A Symphony for Ruined Hands.

Getting treatment funds from Ava was harder than wrestling a bonus out of a Wall Street shark.

"What kind of nerve repair treatment costs half a million dollars in one go? Ma'am, are you sure you're not just making up an excuse to ask for pocket money?"

"Five hundred thousand dollars is no small sum. Ma'am, could you provide a detailed treatment plan and expert endorsement before I can approve this? For now, I have to reject it."

I explained that it was an urgent stem cell transplant window, that a detailed plan could only be made after a successful surgery.

Ava tapped her chin with her perfectly French-manicured fingers, feigning realization. "Oh, I see. I went straight into investment banking after graduation. I'm in perfect health, so I'm not very familiar with this kind of thing."

"However, the group's financial approval process is extremely strict, and situations like this are ripe for exploitation. How about this, ma'am? Have the chief physician in Switzerland issue a certificate of emergency treatment, and I'll approve it for you."

Her expression hardened. "Then again, experts can be bought. I'm not doubting you, ma'am. I just have a responsibility to protect the CEO's reputation."

"How about you also attach the group's overseas medical insurance policy as proof?"

And so, Ava stalled and stalled, until the critical treatment window for my hand slammed shut.

By the time I finally received the notification that the transfer was successful, even the most brilliant neurosurgeon in Switzerland could only shake his head in regret.

In that moment, venomous hatred and soul-crushing pain warred within me.

I knew it was over.

A suffocating weight pressed on my chest. After one last, searing pain, my hand completely lost its fine motor skills.

This marriage was no longer a sacred, life-saving contract. It was a cage.

Once I knew what I had to do, a strange sense of relief washed over me. The power Julian had held over me for years abruptly vanished.

So, when I saw Ava's provocative post on Instagram, I felt nothing.

The photo showed Julian, hands on hers, teaching her how to play pool in the company's rooftop bar.

I calmly took a screenshot and then casually liked the post.

When it came to Ava, Julian's messages were always immediate.

"Thea, why did you like that post? It was just a way to unwind after work. Don't read into it."

"You know you're the only one in my heart. Ava is my most capable assistant; she's like family to me."

He immediately sent another:

"You've already liked it, and unliking it now would just look petty. You know how people on Wall Street talk."

"Be good. Go leave a comment praising Ava. This is your chance to show the grace of a Sterling and help me maintain my image. You've always been the sensible one, right?"

I hadn't planned on responding.

But the bitterness was too much to swallow.

So I did as Julian said.

"Chief of Staff Ava is indeed the best 'family.' Not only does she help the CEO with his work, but she also shares his private life. Wielding Mrs. Sterling's trust approval authority, taking care of my husband... she's so dedicated. It must be exhausting."

"Every penny you save for the CEO now will be your own when you take my place. Then you won't have to live like me, a pauper who has to beg for funding."

After replying, I tossed my phone aside.

Then I began to calmly pack my things.

My phone buzzed violently on the table. It was a voice call from Julian.

Because I had blocked his number, he couldn't reach me directly and had resorted to blowing up my social media.

I pressed play, and his panicked voice crackled through. "Thea! What nonsense are you spouting? Has your account been hacked?"

"Darling, stop it. Delete it, and let's talk this out…"

I turned off the phone and threw it on the sofa.

The world was finally quiet.

Packing didn't take long.

After all, in this penthouse apartment, every valuable item belonging to Mrs. Sterling was locked away in a vault protected by a complex security protocol.

For all these years, I had been an unwelcome tenant in a house that was never truly mine.

Even my scent was just a faint, temporary layer.

For the first time, everything was crystal clear.