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.