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."