The tension from the day, the fear for her mother, the calculated flight back, the merciless execution of Chloe's maneuver, finally dissolved in the silence of the penthouse.
Mel stepped out of the shower and found Rhys Kallen waiting for her in the bedroom, bathed in the soft, ambient light of the city skyline. He wasn't dressed for business; he wore only a pair of dark trousers, his powerful torso exposed. He looked less like the CEO and more like the Lion who had been pacing his cage for two days.
He didn't move toward her immediately, instead just watching her, absorbing the reality of her presence. The separation, though brief, had done what no boardroom power struggle ever could: it
had broken his composure.
"You handled Chloe perfectly," Rhys finally stated, his voice low and roughed with control. "You didn't just win; you solidified your position using my resources, proving that your absence was my greatest risk."
Melanie walked toward him, a slow, deliberate movement. "I am the Chief Risk Analyst, Rhys," she replied, her voice soft but steady. "I eliminate threats. Chloe Vance became an internal control failure, and I terminated the risk. But that was the business."
She reached him and placed her hands on his chest, feeling the heavy, steady rhythm of his heart beneath her palms. "The contract we signed, Rhys, the one defining our professional and private arrangement, it is obsolete."
Rhys was instantly alert. "Obsolete?"
"It was a document of possession and control," Melanie explained. "But when you replaced possession with devotion at the hospital, you voided the terms. I returned because of you, not because of a document. The professional mandate remains absolute, but the private line is a new negotiation."
She looked up into his eyes, a total surrender of her own risk analysis. "I am not your asset, and I am not your prisoner. But I am inextricably bound to you by choice. I am in love with you, Rhys. This is the risk I am willing to take, a total, unquantifiable risk, because your character was revealed to me."
A wave of profound, vulnerable relief washed over Rhys. "The original contract is dead," he confirmed, his hands immediately finding her hips and pulling her flush against him. "And I don't want a replacement. I love you, Melanie Donaldson. I choose you."
Melanie leaned into him, her kiss a mutual promise. "Then the new contract is simple," she murmured against his mouth. "Shared Power, Absolute Honesty, and Zero Compromise on the fact that we are in this together."
"Agreed," Rhys breathed. "Now for the cost."
"The cost?" she questioned.
"The cost of letting you go," Rhys finished, pulling her tighter. "I didn't work. I tracked vital signs and political gossip. You ruined my control, Melanie."
The passion that erupted between them was a demanding release of bottled-up fear and possessiveness. Their reunion was a chaotic claiming, his body demanding proof she was real, her body demanding the intense certainty of his desire to silence the anxiety of the hospital. It was a shared power, expressed physically, brutally honest about their mutual, necessary obsession.
Later, curled into the curve of Rhys's shoulder, Melanie brought up the one thing that still tethered her to the world outside his orbit: her parents.
"My father called," Melanie murmured, tracing the hard line of his jaw. "He said the Clinical Liaison, your woman, handled everything for their discharge. Home health care has been arranged, the nurses are already scheduled, and the hospital bill was never even mentioned."
She tilted her head back to look at him, her expression a mix of gratitude and overwhelming unease. "Rhys, my parents cannot accept this kind of expense. It's too much."
He framed her face with his hand. "There is no 'expense.' There is only the price of keeping you whole. Your family is now under my protection. I won't have the things that matter to you become a point of vulnerability or distraction. They are taken care of, permanently."
"My father can't lose his dignity, Rhys," she argued softly. "He won't accept a handout."
"Then he won't receive a handout," Rhys countered, already calculating the strategic solution. "I need an expert in risk management to oversee my private foundation's charitable donations. A six-figure salary, consultancy role, entirely remote. He can manage a small portfolio of endowments. It will give him a purpose, and it will be a legitimate income stream that covers any care necessary for Martha."
He kissed her forehead, sealing the command. "He is now employed by Kallen. I am simply expanding my world to encompass yours."