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At my family’s annual charity gala, my husband, Liam, brought his mistress and their son. In front of the governor of Texas, he introduced the woman as “the family foundation’s new consultant.” Then he came to my side and murmured, his voice a low threat only I could hear, “A son, dropped right into our laps. You’ll learn to accept it.” He thought I was still that gentle, elegant Texas socialite who always knew what was best for the family. He thought I hadn’t understood the “development fund” amendment he’d had me sign three years ago. What he didn’t know was that every time he used our money to buy his mistress a house or a car, AmEx sent a purchase notification straight to my phone. More than a thousand of them. I looked at his triumphant face and calmly set down my wineglass. “Liam, can we talk in the lounge?” He didn’t know I’d been waiting three years for this moment, too. Tonight, I hadn’t come to accept anything. I had come to settle the accounts. ... Liam followed me into the lounge and shut the door behind him. The lock clicked, sealing off the glittering falsehood of the party outside. He undid the top button of his tuxedo shirt and leaned against the bar, relaxed, like a king awaiting his curtain call. “Divorce?” he repeated, as if I’d told a terrible joke. “Elena, how exactly do you plan to divorce me?” He didn’t wait for my answer. He picked up the tablet on the bar, tapped the screen, and swiped an asset list in front of my face. “Look at this.” His voice held the casual condescension of a victor. “The condo on Lake Austin, the ski chalet in Aspen, those hedge fund stakes I had my eye on. Ring a bell? They’re all under the development fund.” He swiped the screen again. Each asset gleamed like a medal, a testament to his careful scheming. “And I,” he emphasized, pointing at his chest, “am the sole managing partner of that fund.” He set down the tablet and stepped closer, leaning down to ......

The phone's vibration shattered the silence at 4:47 AM. I jolted awake, my hand instinctively reaching across the king-sized bed before my eyes fully opened. The cold sheets greeted my fingers. Empty. Again. Three days now since Ethan had last slept in our room. I fumbled for my phone on the nightstand, squinting against the harsh blue light of the screen. Unknown number. The message contained a single encrypted file. I tapped it open. The video loaded slowly, the progress bar crawling across the screen. When the image finally crystallized, my breath caught. I sat there in the darkness, my heart pounding in my temples, in my wrists, in the hollow of my throat. *Breathe,* I told myself. *Just breathe.* But breathing felt like swallowing broken glass. I grabbed the phone, shoved it into my pocket, and threw back the covers. Then I headed for the door. --- The underground training facility sprawled beneath Eclipse Pack House. I headed straight for the heavy bags suspended from reinforced ceiling beams in the dim emergency lighting. My bare feet made no sound on the rubber flooring. I didn't bother with wraps or gloves. I just positioned myself in front of the nearest bag and drove my fist into it with everything I had. The impact sent a shock up my arm, but I welcomed the pain. I hit it again, then again, falling into a rhythm that had nothing to do with technique and everything to do with the need to break something, to hurt something the way I was hurting. Left hook. Right cross. Elbow strike. Knee. The bag swung wildly on its chain, the metal links screaming in protest. Sweat soaked through my gray tank top, plastering it to my skin. My knuckles split open, blood smearing across the leather surface of the bag, but the wounds closed almost as quickly as they formed. I lost track of time, lost in the violence of movement, the satisfying thud of flesh meeting resistance. I was lining up for another kick when the overhead lights blazed to life, flooding the training room with harsh fluorescent brightness. "Bella! I was just looking for you—" Ethan's voice rang out from somewhere behind me. I was already committed to the strike, my body in motion, and I heard his footsteps rushing closer. He was moving fast, too fast, and when I spun into the roundhouse kick, he was suddenly right there in my trajectory, close enough that I couldn't pull back. My shin connected with his left cheekbone with a solid crack. Ethan staggered backward two steps, his hand flying up to his face, his black-framed glasses knocked askew. For one brief, satisfying moment, I saw shock and anger flash across his features. "Fuck," he hissed, straightening up and adjusting his glasses with sharp, irritated movements. I lowered my leg slowly, my expression carefully blank. "I didn't see you there." He exhaled hard through his nose, rubbing his jaw. "Yeah, well. I got too excited, ran right into your kick." His tone was clipped, impatient, already dismissing the incident as he moved on to what he'd actually come here for. He put his hands on my shoulders. I went rigid under his touch, every muscle in my body screaming at me to pull away, but I forced myself to stand still. "Bella, listen," he said, his voice pitched high with barely contained joy. "Faye had the baby. A boy. He's perfect. Completely healthy." The words hit me like individual punches, each one landing with precision in the hollow space behind my ribs. "Mom cried when she saw him," Ethan continued, talking faster now, the words tumbling over each other in his rush to get them out. "She said it was a gift from the Moon Goddess. Grandmother couldn't even speak, she was so happy. And Faye, God, Bella, poor Faye. The labor was so hard on her, she's exhausted. She really needs rest now." I stared at him, at this man I'd mated three years ago, this Alpha who'd stood beside me at the Moonstone Altar and promised to honor me as his Luna, his equal, his partner. "You came back just to tell me this?" My voice came out flat, emotionless. Ethan's hands dropped from my shoulders. His jaw tightened. "I came back because you weren't answering your phone. Mom wanted me to remind you to visit the hospital today. Faye's in the VIP maternity ward at Emberhold General. She really wants to see you." "How thoughtful." "Bella." His tone shifted, taking on that edge of warning I knew too well. "I know this might be difficult for you to hear, but Faye is at her most vulnerable right now. She's been worried sick that you'd resent her for this, that it would create division in the pack. The last thing she wants is for this baby to come between us." The laugh that escaped me was sharp enough to cut. "Then maybe you shouldn't have done it in the first place." Ethan went very still. "What did you just say?" "You heard me." I met his eyes squarely, letting him see the ice in mine. "Go back to your son, Ethan. I'm sure he needs you more than I do." I put extra emphasis on the word *son*, let it drip with all the venom I was holding back, and watched his face flush dark. "For fuck's sake." He dragged a hand through his hair. "How many times do we have to have this conversation? It was medical assistance. Artificial insemination. They used my sperm, yes, but Faye and I never—we're not—" "Then why couldn't you tell me from the beginning?" I interrupted, my voice deadly quiet. He opened his mouth, closed it. The truth was, Ethan hadn't been the only one absent from the House these past few days. The entire Grave family had been camped out at Emberhold General Hospital, waiting for Faye to give birth. Faye Porter, daughter of Duskcrown Pack's Alpha, who had married into Eclipse Pack three years ago alongside me. We'd had a double mating ceremony—I'd been bound to the older brother, Ethan, while Faye had been bound to the younger, Evan. The event had been the talk of Emberhold, two Alphas' daughters joining one of the most powerful packs in the region. But the happiness hadn't lasted long. The night before Ethan and Evan were supposed to compete for the Alpha position, Evan had died in a sudden accident. The Grave family had been devastated, guilt-ridden. They'd urged Faye to move on, to find another mate, but she'd refused. She'd chosen to stay, to honor Evan's memory by remaining part of his family. And the Graves had loved her for it. They'd adored this devoted, loyal girl who'd sacrificed her future out of love for their dead son. Adored her enough to find a way to give her what she wanted most—a child carrying Grave blood. With Evan gone, that left only one source for that bloodline. Ethan's jaw tightened. "You want to know why we didn't tell you? Because we knew you'd react exactly like this. Making a scene, being unreasonable." His eyes hardened. "You're Luna of this pack, Bella. You should be celebrating that Eclipse finally has an heir. Moon Goddess knows you haven't managed to provide one in three years." I held his gaze for a long moment, letting the silence stretch between us, letting him see something in my eyes that made his expression falter. Then I turned away, bending down to retrieve my phone from where I'd left it on the floor. "Go back to the hospital, Ethan. I'm sure Faye is waiting for you." I heard him take a breath, heard him start to say something else, but then his phone buzzed. He pulled it out, glanced at the screen, and whatever he saw there made him curse under his breath. "I have to go," he said, already moving toward the door. The door slammed shut behind him, leaving me alone in the too-bright training room with my bloody knuckles and my shattered illusions. I looked down at my phone, at the lock screen showing our mating ceremony photo from three years ago. Me in the traditional silver-gray Luna gown, Ethan in Eclipse Pack's ceremonial deep blue, both of us smiling under moonlight at the Moonstone Altar. I swiped open the phone. The screen lit up, displaying the video I'd watched earlier this morning. Ethan's suit jacket discarded on the floor. Faye's sundress bunched around her waist. Their bodies moving together in a rhythm that told the real story behind Eclipse Pack's miracle baby. This was the truth of what they'd called "medical assistance".

My best friend kissed me at my sister's wedding, and my ex—now the groom—turned pale. This was my revenge script! I should be thrilled! But this wasn't the innocent peck we rehearsed—it was some French kiss, his t0ngue passionately tangling with mine! When he finally let me go, heavy breath on my nose, hot hands lingering too long on my bare back, I saw what burned in his eyes—something far beyond friendship, beyond our pretense! "So this is your secret to seducing all those women? Great acting!" I joked, trying our usual banter while hiding my racing heart. Right in this awkward moment, my parents appeared, asking about "our plans." Perfect timing! But his hand suddenly covered my mouth, gentle yet firm, showing that polite fake smile I knew so well. "The wedding venue is already booked," he said calmly. Pretty thorough planning, this guy. "She can choose any dress she likes. I'm paying," he continued. That...actually sounds nice. Wait, what am I thinking? "After marriage, we plan to have 3 children." WHAT?!!! That was NOT in my life plan! When I finally got to confront him alone, but only be backed against the wall by his chest, "We're friends! This is too—" "Mmmmm—" he kissed me again! But now there's no audience, no reason to perform. "F/ck friendship, I want to claim you. Not just once—I'll commit the sin of greed again and again until you're carrying my child." God, my body took that as seduction—and accepted.

At her mother's funeral, her husband showed up with roses—not for her, but to welcome his first love back home. The woman leaned close and whispered, "The heart your mother waited for? Your husband gave it to me." She didn't cry. She didn't make a scene. In front of everyone, she took off her ring, threw down the divorce papers, and said, "Let's divorce." ===== At the church, a solemn wake was underway. Melanie Becker knelt silently before her mother's coffin, unable to feel her legs any longer. She had remained there since dawn, kneeling without pause for six exhausting hours. In the framed memorial portrait, her mother smiled with quiet warmth. The photograph had been taken last autumn. At that time, her mother had only recently survived her third cardiac operation. The doctors had assured them that a suitable donor heart could restore her to a normal life. She had truly believed there was still time. But the promised future never came. The donor heart never arrived, and her mother slipped away first. Every detail of the funeral had been arranged by herself-the obituary, the invitations, the preparations for the ceremony. She had worked tirelessly from morning until the next sunrise without shedding a single tear. Now, mourners filled the church, all gathered to offer condolences. Their hushed conversations drifted around her like an endless swarm. "Why is she handling everything alone? Wasn't there gossip recently linking her to the President?" "Someone from our background? She should stop dreaming. Everyone knows the President has only ever cared about one woman. He personally met her at the airport today-it's everywhere online." "I'm curious myself. Who could possibly hold that man's heart?" "They say she's the woman he loves. Apparently he reserved an entire terminal just to welcome her home. The photos are unbelievable." Melanie paid no attention to the whispers and kept her face completely devoid of emotion. Just then, her phone vibrated softly, illuminating the dark screen. A breaking-news notification appeared. "Exclusive Report! President Welcomes Mystery Beauty at Airport with Roses." Her gaze sharpened instantly as it landed on the headline. Without hesitation, she opened the article. The strikingly handsome man captured in the photograph was none other than her husband, Shawn Becker. Dressed in a perfectly tailored black coat, he held a bouquet of roses in one hand while the other rested lightly against the woman beside him. From the photographer's angle, they appeared wrapped in an in**mate embrace. The woman's profile was elegant and refined, her long hair cascading over her shoulders as she tilted her head toward Shawn with a soft smile. Together, they looked like a picture-perfect couple. She knew exactly who that woman was-Rylee Watson, the first woman Shawn had ever loved, the one who had occupied his heart for an entire decade. Three years earlier, Rylee had left the country to pursue her studies abroad. After seeing her off, Shawn remained at the airport until morning. The following day, he married Melanie. The circumstances behind their marriage were almost laughably absurd. Years ago, Melanie had saved Shawn's grandfather during an accident. In gratitude, the elderly man insisted on arranging a marriage between them. Melanie still remembered Shawn's icy expression when he said, "I'll honor my grandfather's wishes and marry you, but you'll never have a place in my heart." Three full years. They had spent three years as husband and wife in secret. There had been no ceremony, no wedding bands, and not a single word of affection. To the outside world, the President remained an unmarried man. For a long time, Melanie convinced herself she didn't mind. She had believed that three years might eventually nurture something between them. If not love, then perhaps companionship. If not affection, then at least responsibility, familiarity, or mutual respect. Only now did she realize how fo**ish that hope had been. Her mother had been hospitalized nine separate times, and Shawn had never once appeared. Yet the instant Rylee returned home, he personally greeted her at the airport-roses in hand, a private terminal cleared for her arrival, every camera in the city documenting the occasion. As her eyes lingered on the photograph, Melanie let out a low laugh directed entirely at herself. This farce had gone on long enough. Without warning, a stir erupted outside. A black Maybach pulled up in front of the church. The vehicle came to a stop, and two people stepped out. Melanie did not bother turning around. Shawn entered the church, the chill of the winter air still clinging to his dark overcoat. He approached the coffin, bowed respectfully, and said evenly, "Mrs. Perry, may you rest peacefully." Every gesture was perfectly appropriate. Yet those formal words cut far deeper than cruelty ever could. He was her husband in the eyes of the law, yet he addressed her mother like a distant acquaintance rather than family. Afterward, he looked at Melanie and said calmly, "I got stuck in bad traffic." Bad traffic. The excuse was so ridiculous it made Melanie sneer internally. Bracing herself, she rose unsteadily to her feet, her numb legs threatening to give way beneath her. Meeting Shawn's eyes directly, she asked, "Does it really matter whether you arrived early or late? My mother was hospitalized nine times. Did you ever come see her even once?" A faint crease appeared between Shawn's brows. "My work schedule has been demanding." "Is that so? Then how did you find time to personally welcome your former lover home?" "Rylee serves as an interpreter for an international delegation. Meeting her was part of my official duties," Shawn replied emotionlessly. "Melanie, stop making this into something it isn't." Something it wasn't?! How absurd. Only then did Melanie fully notice the woman standing behind him. Rylee wore an elegant black coat tailored to perfection, highlighting her smooth complexion. Her delicate features and poised demeanor made her seem almost unreal. In her hands was a bouquet of pristine white roses. Rylee stepped forward and spoke gently. "Melanie, I'm deeply sorry for your loss. These flowers are for your mother. Please accept my condolences." As she spoke, she approached the casket and carefully laid the roses beside it. Then she moved toward Melanie, opening her arms as though intending to offer comfort. The instant she drew close enough, Rylee lowered her voice so only Melanie could hear. "Melanie, do you know something? That donor heart your mother waited for-Shawn gave it to me instead. Imagine that-your mother died without ever knowing that the heart she desperately needed was handed to someone else by your own husband." Melanie went completely still, as though every drop of bl**d in her body had frozen. "He told me that anything I wanted would be mine. The person who isn't loved is the true outsider. If you have any pride left, you'll divorce him yourself." Then Rylee lightly patted her shoulder, every movement graceful and compassionate, as if she were sincerely comforting a grieving daughter. Melanie's pupils contracted violently, and her breathing became uneven. As she stared at Rylee's flawless mask of innocence, all the heartbreak, humiliation, and despair she had endured for three years erupted into uncontrollable rage. Her hand flew upward, aiming directly for Rylee's face. Chapter 2 Shawn, I Want A Divorce Before Melanie's palm could so much as brush Rylee's cheek, a crushing force clamped around her wrist. She lifted her gaze and collided with Shawn's frost-laden stare. "Have you completely lost your judgment? How dare you cause a scene at your mother's wake?" Shawn's voice rang with unquestionable command. Melanie looked back at him, her swollen eyes stained crimson. "Take your hand off me." "Do you realize what you were about to do? Rylee came here out of respect for your mother, and you repay that by raising your hand against her? If people hear about this, you'll become everyone's scandal." Shawn's tone lowered. Out of respect. The phrase sounded like a cruel joke to Melanie. To him, Rylee remained the tender first love etched permanently into his heart, while she herself was nothing more than a troublemaker stirring chaos. Her voice quivered as though every syllable tore through her ch**t. "Then tell me-why did you give the heart my mother desperately needed to Rylee?" As soon as the accusation echoed through the church, silence descended over every guest present. A faint crease appeared between Shawn's brows. Reading the atmosphere, the mourners quietly excused themselves until only the three of them were left beneath the vast, solemn ceiling. "What exactly are you implying? What heart are you talking about?" Shawn asked evenly. Melanie held his gaze, her fingernails biting so deeply into her skin that crescents formed in her palms. "Last November at Mercy Hospital. The donor heart that matched my mother-you used your connections to make sure it went to Rylee instead, didn't you?" For two long seconds, Shawn said nothing. Then recognition surfaced. When he finally answered, the sharpness in his voice had noticeably faded. "Rylee suffered a sudden cardiac episode. She was in immediate danger and required a transplant without delay. That donor heart was the most suitable match." "And my mother wasn't in danger?" Melanie snapped before he could continue. "She waited eight entire months for that transplant! The doctors warned us her heart could fail without warning-that death could come at any moment!" The final words burst from her in a near scream. Shawn swallowed hard. He stared at the tears streaking down Melanie's face, and an unfamiliar ache tightened around his heart. His lips moved slightly. "I didn't know. I was aware your mother needed a transplant, but I had no idea her condition had become that serious. I believed she was still waiting and had more time. Rylee's case was critical. The doctors said she might not survive another forty-eight hours." At those words, Rylee slowly raised her head, tears immediately gathering in her eyes. "Melanie, I'm truly sorry. I never knew your mother was waiting for the same heart. If I had known, I would never have-" "You would never have what?" Melanie turned toward her with startling speed, her eyes cutting like blades. "Why don't you repeat what you said earlier now that Shawn is standing here?" The color drained from Rylee's face, and her trembling voice barely carried. "I understand you're heartbroken, but you can't accuse me of things that aren't true. I only came here to honor your mother. I'm sorry. This is all because of me." The tears glistening on her delicate features made her appear heartbreakingly vulnerable. Her body wavered weakly, as though consciousness was slipping away. "Rylee!" Shawn moved without hesitation, catching her before she could fall. Rylee leaned into his ch**t, her lips pale and parted. "Melanie, I'm sorry. I... I feel dizzy..." The next second, she slumped against him. "Rylee!" Panic sharpened Shawn's voice. She remained limp in his embrace, her complexion drained of all color. Shawn turned to Melanie, his eyes colder than winter ice. "You're being utterly irrational." Without another word, he bent down, gathered Rylee into his arms, and headed toward the exit. Melanie stepped directly in front of him, her tone unnervingly composed. "Shawn, I want a divorce." Shawn halted instantly, Rylee still cradled against him. "What did you just say?" "You've spent all these years unable to let her go, haven't you? I'm giving you the ending you've always wanted. You're free." Melanie's voice carried no emotion. "Melanie, think very carefully before you do this." Shawn's lowered tone left no doubt it was a warning. "I already have." Shawn studied her for several moments before a chilling laugh escaped him. "Fine. Just don't come crawling back with regrets. You saved my grandfather's life, and marrying you was my way of repaying that debt. From this moment on, we owe each other nothing." With that, he walked out of the church, Rylee secure in his arms. Not long afterward, the deep growl of a black Maybach's engine broke the stillness as it rolled away from the church. Several relatives who had been secretly watching from the entrance hurried aside and began murmuring among themselves. Silence reclaimed the church. Melanie remained motionless, staring after the vehicle until it vanished completely. No one present realized that a marriage spanning three years had ended within those few restrained sentences. Nor did anyone know she had ever been Shawn's wife in the first place. Now, she was his soon-to-be ex-wife. She slowly turned toward her mother's portrait. The moment she saw that familiar gentle smile, her composure shattered. "Mom, I'm sorry. I failed you. I couldn't even get the transplant that might have saved your life." Her knees gave way beneath her as she collapsed to the floor, pressing her forehead against the icy tiles while sobs wracked her body. Outside the doorway, someone released a heavy sigh. "That poor girl lost her mother and still has to endure all this." "And that woman was obviously pretending. Who just happens to faint at the perfect moment?" "She's a Watson, after all. Naturally Mr. President would choose her side. As for Melanie? She's just an orphan with no one left to protect her." "Lower your voice." Melanie heard the whispers but let them wash over her. After the storm of grief finally subsided, she slowly raised her head and brushed away the tears staining her face. The pendant resting around her neck had slipped free from beneath her clothing. Her gaze settled on it, and her mother's final words resurfaced vividly in her mind. "Sweetie, your birth parents left this pendant behind for you. You were never my biological daughter-I chose to raise you as my own. After I'm gone, you must find the family you came from." So the Perry bl**dline had never truly been hers. Melanie wrapped her fingers tightly around the pendant, and the warmth slowly disappeared from her eyes, replaced by something cold and resolute. Chapter 3 I'm Your Brother, Melanie After laying her adoptive mother to rest, Melanie made her way back to the secluded residence where she had spent the last three years of her life. The villa belonged to Shawn-a quiet, forgotten property hidden deep within the lonely outskirts. She stepped into the master bedroom and quietly began gathering her things. There was little to pack-only a handful of clothes. Nothing else felt worth taking. After living in that room for three years, she realized none of it had ever truly felt like hers. Donna Collins, a servant, stood at the doorway, surprise evident in her voice. "Mrs. Becker, what are you doing?" Without lifting her head, Melanie answered, "I'm packing. I'm leaving." Donna stood frozen, emotions flickering across her face. For three years she had served in that house and scarcely seen Shawn. During that time, she had witnessed Melanie endure endless days and nights in solitude. "But, Mr. President-" "Someone else will be living this life in my place soon," Melanie replied evenly, pulling the zipper shut on her suitcase. Donna looked as though she wanted to say something, yet eventually turned away without a word. Melanie's eyes swept across the bedroom she had occupied for three long years. The space was dressed entirely in black, white, and gray-a lifeless elegance that mirrored Shawn's detached nature. For three full years, not a single friend or relative had ever crossed that threshold. Donna had been the only person beside her. The outside world knew nothing of her marriage to Shawn. Newspapers and broadcasts were crowded with stories of the President's accomplishments and international affairs, occasionally speculating about his marital status. A sudden disturbance echoed from downstairs. Leaving her room behind, Melanie headed toward the staircase and found two orderly lines of bodyguards stationed throughout the living room. At the center stood Shawn, his commanding presence impossible to overlook. Melanie halted where she stood. She never expected him to appear there. Over the course of three years, he had returned to this house only a few times. The sight of Melanie descending the stairs with a suitcase caused Shawn's brows to knit together. "Where are you going?" he asked. Melanie offered no response and continued her descent. Shawn climbed several steps and positioned himself directly in her path. His eyes settled on the luggage in her hand, his expression growing noticeably darker. "I asked you something," he said in a low voice. "Where are you going?" "My attorney has already prepared the divorce agreement. It will arrive at your office tomorrow," Melanie replied evenly. "Sign it and send it back. After that, there will be no reason for us to meet again." Shawn studied her silently for a few moments before letting out a cold, humorless chuckle. "The divorce isn't the priority right now," he said in a tone that brooked no resistance. "You're coming with me first. You owe Rylee an apology for the scene you caused at the memorial." At last, Melanie raised her eyes and met his gaze directly. There was a chilling stillness in her expression. "What did you just say?" "You nearly pushed Rylee into another medical crisis. She only recently underwent surgery, and her doctors specifically warned her against emotional strain. She did nothing wrong. You're apologizing to her." Melanie's fingers tightened around the suitcase handle. Did nothing wrong. Those words struck her harder than any s**p. "Shawn, only Rylee herself knows whether she's innocent or not. Ask her if you want the truth. But an apology from me will never happen." With that, she pulled her suitcase forward, slipped past him, and made for the entrance. "Melanie!" Shawn's voice cracked through the room. "If you leave today, don't expect to ever come back!" Her steps paused briefly. She never looked over her shoulder. "That's fine," she responded quietly. "I never intended to." For a moment, Shawn was speechless. He watched her standing there in a simple white dress-delicate as porcelain, yet calm beyond reason. "Fine," he said with a sharp, bitter laugh. "Then there's no point dragging this out. Sign the agreement, and from today onward, you're no longer the First Lady." He gestured to one of his subordinates, who immediately brought the documents forward. Melanie didn't bother reading a single page. She simply picked up the pen and signed. Throughout their three years together, Shawn had treated her with such indifference that no one even knew the nation's First Lady existed. A shadow crossed Shawn's face. Her decisiveness had caught him completely off guard. The reaction genuinely unsettled him. He had assumed she was acting on impulse, never imagining she would agree so readily and walk away asking for nothing. Melanie straightened her shoulders and passed him without sparing him another glance. Their hollow marriage, sustained for three years without affection, had finally collapsed because of another woman. Since someone else already occupied the place she could never claim, ending it cleanly was the only sensible choice. "You're pitiful, Shawn. A man like you will never understand what real love is." Those were her final words before she walked away without hesitation. At that moment, several presidential aides rushed into the hall, panic written across their faces. "Mr. President!" one of them exclaimed breathlessly. "A convoy of luxury vehicles has arrived outside and sealed off the front entrance!" Shawn's forehead creased. Security around the villa was exceptionally strict; ordinary visitors could never breach the perimeter. "Who is responsible for this?" Shawn demanded sharply. Before anyone could respond, synchronized footsteps echoed from outside. The sound suggested an entire group advancing together. Melanie instinctively turned her attention toward the entrance and saw rows of men dressed in black forming a disciplined corridor on either side of the doorway. Every one of them wore dark suits and sunglasses, standing with military precision and an unmistakable air of authority. At the center of the formation stood a young man. A finely tailored black trench coat draped over his broad frame, emphasizing his commanding stature. His features were strikingly defined, his gaze keen and formidable, and power seemed woven into every movement he made. Then his eyes landed on Melanie-and the icy edge around him dissolved instantly. "Melanie," he said, his voice unexpectedly gentle, "I've finally found you." He looked at her with unmistakable warmth, as though countless unspoken words rested behind his gaze. Melanie stared at him in bewilderment. "And you are?" She was absolutely certain they had never crossed paths before. Yet the instant their eyes met, something stirred unexpectedly within her ch**t. It wasn't anxiety or alarm. It was something entirely different-an unexplainable feeling of recognition that seemed to come from somewhere deep within her soul. The man spoke softly. "My name is Vincent Reid. I'm your brother, Melanie. I've come to bring you home." Brother? Had she somehow fallen into a dream? The family she had planned to search for had truly appeared before her. Chapter 4 How Could You Betray Me Seeing Melanie rooted to the spot in disbelief, Vincent closed the distance between them. He slipped a hand into the pocket of his trench coat and drew out an object-a pendant. It was an exact match to the one resting against Melanie's ch**t. The intricate piece bore a finely engraved family crest and the name "Reid." Melanie's fingers trembled uncontrollably. Her lips parted, but the emotion clogging her throat robbed her of speech. "It's been twenty years since you were stolen from our family. Back then, you were only five years old." Vincent's voice thickened with emotion. "Not a single day has passed without Mom and Dad searching for you." A rush of tears instantly blurred Melanie's vision. Before she could react, Vincent stepped forward and gathered her gently into his arms. In that single moment, every ounce of grief she had buried and every wall she had painstakingly built collapsed completely. She truly had a family. Holding her securely, Vincent st**ked her back with quiet reassurance. "You're safe now," he whispered. "From this day forward, you belong with us. No one will ever hurt you again." Those words shattered the last of her restraint. A sob escaped her as tears poured freely down her cheeks and she managed to say, "So I really have parents-and a brother. I'm not by myself anymore." "Never again. Everyone has been waiting for you to come home. From now on, our family will stay together. As for the Beckers, they'll answer for everything." With each sentence, the temperature in Vincent's gaze seemed to drop. By the end, every trace of tenderness had hardened into something glacial. Melanie stared at the brother who had suddenly entered her life, her heart tangled with countless emotions. Her adoptive mother's final request echoed in her mind-to find her true family. She had never expected fate to answer so quickly. "Vincent," she said softly. A subtle stiffness crossed Vincent's shoulders. "Yes?" "What exactly do you do?" Melanie finally asked, her eyes flicking toward the rows of black-clad men surrounding him. A faint curve touched Vincent's lips, carrying an edge that felt unexpectedly dangerous. "What does it look like to you?" Before Melanie could respond, an enraged voice exploded behind them. "What exactly is going on here?" Shawn had never imagined he would step outside and find Melanie wrapped in another man's embrace. At the sound of the interruption, Vincent lifted his gaze, and all warmth vanished from his expression. "So you're Shawn Becker," he said, his voice sharp with contempt. The moment Shawn got a clear look at him, recognition struck. This was Vincent-the eldest son of the Reid family and the man who controlled the largest criminal empire, Grim Reapers, in Auloxia. His influence stretched across continents, reaching both legitimate industries and the underworld alike. Few people dared challenge him. And the Reid family stood at the very pinnacle of wealth and secrecy within Auloxia. They held no official political office and commanded no military forces, yet vast portions of the nation's economy lay firmly within their grasp. Energy, technology, medicine, defense-there was hardly a major industry untouched by their influence. The weight of their power was enough to unsettle the entire balance of the nation. Shawn could not understand why Vincent was standing inside one of his properties with his soon-to-be ex-wife in his arms. What exactly connected them? A man and woman standing this close left little room for innocent assumptions. Almost instantly, Shawn reached his own conclusion. Vincent had to be Melanie's lover. That was the only explanation for her sudden determination to divorce him. D**n it! She must have been seeing another man behind his back all along. A surge of fury exploded inside Shawn. Turning toward Melanie, he barked, "Melanie, how could you betray me?" Melanie let out a cold laugh. She understood immediately what Shawn was thinking, but explaining herself felt pointless. They were getting a divorce. His opinions no longer mattered. "Shawn, you're allowed to keep another woman by your side, but I'm forbidden from moving on? And don't forget-I was the one who wanted to end this marriage. I walked away from you," she shot back. Shawn's expression darkened dramatically. At that moment, Rylee rushed over, uneasy that events might not be unfolding the way she had hoped. Earlier, while pretending to be unconscious, she had overheard Melanie mention divorce and had been desperate to learn what happened afterward. Yet the sight before her stopped her cold. Watching Melanie sheltered in the arms of a man so strikingly handsome filled her with instant envy. How could Melanie always be this fortunate?! She wasn't officially divorced yet, and she had already found another exceptional man. One glance at Rylee was enough for Vincent to piece everything together. Before coming here, he had already uncovered the entire truth. These two shameless people were the very ones who had tormented his beloved sister. "Let's go, Melly." Shawn's face became frighteningly dark, rage swirling violently in his eyes. "Stop right there!" The command cracked through the air with unquestionable authority. A suffocating stillness seemed to descend over the surroundings. Keeping an arm around Melanie, Vincent paused briefly but didn't even bother looking back. As the youngest president ever elected in Auloxia, Shawn had never experienced such blatant disregard. Everything should have remained under his control. Yet another man was openly taking away the woman who belonged to him. "Mr. Reid, you're overstepping," Shawn said, his voice heavy with menace. "I don't care how powerful you are. If you intend to take her away, you'll need my approval first." As the words fell, the rows of black-suited bodyguards behind him moved forward in silent unison. The atmosphere instantly tightened. Without thinking, Melanie's fingers curled around Vincent's sleeve. Both sides drew their weapons and trained them on one another. The opposing groups stood locked in a tense standoff, ready to react at the slightest provocation. Vincent understood perfectly well that Shawn's men were bluffing-they would never risk opening fire here. He hadn't come to start a war today. His purpose was simple-bring his sister home. "Lower your weapons," Vincent instructed. Then, with his arm still protectively around Melanie's shoulders, he led her toward the waiting vehicle. The door closed behind them, and the engine roared to life at once. Within moments, the convoy swept down the boulevard and disappeared from view. Shawn remained standing at the entrance, his fists clenched until the bones in his hands ached. His eyes stayed fixed on the road where Melanie had vanished, while an unfamiliar frustration tightened inside his ch**t. The sensation felt utterly foreign. He knew he had never loved her. Yet watching her leave without a single backward glance, protected so naturally at another man's side, stirred something deep within him that he could neither understand nor suppress. Chapter 5 This Is Where You Live "Shawn, are you okay?" Rylee asked softly, her voice wrapped in carefully crafted concern. "How did Melanie end up being picked up by someone like that? He looked incredibly influential." As she spoke, her eyes drifted to the signed divorce agreement in Shawn's grasp, and a flash of satisfaction slipped through her gaze. A dull ache pulsed at Shawn's temples. Suppressing the storm inside him, he replied coolly, "Why are you here? Shouldn't you still be recovering in the hospital?" Rylee subtly poured more fuel onto the fire. "I was concerned about you. Besides, I couldn't stop wondering why Melanie agreed to divorce you so easily. When a woman walks away that decisively, either she's completely stopped caring or she already has someone else waiting for her." Shawn's eyes narrowed. The possibility struck a nerve. Otherwise, how could Vincent have appeared almost immediately after Melanie signed the papers? If she had arranged everything beforehand, then it all made sense. Shawn's jaw tightened as his breathing deepened. Three years of marriage-and all that time she had another man behind his back while he knew nothing. His hands curled into fists so tightly that the veins stood out sharply beneath his skin, his knuckles drained of color. "Shawn, please don't torture yourself like this. It pains me to see you suffering," Rylee said gently, her voice trembling with vulnerability. Shawn lowered his gaze to the divorce papers he still held, fury swallowing every rational thought. Without warning, he tore them. The sharp rip echoed through the air. Then he ripped the halves apart again and again, shredding them relentlessly until nothing remained except scattered fragments littering the floor. "What are you doing? Why would you destroy them?" Rylee exclaimed, unable to hide her shock. She had waited far too long for this moment-for Shawn and Melanie's marriage to finally end and for those papers to become official. Once the divorce was processed and approved, her path to becoming First Lady would finally be clear. Yet now, standing at the edge of everything she wanted, she could only watch Shawn destroy the divorce agreement. It felt as though her own ambitions were being ripped apart alongside the document. She clasped her hands together so tightly her fingertips lost all color. She refused to accept this outcome. Rylee's lips quivered, and tears slowly gathered in her eyes. "Shawn, you can't bear to lose Melanie, can you?" Shawn said nothing. "You saw it yourself! She was wrapped in another man's arms in front of everyone! She's been betraying you this entire time!" Rylee continued. "Enough." Shawn's voice wasn't loud, but its weight left no room for challenge. Rylee pressed her lips together. She knew Shawn well enough to recognize the warning and understood she couldn't push further. "Alright, I'll leave." Her tone softened once more into something meek and delicate. "Please don't dwell on this too much. Take care of yourself." With that, she turned and walked away. The moment Shawn could no longer see her face, however, every trace of wounded fragility disappeared, replaced by chilling resentment. Her thoughts immediately settled on Melanie. That woman truly was remarkable. Even after signing divorce papers, she still held enough influence to make Shawn destroy them. But she wasn't worried. There were always other ways to break a marriage apart. After Rylee's departure, Shawn pulled out his phone and dialed a number. "Look into Vincent Reid. I want every piece of information you can find on his connection to Melanie. Leave nothing out," he said coldly. After receiving a brief response, Shawn ended the call. His expression darkened as he muttered through clenched teeth, "Melanie, you think you can divorce me and walk straight into another man's arms? Keep dreaming. I'll make sure you learn exactly what it costs to betray me." ....... What happens next? 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