President's Ex-Wife, Mafia Family's Precious Princess

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 intimate 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 foolish 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 blood 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.

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 chest. "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 chest, 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 bloodline 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.

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 slap.

"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 chest.

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.