Shawn did not return that evening.

By nine the next morning, Melanie was sent the separation documents she had arranged to have prepared last night.

She opened the file on her computer and carefully examined every line from start to finish.

The printer hummed as sheet after sheet emerged. She stacked them together, fastened the pages, then wrote her signature with steady certainty.

When she replaced the lid on the pen, it felt as though something deep inside her had sealed shut forever.

Taking out her phone, she arranged for a delivery service. At noon sharp, the package would reach the presidential residence and be placed personally before Shawn.

Bath. Fresh clothes. Luggage.

She owned almost nothing. All three years of her life could be reduced to one travel case. It was the same one she had brought when she first arrived, and now it would carry her away again. The irony stung.

Her reflection looked exhausted, shadows staining the skin beneath her eyes, yet the strain that usually lingered on her face had disappeared. Although sleep had escaped her, she seemed strangely lighter. Freedom was beginning to replace despair. She had finally decided to stop wasting herself on something already broken.

At half past ten, Melanie stepped beyond the gates with her suitcase beside her.

Donna Collins, the live-in housekeeper, was tending to the flowers nearby. Catching sight of her, she called out, "Heading out of town, Mrs. Becker?"

Melanie simply dipped her head with a faint expression that barely qualified as a smile.

Donna continued staring after her in confusion. Normally, she would linger for a conversation, pointing out tiny adjustments around the house, such as moving decorations or replacing scented fragrances. Today, she walked away without mentioning a single thing.

After passing the envelope to the courier, Melanie drove off without once checking the rearview mirror.

Meanwhile, at the presidential residence, Shawn had only just wrapped up a punishing international conference.

He reclined in his seat, eyes shut, grabbing a brief moment to recover.

Several foreign disputes had erupted overnight, dragging him back unexpectedly to contain the fallout. Fatigue pressed against his skull like a vice, leaving him mentally hollowed out.

He had gone ten hours without food, and a persistent discomfort twisted through his abdomen.

Years of Melanie's careful attention had made his stomach dependent on routine.

Shawn had spent most of his life abusing his health through nonstop work, irregular schedules, and constant travel. The damage had caught up with him long ago.

Aware of his condition, Melanie devoted herself for three straight years to preparing mild meals he could handle. Soups, broths, soft dishes. Anything gentle enough not to aggravate his stomach.

Even on nights when work kept him awake until dawn, she always left hot soup waiting in a thermal container.

Recently, though, the endless pressure from international affairs and government duties had caused him to ignore meals entirely.

A knock sounded at the office door before his secretary, Allen White, entered carrying a tan envelope.

"Sir, this was delivered from Mrs. Becker," Allen said carefully.

Without opening his eyes, Shawn pressed his fingers against his temple and answered flatly, "Leave it."

Allen set the envelope on the desk and turned to go, but Shawn interrupted him.

"Hold on."

Slowly lifting his gaze, Shawn spoke through exhaustion. "Call Melanie and ask her to send over something easy on the stomach."

After a brief pause, another thought surfaced. "And contact the hospital. Tell them to arrange her mother's operation immediately."

The instant he said it, Melanie's icy words from the previous night echoed in his memory. "There's no reason to."

A crease formed between his brows. He knew he had barely paid attention to her lately.

After considering it further, he added, "Buy something expensive too. I'll take it back with me later."

His workload was already unbearable. Surely, she would understand the gesture and stop creating scenes.

Allen blinked in disbelief. Operation? Melanie's mother had already died.

He spoke carefully. "Mr. President... Mrs. Becker's mother already..."

Before he could finish, the desk phone rang with an overseas call.

Shawn's expression hardened immediately. Motioning for Allen to leave, he answered and crossed toward the windows while continuing the conversation.

Allen exited quietly, shutting the door behind him while still stunned. "He must be under too much pressure. How could he forget something like that?"

Remembering the earlier instruction, Allen attempted to contact Melanie. The call disconnected after several rings. He then phoned the villa, where Donna informed him Melanie had gone away on business. Allen frowned in confusion. Business? Melanie had never worked outside the home. Since when did she even have a career?

Concerned over Shawn's temper and empty stomach, Allen arranged for a light seafood soup along with a few simple dishes to be delivered immediately.

By the time Shawn returned that night, the clock had already reached ten. Darkness swallowed the entire house.

He entered while loosening his tie, tossing his blazer carelessly onto a hallway cabinet.

The silence inside was oppressive, broken only by the sound of his own steps.

Irritated, he flipped on the lights. The sudden brightness exposed a hollow, lifeless house that immediately put him on edge. Even during his longest overseas trips, Melanie always kept a lamp burning because she knew he disliked coming home to darkness.

His gaze swept across the kitchen. No fruit sat on the counter. The refrigerator shelves were empty too.

He unlocked his phone and opened his conversation with Melanie. Her profile remained unchanged: plain username, familiar photograph, and the small Do Not Disturb symbol beside it.

Their last interaction dated back three days.

Message after message filled the screen unanswered. Missed calls. Questions asking why he refused to answer. Pleas begging him to come home. A final heartbreaking question asking why he gave the heart her mother desperately needed to someone else.

At the time, Rylee had been in critical condition, and he had dismissed Melanie's behavior as needless drama.

After all, he had confirmed that her mother was stable then. There had seemed to be no crisis.

Scrolling higher, he noticed almost every message came from Melanie.

She had sent him snapshots of flowers blooming in the yard, updates about tiny successes in her day, reminders to wear warmer clothes while traveling, and questions about which fruit he wanted stocked at home.

Most of his responses consisted of a single indifferent reply. Sometimes he ignored her completely.

He had always assumed constant communication was pointless since they saw each other often enough anyway.

Setting the unopened gift aside, he poured water into a glass and typed a message.

"How is the trip going? When are you returning? I'll take you to your favorite restaurant."

After reading it over, he erased the entire thing.

"How long will you stay away? When are you coming back?"

Deleted again.

Finally, irritation won. "Why aren't you home?"

He pressed send.

Minutes passed with no answer.

A strange discomfort settled in his chest. He dialed her number. The call ended after three rings. He tried again with the same outcome.

He headed upstairs toward the dressing room. Her clothing, purses, and jewelry remained perfectly arranged. Makeup and skincare still covered the vanity. Only a handful of everyday belongings were gone.

When he saw that, some of the tension left his body.

"Track down where Melanie went," he ordered through the phone.

His expression darkened. She was ignoring every call and message. What the heck was going on?

Allen hesitated on the other end before replying, "I only heard she traveled somewhere."

"Where exactly?" Shawn snapped.

"I don't know yet. I checked transportation records and found no recent bookings under her identity," Allen answered quickly.

After a cautious pause, he continued, "Maybe everything surrounding her mother affected her more than expected. She could be staying with a friend until she calms down."

Privately, Allen knew Melanie rarely stayed angry for long. But what Shawn had done crossed every line imaginable. Treating her that way during a family tragedy was cruel enough to destroy a marriage.

Still, speaking that truth aloud to the President would amount to career suicide.

Following a long silence, Allen carefully suggested, "Perhaps you should wait a few days... then apologize to her."

Shawn laughed once, cold and humorless. "I'm assigning you overseas for a month."

Allen had no response. The line disconnected.

Rage hardened Shawn's features.

Apologize?

Melanie's constant defiance had clearly gone too far.

He had indulged her excessively, and now she no longer remembered her position.

The unanswered message on his screen only intensified his temper.

So, she wanted to ignore him?

Fine.

Standing beside the bed with his jaw tight and phone gripped firmly in one hand, he typed one last message filled with anger.

"Do not return until you realize your mistake."

The second it was delivered, he threw the phone onto the mattress and disappeared into the bathroom.

Close to eleven o'clock, Shawn emerged from the shower room.

He lingered beside the mattress, staring down at the screen gripped tightly in his palm. Their conversation history looked painfully one-sided. Every message came from him. Every missed call belonged to him too.

His jaw hardened.

Melanie had never shut him out before. Not once.

Usually, she was the first to give in. She would call, text, apologize, and smooth things over before he even had to ask. That pattern had always remained unchanged.

Yet tonight, the silence had stretched on for three straight hours.

He tried reaching her again. The ringtone sounded four times before the connection abruptly cut off. When he dialed once more, the call skipped almost immediately to voicemail.

With a curse under his breath, Shawn tossed the phone onto the sheets and roughly pulled at the neckline of his robe, irritation blazing hotter by the second.

He strode toward the dressing room, intending to change clothes, then suddenly halted.

Something was missing. The pile of simple clothes Melanie always wore around the house, faded jeans and soft white shirts that looked plain and outdated, had vanished from the corner.

He jerked open one of the drawers nearby. Inside sat every piece of jewelry he had ever purchased for her: bracelets, rings, earrings, necklaces. None had been touched. Several still carried their original tags.

She had taken only what belonged to her.

A terrible understanding settled over him at once. Melanie was gone for good.

The anger evaporated instantly, swallowed by an icy sense of panic.

He immediately rang Allen's private number. When the call connected, his tone came out sharp and deadly calm. "Locate Melanie immediately."

A brief silence followed before Allen answered carefully, "Mr. President... There's no sign of her anywhere. She hasn't booked a hotel, rented a place, or used any of her cards. I checked every account connected to her name. Nothing turned up."

Shawn's expression darkened further. "She's still human. She needs somewhere to stay and something to eat. People don't vanish into thin air. Question everyone close to her."

"Yes, Mr. President." The call ended.

...

Far from the city, Melanie sat quietly inside the small bungalow that had once belonged to her mother in the old neighborhood.

The tiny house felt crowded with aging furniture, its lone window overlooking a narrow patch of yard outside.

Her phone rested upside down near her plate with the sound muted. The display kept glowing repeatedly before fading black again.

She glanced at it briefly.

Four missed calls. Three unread texts. The messages had shifted from impatience to authority, then finally to fury. All coming from Shawn.

Without reacting, Melanie turned the phone over again and continued eating her meal.

She understood Shawn too well. He was not searching for her because he cared. What he wanted back was her devotion, the obedient version of her that revolved around him.

After dinner, she prepared to leave the house. She needed work. She needed a fresh beginning.

The moment she stepped outside, she froze. Steady footsteps reached her ears.

A group of men approached.

Lifting her gaze, Melanie saw two straight lines of bodyguards stationed before the gate.

Every one of them wore black suits and dark glasses, standing motionless with military discipline. Together, they radiated an oppressive kind of authority.

At the center stood a man.

A perfectly fitted black coat hung from his tall frame. His face carried sharp, striking features, while his eyes held an intimidating chill. Even without speaking, he dominated the entire space around him.

Then he saw her. Instantly, the coldness disappeared from his expression. Concern and unbearable relief softened his face instead.

"Melly... I finally found you." His voice trembled faintly, as though emotion was making it difficult for him to continue.

Melanie stared blankly. "Who are you?"

She was certain they had never met before. Still, the instant their eyes locked, something stirred inside her chest. It was not anxiety or fear. It felt strangely familiar, warm in a way she could not explain.

"My name is Vincent Reid. I'm your older brother. I came to bring you home," he replied quietly.

Shock flashed across her face. Brother? Her real family had actually found her?

Seeing her confusion, Vincent reached into his coat pocket and removed an object.

It was a pendant exactly like the one hanging from her own neck.

An elegant engraved letter "R" decorated the back.

Melanie's fingers shook uncontrollably.

She tried to speak, but emotion tightened painfully around her throat.

"For twenty years, we searched for you. When you were five years old, you disappeared. Mom and Dad never gave up," Vincent said hoarsely.

Tears filled Melanie's eyes instantly.

A second later, Vincent crossed the distance between them and wrapped her tightly in his arms.

Every ounce of grief she had buried and every wall she had painstakingly built collapsed completely.

One thought repeated endlessly inside her mind. She still had a family.

Vincent held her carefully, one hand moving soothingly along her back. "You're safe now. No one will mistreat you ever again."

That reassurance broke the final barrier holding her together.

A sob escaped her violently.

Then the tears would not stop as she cried through broken breaths, "I have parents... And a brother... I'm not alone anymore."

"You never will be again. Everyone has been waiting for your return. From this day forward, we stay together as a family," Vincent promised. A dangerous edge entered his expression afterward. "As for what the Becker family owes you, I'll make them repay every last bit of it."

The more he spoke, the colder his gaze became.

By the final sentence, every trace of gentleness had vanished completely.

Melanie looked at the stranger who had suddenly become her brother, emotions colliding chaotically inside her chest.

Her mother's final words resurfaced in her memory. One day, she would return to her true family.

She simply never expected that day to arrive this quickly.

"Vincent..." she said softly, testing the name aloud.

A slight shudder passed through him. He answered only with a quiet nod and a rough exhale.

Her eyes drifted toward the rows of silent men behind him before she finally voiced the question lingering in her thoughts. "What kind of family are we exactly?"

A faint smile curved Vincent's mouth, dangerous and unreadable. "What do you think, Melly?"

Before she could respond, an enraged shout exploded from behind them. "What the hell is going on here?!"