Uncle George sank back into the sofa, his expression now serious. "What is it?" he asked.
The butler hesitated for a moment before finally speaking. "Sir, Madam... there is a letter from Master Tristan."
Melisa stiffened. Sensing the uneasy glances from Aunt Eleanor and Uncle George, she forced a stiff smile. She didn't know how to face Tristan—the one who had run away on the wedding day.
Noticing Melisa's unease and her husband's anger, Aunt Eleanor reached out for the letter. "You can give it to me," she said gently.
Taking the letter with worry, Aunt Eleanor's emotions were conflicted; she was angry that Tristan had treated marriage like a child's play, yet her maternal worry for him remained paramount.
"What did he write?" her husband asked.
Aunt Eleanor exchanged an uneasy glance with Melisa before replying softly to her husband, "He's coming back....with Ivonne"
Seeing her husband's confusion, she added softly, "He said in his letter that he met her during his journey." She paused, as if weighing the words—after all, it wasn't exactly a casual trip, given how things unfolded.
Hearing the name, Melisa stiffened. 'Ivonne?' she thought, her heart skipping a beat. Tristan's friend—who secretly adored Leo—had never shown up so early in her dreams. And if, in Olivia's narrative, she were cast as a tragic side character, then to Olivia, Ivonne would certainly be the malicious one.
Before Uncle George could utter something, a voice called out, "Who is coming?" Everyone turned their gaze toward the door, where Leonard stood.
"Leo, you came back early today?!" Aunt Eleanor exclaimed in surprise.
"The meeting with the Shen Group isn't supposed to be finished this early. What happened?" Uncle George asked.
"They postponed the meeting to another day. That's why I returned early," Leonard replied.
"So, who is coming?" Leonard persisted, his tone casual .
"...Tris is coming back with Ivvone," Aunt Eleanor murmured softly, her voice low and tinged with quiet resignation.
Leonard glanced at Melisa, whose emotions remained unreadable. His expression then darkened. "Oh, good," he said curtly before turning and taking the stairs to his room.
Leonard's footsteps echoed down the hallway as Melisa stood rooted to the spot, her heart pounding in the silence he left behind. She stared downward at the tiles, a turbulent mix of emotions swirling within—confusion, guilt, worry, and a profound uncertainty. In mere seconds, her mind raced through grim scenarios: Why must Tristan return so early when she hadn't even begun to clean up the mess before her?
Aunt Eleanor squeezed her hand gently. "Melisa, my dear, don't worry" she murmured softly before following her husband.
Melisa lingered for a few more moments, her gaze still fixed on the silent tiles beneath her feet, before she finally turned and left.
Melisa opened her room door, lost in thought, when suddenly her hand was grabbed. "Ouch," she cried as a sharp pain shot along her back. Startled, she looked up, and what she saw made her pause—Leonard stood above her, his eyes dark with anger, yet beneath that fury was a trace of hurt that took her by surprise. For a fleeting moment, she wondered if it was merely an illusion. Instinctively, Melisa tried to step back, but she found herself trapped between him and the wall.
"You must be happy that he's back, huh!?" Leonard said in a gloomy tone, his words heavy with conflicting emotion.
Melisa was left speechless—how could she possibly feel happy in such an awkward situation? Sensing her silence, Leonard's tone turned even colder. "Don't forget, we have to act as husband and wife in front of everyone. Come with me to our shared room," he said sharply.
Melisa had never felt so utterly speechless. Was Ivonne merely an outsider? Surely Tristan must have already told her about his marriage. But before she could dwell on these thoughts, Leonard pulled her forcefully toward their shared room.
Melisa lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep. The quiet rustling of the sheets and the faint sound of Leonard shifting on the sofa filled the room. She glanced toward him, her gaze lingering. He didn't seem comfortable—the sofa was too narrow for his tall frame, forcing him into an awkward position.
For a brief moment, she hesitated. Should she say something? Offer him the bed? But she knew better—doing so would only make things more awkward for both of them.
Lost in her thoughts, she didn't even realize when sleep finally claimed her.
She don't know this few nights of dreamless sleep had loosen her fear of sleeping, soothing her insomnia.
Her face was pale like someone just fished her out of water, her eyebrows frowed deeply while drops of swead fell from her forehead.Her knuckles white from the tantamount force she exerted on gripping the bedsheet.