I bloomed early.

The year I turned eighteen, my overprotective brother, Ronan, worried I would be preyed upon by the wolves in a city like Chicago. So, he entrusted me to his most trusted ally—Sterling Valeriano, the Underboss of the Valeriano family—to "look after" me.

But from our first meeting, his predatory gaze left me feeling completely exposed.

After I graduated from college, he pushed me to cross one line after another.

By day, he was my boss at the art gallery. By night, I was his secret lover.

For four years, we kept our illicit relationship hidden.

He molded me into the woman he desired, and the worst part? I let him.

One day, his former fiancée, Scarlett, returned from Europe. He slipped out of my bed in the middle of the night to rush to the docks to meet her.

Ashamed and furious, yet unwilling to give up, I followed him, only to watch him tenderly kiss another woman under the moonlight.

He turned to me and said, "Juliana Callahan, four years ago, you were the one who climbed into my bed while I was drunk. The way you look right now... it's truly pathetic."

The same eyes that held such tenderness for her now held only mockery for me.

I suddenly realized he was right. None of this had any meaning.

So I lowered my head, sent a text to Ronan telling him I accepted the marriage alliance with the Hawthorne family, then looked up at that man and smiled.

"So be it. Goodbye, Sterling."

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1

It wasn't long before my brother, Ronan Callahan, called.

I could hear the relief in his voice, even through the phone. He must have thought I’d finally moved on from the man I’d loved for years.

What he didn't know was that the man I was madly in love with… was his most trusted ally, Sterling Valeriano.

After hanging up, I picked up the resignation letter I had prepared long ago and headed to the HR department. However, the process hit a snag at the final step.

"Miss Callahan, for an immediate resignation, you'll need Mr. Valeriano's personal signature for approval."

Sterling again. Even at the very last moment, I couldn't escape him.

I clutched my phone, walked to the end of the empty hallway, and dialed the number I knew by heart.

It rang and rang. Just as I was about to give up, the call connected. A woman’s voice—one I didn’t recognize—answered.

"Hello? Looking for Sterling? He's busy..."

Busy...

The word was a thousand needles in my chest. Despite this, my voice remained calm, almost unnaturally so.

"Never mind, thank you."

I hung up before she could say anything else. The dark screen reflected my pale face.

Less than two minutes later, my phone buzzed insistently. I stared at Sterling's name on the screen for a few seconds before answering.

"What is it?"

His tone was all business, cold and distant. And just last night, this same man had been on top of me, intimately calling my name over and over again.

My knuckles turned white as I gripped the resignation letter.

"Mr. Valeriano, there's a document that needs your signature to complete my resignation."

He let out a low "Mm," then added as if it were an afterthought, "Oh, right. Move out of the penthouse. Immediately. Pack up your things. Scarlett is moving in."

"There's a vacant property in the port district you can live in. I promised Ronan I would take care of you."

Four years ago, after a drunken night, he’d pulled me into his bed and made me his secret lover. Four years later, under the guise of responsibility to his most trusted ally, he was offering me a place to stay.

The 'thoughtfulness' of his gesture was absurd.

"That won't be necessary, Mr. Valeriano," I said, forcing a smile. "I'm an adult. I can take care of myself."

As soon as he signed the resignation letter and I completed the final handover, our ridiculous four years would be completely over.

And me? I was getting married.

The morning sun streamed into the hotel room as I opened my eyes. For the first time in years, I felt more clear-headed than on any morning I had ever spent with Sterling.

I hailed a cab and returned to the penthouse I’d called home for four years. The moment I stepped inside, however, I almost thought I had walked into the wrong house.

The once minimalist and elegant space was now drowned in gaudy luxury.

The entryway wall, where I had begged him for a month to let me hang a unique painting I'd found, was now a glittering sheet of gold leaf.

"Scarlett likes it this way," Sterling's voice came from behind me.

I turned around. He looked a little uncomfortable.

"She came by yesterday. She wasn't happy to see your things."

Then he pointed to several black trash bags by the door, and I understood.

My belongings were stuffed inside, a chaotic jumble of memories now treated like garbage.

The first gift Sterling ever gave me—a platinum cufflink engraved with my initials—was crushed beyond recognition. The matching ceramic pieces we had made together were shattered.

He let out a soft sigh.

"These things don't belong here. Get rid of them. If you need anything, I'll buy you new ones."

"Don't belong"?

My gaze fell upon a small, custom whiskey bottle amidst the wreckage.

The bottle was cracked, revealing the exquisite engraving of the date we met. It was a birthday gift I had prepared for him, every detail carrying my unspoken love.

I picked up the broken bottle and, along with the other shattered mementos, threw them all into the apartment's incinerator chute.

Sterling's brow furrowed, but I simply offered a faint smile.

"You're right, Mr. Valeriano. Worthless things should be burned when they get dirty or broken."

That included my foolish, misplaced feelings.

I ignored the storm that gathered in his expression, lowered my head, and took the resignation letter from my bag.

"Mr. Valeriano, this is my..."

Before I could finish, his phone rang.

Scarlett Monroe's voice cut through the quiet of the living room.

"Sterling, it's raining, come pick me up."

The emotion on his face vanished instantly. He didn't even glance at the document in my hand as he scrawled his name at the bottom.

"Take a cab back. Text me when you get there."

As Sterling left in his private elevator, the rain turned into a downpour.

The penthouse was at the top of a tower in the financial district, and with the sudden downpour, hailing a cab was impossible. So, I opened my umbrella and started walking toward the ground-level garage.

My heel skidded on the slick marble. I went down hard, a sharp pain lancing through my knee and elbow.

Ignoring the pain, I clutched my bag tightly. My resignation letter was inside. If it got wet, I'd have to see him again, and I refused to do that.

Just then, a familiar black, bulletproof car sped out of the garage. It didn't slow as it passed, and the resulting splash drenched me from head to toe.

Through the rear window, I caught a glimpse of Scarlett, her makeup perfect, sitting beside Sterling as he gently dabbed raindrops from her hair.

I gritted my teeth.

I pressed my palms against the cold, wet ground and forced myself to stand. A burning pain shot through my knee, but I straightened my back and walked in the opposite direction of the car.

The resignation process would only take three days. On the final day, I was at the gallery, handling the last of my handover tasks.

My phone lit up with a text from Sterling.

[Bring the file in.]

Technically, I was still his curator. It was my job.

I picked up the file and knocked on his office door.

The moment I entered, I froze.

Scarlett was perched on his desk, intimately feeding him a sliced strawberry. He was gently tucking a stray strand of her hair behind her ear.

In the four years I was with him, whenever I had a headache from work fatigue, I’d be slumped over my desk in pain, and all he ever did was toss me a box of painkillers.

"Don't let it affect your work," he would say coldly.

How pathetic I’d been, indulging in this secret affair.

I kept my expression blank as I walked past them and placed the file on his desk.

"The file you requested, Mr. Valeriano."

I turned to leave, but Scarlett suddenly stood up.

"Wait." Her eyes scanned me. "You're... Ronan Callahan's sister?"

Before I could answer, she slapped me across the face.

My ears rang, and my cheek instantly swelled with a fiery sting.

Sterling, startled, shot to his feet.

"Scarlett, what are you doing?"

Her eyes reddened, and tears welled up as she pointed at me and turned to him.

"She's the Callahan Principessa! She could have any life she wants, but instead, she insists on being your curator. Are you telling me she doesn't have ulterior motives?"

A heavy silence fell over the room.

Sterling's gaze swept over my face, then he turned and gently pulled Scarlett into his arms, wiping away her tears.

His voice was soft, laced with a hint of helplessness and undisguised doting.

"Even if she does have ideas about me... it's just one-sided. Because my heart only has room for you."