(Joseph's POV)
The headquarters of Hamilton Hotels had always been my second home.
I knew every corridor, every glass partition, every corner where the staff liked to whisper when they thought executives weren't listening. I had grown up here, studied here, fought my way up here. This building was supposed to recognize me the way a body recognizes its own heartbeat.
Yet that morning, as I stepped into the main lobby, something felt… off.
"Good morning, Mr. Hamilton." an employee greeted.
"Good morning." I replied.
"Morning, sir." Another employee said.
I answered on instinct, my eyes already scanning the floor ahead. I didn't know what I was looking for—only that my chest felt tight, restless, like I was bracing for impact.
Then I saw her.
Yvette stood near the executive elevators, a slim tablet tucked against her chest. She was speaking to Brent Dawson, her head tilted slightly as she listened. The light from the glass walls caught her profile, sharper somehow, more mature. She wasn't smiling the way she used to when she noticed me first. In fact—
She hadn't noticed me at all.
Brent handed her the tablet. "These are the operational summaries for the overseas branches. We'll start with Singapore and Milan this afternoon."
She nodded. "I want to review the numbers myself before the briefing."
"Of course. Take your time." he replied.
Take your time.
I clenched my jaw. Since when did Brent Dawson get to decide what Yvette did with her time?
My footsteps echoed louder than necessary as I walked toward them.
"Yvette." I called out.
She turned, surprise flashing briefly across her eyes before she smoothed it away. That fleeting reaction stabbed deeper than indifference would have.
"Joseph," she said. Calm. Polite. Like we were acquaintances instead of family.
Brent inclined his head slightly. "Mr. Hamilton."
His tone was professional, but there was something beneath it—an unspoken challenge that made my blood simmer.
"What's going on?" I asked, looking directly at Yvette. "I wasn't informed you'd be attending internal briefings today."
She didn't look at Brent for permission. That, at least, was something.
"I requested it," she replied. "If I'm holding the majority shares for the year, I need to understand the company properly."
Her voice was steady. Confident.
Too confident.
"You don't need to overwhelm yourself," I said. "This isn't something you can just learn overnight."
Brent smiled faintly. "That's precisely why we're starting early."
I turned to him sharply. "I'm speaking to Yvette."
"And I'm answering as her legal counsel," Brent replied smoothly. "You may be the acting CEO, Mr. Hamilton, but Ms. Matthews' interests fall under my responsibility."
Ms. Matthews.
The distance in that name was deliberate.
Yvette exhaled softly. "Joseph, this isn't a confrontation. I want this."
I searched her face for hesitation, for doubt—anything that resembled the girl who used to look at me as if I were her anchor.
I found none.
"You don't trust me?" I asked quietly.
Her fingers tightened around the tablet. "This isn't about trust."
"Then what is it about?" I pressed.
She met my eyes fully then, and something unreadable passed through them. "It's about learning how to stand on my own."
The words landed with brutal precision.
Brent checked his watch. "If we're done here, Ms. Matthews, the boardroom is ready."
She nodded. "Let's go."
Just like that, she turned away from me.
I watched her walk beside Brent, their steps in sync, their conversation low and focused. They looked—wrongly—like partners.
Something ugly twisted in my chest.
"This won't last," I said, more to Brent than to her.
He stopped and glanced back at me. "Change often feels uncomfortable to those who benefit from things staying the same."
Yvette didn't look back.
The rest of the day blurred together.
Meetings. Reports. Calls I barely listened to.
Every time I passed a glass wall, I half-expected to see her reflection following me, the way she used to trail behind when she was younger, asking questions, smiling when I answered. Instead, I caught glimpses of her with Brent—reviewing documents, listening intently, nodding thoughtfully.
She looked like she belonged there.
That realization unsettled me more than I cared to admit.
When work finally ended, I drove home on autopilot.
The gates opened smoothly, the familiar driveway stretching ahead. Usually, by this time, the house would feel warm—lights on, faint music playing from the kitchen, the smell of something sweet lingering in the air.
Tonight, it felt like a museum.
I stepped inside. Silence greeted me.
"Yvy?" I called out before I could stop myself.
No answer.
I loosened my tie and walked deeper into the house, each step slower than the last. The living room was pristine. Too pristine. No blanket folded carelessly on the couch. No half-finished notebook on the coffee table.
The kitchen was worse.
Her things were gone.
The mug she always used—gone. The jar of homemade biscuits she insisted on refilling every Sunday—gone. Even the spice rack she reorganized obsessively was missing an entire section.
My chest tightened.
Upstairs, her room confirmed what my mind had been refusing to accept.
Empty.
Her clothes were gone, the shelves bare except for a faint outline where her books used to be. The bed was made, untouched, as if she'd erased herself carefully, methodically.
She hadn't left in anger.
She'd left with resolve.
I sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing a hand over my face. This was what she wanted. Space. Independence.
So why did it feel like the house itself was rejecting me?
"Seph."
I stiffened at the voice.
Dianne stood in the doorway, arms crossed, her heels clicking sharply against the floor as she stepped inside. Her eyes swept over the room, lips curling slightly.
"So, she really moved out," she said. "I thought she might hesitate."
I didn't respond.
Dianne sighed dramatically and walked closer. "Honestly, this is for the best. It's been awkward long enough, don't you think? Having her around all the time."
I looked up at her. "What are you doing here?"
She blinked. "Excuse me?"
"I asked what you're doing here," I repeated. "I didn't invite you."
Her expression hardened. "I'm your fiancée, Joseph. I don't need an invitation."
She sat beside me, far too close. Her perfume—once comforting—felt overwhelming now.
"You should stop worrying about her," she continued. "She's an adult. She made her choice."
"She didn't choose this," I snapped before I could stop myself.
Dianne stared at me. "Didn't she? She rejected the marriage clause. She moved out. She's spending all her time with that lawyer."
Her words were sharp, deliberate. "Sounds like a choice to me."
I clenched my fists. "Don't talk about her like that."
"Like what?" Dianne scoffed. "Like a woman who knows exactly what she's doing?"
I stood abruptly, creating distance between us. "You wouldn't understand."
Her eyes widened in disbelief. "What is that supposed to mean?"
"It means," I said slowly, "that this isn't as simple as you think."
She stood as well, anger flashing across her face. "You're defending her now? After everything she's done?"
"Everything she's done?" I echoed. "She didn't ask for any of this."
"And neither did I!" Dianne shot back. "Your father never approved of me, and now she's taken everything that should've been yours—"
"Enough," I cut in sharply.
The room fell silent.
Dianne stared at me, her voice trembling when she spoke again. "Tell me something, Joseph. If she weren't adopted—if she weren't your sister—would you still be standing here, looking like you've lost something?"
The question struck too close.
I didn't answer.
That was all the answer she needed.
Dianne laughed bitterly. "I see. So that's how it is."
She grabbed her bag and headed for the door, pausing only once. "Figure out what you want, Joseph. Because I won't stay where I'm not chosen."
The door slammed behind her.
I stood alone in the empty room, the weight of her words pressing down on me.
I had always told myself Yvette was my sister. That my protectiveness was natural. That my discomfort now was just change, nothing more.
But as I looked around the room she had carefully emptied, one truth became impossible to ignore.
Her absence hurt more than her presence ever did.
And for the first time, I wondered—
If I didn't face what she truly was to me soon…
Would I lose her forever?