From Dishwasher to Business Tycoon

Five years, a full five years. I stood before the floor-to-ceiling window of my office atop the E Building in N City. The cigar clenched between my fingers had burned down to its end, the heat numbing my fingertips. Outside the window stretched the dazzling nightscape of M City, the lights like spilled stars blanketing the crisscrossing streets. Yet my gaze was fixed unblinkingly on the email on my computer screen from back home. The sender was Mike Collins, my half-brother by the same father. The message was brief, a single sentence: "Brother, I am getting married." Attached is an electronic invitation, the bride's name embossed in gold lettering — Mia Lynn. These characters struck like a rusty awl, stabbing deep into my memory, carrying the metallic stench of rust, stirring agony through my very core. That rainy night five years ago was just as bone-piercing. That day, I had just finished my part-time shift at the convenience store, clutching three crumpled hundred. In my pocket was the necklace I had bought for her — a silver-plated chain with a cheap rhinestone pendant, bought with the pocket money I had saved over half a month. The rain poured down relentlessly. I stood beneath the building where she rented an apartment, drenched through and through like a soaked sparrow, yet I clutched the necklace tightly to my chest, fearing the rain would damage it. When she came down, she wore a dress I had never seen before, her makeup flawless, and she carried a brand-new handbag. The moment she saw me, the smile on her face froze instantly, like the surface of a lake locked in winter's grasp. "Finn Collins, just look at what you've become!" Her voice bore the chill of the rain; each word struck me like shards of ice against my face. "Soaked to the bone, clutching a few worthless coins—am I supposed to live off thin air with you? Can you give me the life I deserve?" I opened my mouth then, about to say, "The necklace is for you," but her outstretched hand silenced me. Her nails nearly sank into my arm, the pressure fierce, as if trying to carve out a piece of flesh. "What I want are designer handbags, spacious luxury apartments downtown, and days without the crush of the subway!" She stepped back, rain dripping from her hair's tips, her gaze filled with disdain, sharp as needles. "Can you really afford it? Finn Collins, you can't even support yourself!" Rain mixed with some warm liquid, gathering into droplets at the tip of my chin, falling onto the back of my hand clutching the necklace. It was only then that I realized that some things cannot be won through sincerity alone. The phone suddenly vibrated, its screen lighting up in the darkness—a multimedia message from an unknown domestic number. In the photo, Mia Lynn wore a bespoke pink evening gown, standing before the fountain of a E-style villa. The sunlight bathed her, and the diamond ring on her ring finger sparkled brilliantly. She tilted her head slightly, a triumphant smile curling at the corners of her mouth, as if flaunting a rare and priceless treasure. The accompanying text felt like a dagger laced with poison: "Finn Collins, I hear you're still washing dishes overseas? I'm getting married next Saturday; come and see what a real life looks like. I've sent you the address—don't tell me you can't even afford a plane ticket." I stared at the screen, my knuckles whitening as I clenched my fists, the sharp edges of my phone case pressing into my palm, the pain forcing me to stay painfully aware. Suddenly, a stock market closing alert popped up in the bottom right corner of the computer screen. A line of small text appeared: "Collins Group Global's market value rose 3% today, with its subsidiary's new energy sector leading the gains." Collins Group Global, the company I registered in N City five years ago. Now, its reach has extended into the realms of finance, technology, and new energy. "Hmph." I let out a soft chuckle and opened the ticket booking app. First class, earliest flight tomorrow.