Survival Pact

My name is Yvette Scott, the true heiress of the Scott Family who went missing for fifteen years. Three months after being recognized by the Scott Family, the morning sunlight had just climbed over the villa's carved railings when a piercing roar of engines shattered the tranquility of the courtyard. I stood behind the second-floor curtains, watching the convoy of five black cars pull up steadily at the entrance. Two men dressed in black suits and wearing sunglasses stepped out of the lead car. Mrs. Scott's piercing scream echoed from downstairs, mixed with Mr. Scott's stifled gasp. Holding the stair railing, I descended the stairs and just happened to see the two men in suits carrying a velvet box into the living room. The moment they opened it, the light refracted by the diamond necklace inside was painfully dazzling. "Mr. Scott, Mrs. Scott," the man on the left said in a voice utterly void of warmth, "this is the betrothal gift prepared by Mr. Stafford, valued at ten million." He paused, his gaze sweeping across the people in the living room. "Mr. Stafford is marrying the Scott Family heiress; come and take her away now." The living room instantly fell deathly silent. Caroline Scott rushed out from the kitchen, dressed in a pink princess dress. As the fake heiress the Scott Family had kept for fifteen years, her face was filled with panic and disbelief. Mr. Scott's eyes darted back and forth between me and Caroline Scott, his Adam's apple bobbing as he struggled to find words. Suddenly, Mrs. Scott grabbed my wrist with such strength it nearly crushed my bones. "It's you, Yvette, it has to be you." Her voice trembled with tears but held an unyielding certainty, "Only you have met James Stafford; you must be the one he's looking for." Suddenly, I remembered the man in the black trench coat at the corner coffee shop three months ago. He accidentally knocked over my coffee and handed me a handkerchief embroidered with silver patterns; the coldness of his fingertips was startling. That was my only interaction with James Stafford; we didn't exchange a single word. "I won't go." I forcefully pulled my hand away from Mrs. Scott and stepped back, leaning against the stairs. The name James Stafford is known by everyone in City R; as the head of the Stafford Group, he is ruthless, and rumors say he has a violent streak, with blood on his hands. A man like that suddenly sending a dowry worth millions can never be because of a mere acquaintance. Caroline Scott hid behind Mr. Scott and timidly said, "Dad, Mom, I haven't met Mr. Stafford. He definitely doesn't want to marry me." The Man in a Suit's gaze darkened as he reached with his right hand toward his waist, where a hard object was visibly bulging. Mrs. Scott's face went pale as she pushed me toward the door. "Yvette, I beg you, the Scott Family can't afford to have any trouble." Her tears fell on the back of my hand, burning yet cold. "You're going to the Stafford Family. Behave yourself; Mr. Stafford won't treat you unfairly." She pushed me, and I stumbled into the arms of the man in a suit. The man's palm clamped my arm like an iron grip, shoving me into the back seat of the car. The car window slowly rolled up. I watched Caroline Scott standing at the doorway, a faint, elusive smile playing at the corner of her lips. After driving for forty minutes, the car stopped before an ancient castle built against the mountain. The black iron gate slowly opened, revealing a neatly trimmed rose garden inside, though the air was tinged with a faint scent of disinfectant.