Chapter 5
1352words
The news notification's vibration made him lift his head numbly. When the words "Amelia Grant... officially registered marriage with Mr. Shane Evans" appeared before his bloodshot eyes, his world lost all sound and color.
Married?
How could she get married? How dare she get married?
Shouldn't she be crying somewhere over their lost love? Shouldn't she be waiting for him to come to his senses and beg forgiveness?
An absurd fury of betrayal, mixed with the terror of losing her forever, erupted in his chest like a volcano.
He sprang up like a madman, not bothering to change his wrinkled shirt, grabbed his car keys and rushed out.
He would confront her! He would stop her! He would tell Amy she'd made a terrible mistake!
The small group exited city hall after both sets of parents finalized cooperation details in a private room. The sunlight outside was blinding, making Amy squint. This wedding had contained no romance—only a settled, almost ruthlessly practical atmosphere. She hadn't even processed the fact that she was now "Mrs. Evans-Grant."
It was at this moment the ambush occurred.
The attacker wasn't a reporter but a disheveled, frantic Charles. He'd clearly rushed over immediately after seeing the news, like a cornered animal driven to desperation.
"Amy!"
He roared her name, breaking through Daniel's bodyguards to lunge before her. His shirt was hopelessly wrinkled, his tie hanging loose, his chin covered with stubble, his once-clear eyes now bloodshot and wild.
His face contorted with grief, his voice hoarse: "I just saw the news... You can't do this! It's a mistake! This isn't like you!"
Like a drowning man clutching at straws, he gripped Amy's arms so tightly she winced in pain.
"Have you lost your mind, Amy? How could you marry him? How could you marry anyone but me?" He shook her violently, his eyes filled with incomprehensible pain and accusation. "This isn't you! The Amy I know is sweet and gentle. She cries, she gets upset, but she's never this cold! She wouldn't... wouldn't marry someone else so quickly! This is a trap—he forced you into this, didn't he?"
His words dripped with absurd, self-righteous logic. In his world, Amy was supposed to remain forever the weak one who could only cry after being hurt by him. Any change in her, any behavior beyond his control, was "unlike her"—was "wrong."
He simply couldn't accept that Amy was no longer his doll to discard and reclaim at will.
With desperate eyes and a breaking voice: "I just saw the news... you can't do this! This is all wrong! This isn't you!"
He reached for her arm again, pleading: "This isn't love! You love me—I know you still have feelings for me! We can work this out! I'll do anything! I'll leave my family, give up everything! Just don't marry him!"
Amy regarded him calmly with an almost curious expression, as if observing some strange specimen.
"Charles," her voice carried not a ripple of emotion, only mild confusion, "have you lost your mind?"
She didn't bother saying more. Before she could react, a tall figure stepped between them. Shane didn't raise his voice or even look Charles in the eye.
He simply reached out and, with undeniable strength, peeled Charles's fingers one by one from Amy's arm. His grip was like iron.
His voice carried a deadly calm that froze the air.
"Her name," he said in a cold, precise tone, as if stating a law of physics, "is Mrs. Evans-Grant. From now on, you have no right to address her so casually."
Then Shane stepped closer to Charles and, in a predatory growl only the two of them could hear, declared his claim.
"You once had the chance to be her partner, but you chose to become her betrayer. Now, I am her husband. The difference is, I will never disappoint her."
"This is your only warning. Disappear from her life. Otherwise, I'll make you disappear from this world."
That silent, absolute threat was like an invisible hand around Charles's throat. He was terrified by the primal authority radiating from Shane—that of an apex predator—and kept backing away until he finally broke down completely and staggered off like a beaten dog.
Amy's uncle, aunt, and other family elders were equally shocked, evident from the messages flooding Amy's phone.
"Amy, why didn't you tell your uncle and aunt about your marriage, you silly child? Oh! And remember to have Shane send word about where to deliver our wedding gift."
The message was sent by Aunt Grant through gritted teeth.
Why? That insignificant Amy, just like her mother, marrying into a prestigious family?
Looking at her husband behind her—now anxiously fretting about how poorly they'd treated Amy recently—she inwardly sneered. You didn't object to the plan before, but now that things look bad, you start complaining.
That afternoon, in a heavily secured hotel boardroom booked by Daniel, the first tactical meeting of the Revenge Alliance officially commenced.
The organizational chart and executive roster of Grant Group projected on the wall. The atmosphere crackled with wartime tension.
Daniel and Shane began formally teaching Amy how to wield her power.
"These three were loyal to your grandfather—absolutely trustworthy," Daniel pointed to several names, mapping the board's political landscape. "These two are fence-sitters who prioritize self-interest but can be swayed. And these four," he indicated executives promoted by her uncles, "are enemy plants. They must go."
Shane pointed to the share transfer agreement before Amy.
"This," he tapped the document with his knuckle, "is your most powerful weapon. These shares give you the largest single voting block on the board. You don't need to convince everyone—just establish your majority. From today on, your goal isn't to be liked, but to be obeyed."
Under her mentors' guidance, Amy identified her first target: the Chief Financial Officer—a key figure promoted by her uncle who was deeply involved in falsifying accounts and embezzling assets.
Their strategy wasn't to fire him brutally and directly, which might cause company-wide panic. Instead, they planned a "vote of no confidence" allowing him to exit "gracefully."
As the largest shareholder, Amy formally requested an emergency meeting with the board's audit committee.
At the meeting, Amy took the main seat with Shane beside her as her "Chief Strategic Advisor." She made no emotional accusations but calmly presented select evidence against the CFO—just enough to demonstrate his dereliction and incompetence, without revealing that she possessed evidence of his criminal activities.
She watched the committee members' expressions grow grave as she delivered her statement with unquestionable authority.
"In light of these findings, I, as the company's primary stakeholder, have completely lost confidence in the current CFO's ability to safeguard company assets. I trust the audit committee will make appropriate and professional decisions regarding this matter."
Faced with well-founded accusations from the largest shareholder—backed by the invisible pressure of Daniel Grant's influence—the audit committee had no choice.
Two days later, the Chief Financial Officer submitted his resignation, citing "personal health reasons," effective immediately.
The enemy's first stronghold had fallen in a bloodless coup.
That evening, Amy sat alone in her grandfather's study, savoring her first corporate victory. A new feeling emerged within her—not the hot satisfaction of revenge, but something cold, clear, and intoxicating.
It was the taste of power.
She slowly raised her hand, examining the simple platinum band on her finger, then glanced at the official email confirming the CFO's resignation.
Shane, who had entered silently, stood behind her, his eyes filled with undisguised approval and pride.
In that moment, Amy realized with perfect clarity that the marriage certificate and shareholder agreement were far more than mere documents.
They were the seal of her authority and the sword of her power.
And she had finally begun to learn how to wield them.
