Chapter 14: The Woman Who Belongs Here

POV: IVY

Melanie walked into Michael’s mansion without knocking, and the staff welcomed her as though I were the visitor.

The heavy front doors swung open to reveal Melanie wrapped in an ivory cashmere coat, her dark hair glowing under the foyer chandeliers. Mrs. Gable took her coat with a familiarity that cut deeper than any words, while the security guard outside offered her a warm, knowing nod. She didn't pause to ask where anything was. She glided past the marble pillars and straight toward Michael’s private study as if she had walked the route a thousand times before.

I remained near the edge of the hallway, frozen in the shadows, watching as Michael stepped out into the drawing room to meet her.

“You left this on the desk,” Melanie purred softly, holding up a delicate diamond bracelet between two manicured fingers. But as soon as Michael took it, she didn't turn toward the exit. Instead, she walked past him into the sitting area and slipped off her high heels, sinking gracefully into the plush velvet sofa.

She sat beside Michael as if she had spent countless evenings in that exact spot, resting her hand casually on the arm of his chair.

When her eyes finally drifted over to where I stood, her expression brightened into a warm, radiant smile that felt almost patronizing.

“Oh, Gemma! You’re still awake,” Melanie said, her voice dripping with effortless charm as Michael poured her a glass of sparkling water. “I hope I’m not intruding on your wedding night. I just needed to grab my bracelet before the gallery opening tomorrow.”

“You’re not intruding,” I replied, keeping my voice cool, level, and completely detached. I took a few steps into the warm light of the room, keeping my spine straight and my chin lifted in the posture Gemma always used to shield herself.

Melanie took a slow sip from her glass, her sharp eyes sweeping over the room before landing on me again.

“Michael told me you’d be taking the guest suite in the east wing,” she said casually, gesturing with her hand toward the high ceilings. “I actually helped him pick out the interior layout for that section last winter. I insisted on the silk curtains and the neutral tones; I thought it felt much cozier for visitors. Don't you think so?”

Every word was a quiet, masterfully delivered reminder. She was pointing out the very fabric of the house, marking her territory thread by thread. The sofa, the lighting, the art hanging on the walls, she had been a part of choosing all of it long before I stepped foot into this mansion.

Michael sat beside her, sipping his scotch in silence. He didn't interrupt her, nor did he offer a single word to soften the blow. His silence was an unspoken stamp of approval, a clear declaration that Melanie belonged in his world far more than his legal bride ever would.

A moment later, Michael’s phone chimed with an urgent notification. He set his glass down on the glass coffee table and stood up.

“It’s the Tokyo logistics team,” Michael said, checking his screen. “I need to take this in the study.”

He gave Melanie a brief, quiet look before walking down the hall, his long strides taking him out of sight. The heavy wooden door of his study clicked shut a second later, leaving an echoing silence in the drawing room.

The instant Michael disappeared, the warm, charming smile on Melanie’s face vanished like dust in the wind.

She set her glass down with a sharp clink, stood up, and smoothed her silk dress. The pleasant, welcoming air she had put on in front of Michael evaporated, replaced by a cold, predatory focus as she walked toward me. Her red heels clicked softly against the hardwood floor until she was standing just a few feet away in the dimly lit hallway.

“You put on a very good performance in front of the press today, Gemma,” Melanie said, her voice dropping into a low, venomous register. “Holding his hand, smiling for the cameras, pretending you were entering a fairytale.”

I crossed my arms over my chest, meeting her sharp gaze without flinching. “It was a standard wedding ceremony, Melanie. You were there. You saw it.”

Melanie let out a short, soft laugh that held no humor at all. She stepped closer, her eyes narrowing as she looked me up and down.

“Michael may be legally married to you, but you should never confuse this arrangement with love,” she whispered, leaning in so close I could smell her expensive jasmine perfume. “He married your family’s balance sheet, Gemma. He married a real estate portfolio and a corporate name. But when he wants warmth, when he wants truth, when he wants someone who actually understands him—he comes to me.”

My heart hammered against my ribs, but I forced my expression to remain completely still. I refused to give her the satisfaction of seeing me hurt or rattled.

“If you are so confident in your place in his life, Melanie, you wouldn't feel the need to stand in his hallway late at night giving me warnings,” I said, keeping my voice flat and icy.

For a brief second, a flicker of sharp anger flashed in Melanie’s eyes at my quiet retort. But she recovered her composure almost instantly, smoothing her dark hair back with a slow, graceful motion.

“I’m not warning you out of fear, Gemma,” Melanie purred softly, stepping back toward the main entrance as the butler brought her ivory coat. “I’m saving you from making a fool of yourself. Enjoy your title while it lasts.”

She pulled her coat around her shoulders and stepped toward the heavy front doors. Just before the security guard pulled them open to let her out into the night air, Melanie turned back over her shoulder, her dark eyes flashing under the foyer lights.

“Enjoy your position while it lasts, Gemma. Michael always comes back to me.”