoric yet filled with such powerful conviction it made one's heart tremble.
"I, Shane Evans, take you, Amelia Grant, to be my lawful wife." He looked directly into Amy's eyes, each word pronounced like a sacred oath. "I swear to be your unwavering shield, your sharpest sword, your most loyal companion. I will use every resource at my disposal to protect your safety, your assets, and your interests until my dying breath."
Amy's heart fluttered. She met his gaze and responded with the same cool tone of an ally.
"I, Amelia Grant, take you, Shane Evans, to be my lawful husband. I accept your shield and sword, and I entrust to you my confidence, my authority, and my partnership. Together we will reclaim what is rightfully ours."
They exchanged plain platinum bands—minimalist and unadorned. Not tokens of love but seals of a contract.
When the registrar stamped the marriage certificate with the official seal, a new, unbreakable legal entity—the Evans-Grant union—was officially established.
Almost simultaneously, a brief announcement initiated by Shane was released through a prestigious financial news agency: [Miss Amelia Grant, major shareholder of Grant Group, has officially registered her marriage with Mr. Shane Evans today, witnessed by family members. Celebration ceremonies will be announced at a later date.]
The news dropped like a bomb into still waters, instantly triggering violent undercurrents beneath the calm surface.
Miles away in another city, Cindy was sipping coffee and basking in afternoon sunshine when the news reached her. Since joining the Grant household, she'd achieved her goals—securing the man she wanted and enjoying a comfortable life. Her phone pinged with the notification. Reading the headline, she first felt relief that "someone else has taken the troublemaker off our hands." But immediately after, uncontrollable bitterness and jealousy surged through her.
In the accompanying photo, Amy stood beside a tall, handsome man. Though her expression was indistinct, she radiated a calm power Cindy had never seen before. That worthless Amy, who should be living in her shadow—how dare she marry such an obviously powerful man? Cindy gripped her phone so tightly her nails nearly cracked the screen.
