Broken Pointe The Surgeon's Costly Mistake

Natalie's POV After all these years dancing ballet, I have more scars on my body than trophies on my shelf. Sprained ankles, torn ligaments, lighting rigs collapsing straight from the ceiling. Every single accident happened right before my most crucial performances. And every single time, Julian Sterling was the first one to rush to my side. He was a brilliant orthopedic surgeon. Every time he finished bandaging me up, he would ruffle my hair and gently say, "You're fine. Just be more careful next time." I believed him for eleven years. Years ago, my mother took the fall for a fatal accident involving the Sterling family and went to prison. In return, the Sterlings took me in and made me Julian’s fiancée. I thought it was out of gratitude. I thought all those injuries were just my terrible luck. Until that night, when I walked past the dressing room backstage and found the door left ajar. Julian’s voice drifted through the crack. Not loud, but deadly clear. "All those injuries during rehearsals, those accidents on stage over the years... when did I ever not have a hand in them?" My feet froze in place. Another voice came from inside—Sharon Hayes, a scrub nurse from his hospital. She giggled. "You're truly heartless, Julian." "If I didn't break her wings, how would she stay obediently by my side?" Julian’s tone was as casual as if he were discussing the weather. "Marrying her is just repaying a debt for my family. You know who’s really in my heart." Sharon let out a soft laugh. "All the trouble she’s caused me over the years, between the medical bills and the damages, comes out to four hundred and seventy thousand dollars," Julian said coldly. "I have every single cent accounted for." Four hundred and seventy thousand dollars. I leaned against the icy hallway wall, the feeling draining from my fingertips. I remembered every hospital bill Julian had personally signed for me after every injury. I remembered how deeply touched I had been. He had caused those injuries, only to play the savior and pay the bills himself. Their conversation continued inside, but I couldn't hear a word anymore. The old injury in my ankle flared up, throbbing as if someone were driving needles straight into the bone. I don't know how long I stood there before the door swung open. Sharon walked out first. Seeing me, she didn't look flustered at all. She simply arched an eyebrow, smirked, and walked away. Julian followed right behind her. When he saw me leaning against the wall, he frowned. "Why are you standing here? Is your ankle acting up again?" I stared at him, parting my lips, but no sound came out. He naturally reached out, taking my arm to guide me toward the green room. "Come on. Let me look at it. Don't be stubborn if it hurts." Inside the room, he had me sit on a chair, then crouched down. His fingers skillfully pressed against my ankle. The warmth of his palms seeped into my skin—just like it had every single time over the past eleven years. "An old flare-up. It's swollen," he said, looking up at me. "I'll reset it and wrap it up. It's going to hurt a bit. Try to bear with it." He turned around to grab the local anesthetic. Right at that moment, his phone rang. Julian glanced at the screen and answered immediately. His voice softened in a way I had never heard before. "What's wrong? ...Rehearsal went sideways? Okay, I'm on my way." He hung up and tossed the syringe back onto the tray. "Julian," I called out, my voice trembling. "What about the anesthesia?" "No time. There's an emergency at the hospital." He turned back, gripping my ankle with both hands. "Hold still. This will be quick." Before I could even process his words, his hands exerted brutal force. Crack. The sickening sound of bone dislocating and snapping back into place echoed through the silent room. Blinding agony detonated from my ankle, tearing all the way up my leg and ripping through my skull. My body curled violently. My fingernails dug deep into the edge of the chair as a strangled sob broke from my throat. Julian didn't stop. With one hand pinning my ankle down, his other hand swiftly grabbed a roll of bandage, wrapping it around and around with practiced efficiency. His movements were precise, detached—like he was repairing an inanimate piece of equipment. "Done." He let go and stood up. "Stay off your feet until the swelling goes down. I have to run." He grabbed his coat and walked out without looking back once. The door clicked shut behind him. I collapsed on the chair, the pain turning my vision pitch-black. I wanted to call his name. I wanted to beg him to stay. But my lips trembled, unable to form a whisper. Just before darkness swallowed me completely, one thought surfaced in my mind. When he picked up that call, his tone had been so unbearably tender. And in the eleven years I spent with him, he had never once spoken to me like that. When I finally woke up, the room was empty. Outside, the night was pitch black. The fluorescent lights in the hallway hummed, but nobody came. I sat in the chair, looking at my tightly wrapped ankle, and suddenly burst into laughter. I laughed until tears streamed down my face. Eleven years. I had mistaken calculated abuse for tragic accidents. I had treated a man who methodically dismantled my life as my sole protector. Four hundred and seventy thousand dollars. He remembered every penny. And I would remember, too. From this moment on, I would never believe a single word that came out of Julian Sterling's mouth.Natalie's POV Inside the dining room of the Sterling estate, over a dozen people sat around the long mahogany table. Julian's younger brother, Leo, sat across from me, swirling his wine glass with a mocking grin. "Hey, Natalie. I heard your mom is having quite a cozy time in prison. Living off the Sterling family's dime must feel pretty damn comfortable, huh?" The entire table fell dead silent. Julian sat in his seat, saying nothing. He merely lifted his tea cup and took a slow sip. My knuckles turned white around my linen napkin. I looked up and locked eyes with Leo. "My mother's business is none of yours." "None of mine?" Leo chuckled, leaning back in his chair. "If it weren't for our family, your mom wouldn't even be alive right now. If it weren't for us, you wouldn't even be allowed to breathe the air in this room. Know your place, Natalie. Don't be so shameless." Julian's personal assistant chimed in from the side. "Julian treats you far better than you deserve, Natalie. Some people just don't know when to be grateful." I pushed my chair back, the legs scraping violently against the hardwood floor. "I'm done eating." I turned to walk away. Just as I reached the dining room entrance, Sharon Hayes stepped around the corner holding a glass of red wine—and collided squarely into me. The glass flipped. Dark red liquid splashed all over Sharon’s pristine white designer dress, soaking the fabric and dripping down the hem. "Oh!" Sharon gasped, her eyes brimming with tears in an instant. "Natalie... why did you shove me?..." Everyone at the table turned to look. I stood there, stunned. I hadn't even touched her. She had thrown herself at me. Julian shot up from his seat, crossing the room in three strides. He stripped off his jacket, draped it over Sharon’s shoulders, and glared at me with a face like thunder. "Apologize to her." I looked at him. "I didn't push her." "I told you to apologize." Julian’s voice was dangerously low, leaving no room for argument. "In front of everyone, apologize to Sharon right now." Sharon gently tugged on Julian’s sleeve, whimpering, "Julian, please, it's fine... Natalie didn't mean it..." "So that gives her the right to dump wine all over you?" Julian kept his gaze locked on me. "Apologize." The room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Dozens of eyes bore into me, waiting for me to break, waiting for me to kneel. I stared at Julian for what felt like an eternity. Then, I spoke, my voice barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry." Only then did Julian's expression soften. He guided Sharon toward the private sitting room down the hall. I stood in place, my hands ice-cold. After a few minutes, I walked toward the sitting room as well. I needed to see if Sharon needed a fresh change of clothes. At the very least, I had to keep up the appearance of peace. The door was slightly open. I lifted my hand to knock, but voices inside stopped me. Sharon’s voice drifted out, laced with a flirtatious giggle. "Julian, can you give me another spare key to your office? I lost the one you gave me last week." Julian replied, "There's a spare in the top drawer. Just take it yourself." "Wait, don't you forbid anyone from stepping inside your office?" Sharon teased lightly. "Won't it look bad if I just walk in?" "You're different." My hand froze in midair. A memory flashed into my mind. Once, I had wanted to wait for Julian in his hospital office after his shift. The moment I reached the door, he had blocked me with a cold glare. He had told me his office was strictly for work and completely off-limits to everyone. He had spoken to me like I was a thief. It turned out it wasn't off-limits to everyone. It was only off-limits to me. I pushed the door open. Sharon was standing before the vanity mirror adjusting her hair. Hearing the door, she turned around without a shred of panic. On her left wrist, she wore a watch. My gaze locked onto it. It was the watch I had bought for Julian with my very first prize money after my debut solo performance. When I gave it to him, he had looked down at it with sheer disgust, called it cheap junk, and tossed it into a drawer. I thought it had been rotting in that drawer all these years. Now, it sat proudly on Sharon Hayes’s wrist. Sharon noticed where I was looking. She lifted her arm, flaunting the watch with a sweet smile. "Julian gave it to me. Pretty, isn't it?" I didn't utter a word. I turned and walked away from the room, my steps steady, my spine straight. A week later, Julian took Sharon out of state for a seven-day medical conference. During those seven days, his assistant made sure to relay messages to me daily. On Day One, the assistant said: "Julian told me to tell you that he's doing great out there. He said you shouldn't overthink things." On Day Three, the assistant said: "Julian and Miss Hayes are staying at the same hotel. Miss Hayes has been glued to his side at the gala. Everyone thinks they're an item." On Day Five, the assistant said: "Julian said you should know what’s good for you. Walking away on your own is a lot more dignified than getting thrown out." On Day Seven, the assistant didn't show up. I sat in my quiet, empty room, piecing together every single puzzle from the past weeks. From what I overheard backstage, to the relentless humiliation over the past seven days. It wasn't that I hadn't given him a chance. I had waited for him for eleven years, hoping that one day he would truly care for me. I was done waiting. I pulled out my phone, scrolled to Marcus Sterling's number, and dialed. The phone rang three times before connecting. "Mr. Sterling," I said, my voice shockingly calm even to my own ears. "I want to talk to you about calling off the engagement."Natalie's POV Marcus Sterling's study was on the second floor of the estate. The moment I pushed the door open, the heavy scent of vintage cologne washed over me. Marcus sat behind his massive mahogany desk. Seeing me, he gestured to the leather chair across from him. "Sit, Natalie. You haven't come to visit me in a while." I took a seat, resting my hands flat on my lap. I took a deep breath, just about to speak. The door swung open. Julian walked in. Seeing me, his brow furrowed immediately. "What are you doing here?" The words died on my tongue. Marcus glanced between Julian and me. "Julian, Natalie came to discuss something with me. Did you need something?" "Nothing important." Julian walked to the desk, picking up a folder. "Just grabbing some paperwork. Carry on." He took the folder, turned around, and walked out, shutting the heavy door behind him. I sat there, my fingers digging into the fabric of my skirt. I knew that once I spoke those words, there would be no turning back. And I wasn't entirely ready to face the storm that would follow. "It's nothing," I said softly, looking down. "I just wanted to see how you were doing." Marcus studied me for a long moment. He didn't push. He just sighed. "You always keep everything bottled up inside." That evening, the Sterling family hosted a grand dinner. The long dining table was packed with relatives. Julian sat across from me. Midway through the meal, Julian abruptly set his silverware down, picked up his champagne flute, and stood up. "I have an announcement," his clear voice resonated, silencing the chatter across the room. "The wedding between Natalie and me will proceed as scheduled." The guests paused for a split second before erupting into polite applause and congratulations. My fingers went numb, gripping the edge of the table. I looked up at Julian. He was looking right back at me, a subtle, triumphant smirk playing at the corner of his lips. It wasn't a smile of love. It was a declaration of ownership: You want to leave? Not a chance. The moment he sat down, his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, stood up, and tossed a brief "Hospital emergency" to his father before turning on his heel and walking out. The guests exchanged awkward glances. I sat frozen in my seat, staring at his empty chair. A bitter laugh caught in my throat. He was the one who announced the wedding, and he was the one who abandoned it the very next second. What was this marriage to him? Just a game of control? The next morning, I went to the state correctional facility. In the visitation room, my mother sat on the other side of the thick glass. Clad in an orange jumpsuit, her hair had turned half-white. The moment she saw me, a frail smile touched her face. "Natalie, why are you here? Today isn't regular visitation." "Mom." I picked up the receiver, my throat tightening painfully. "I'm not getting married." The smile on her face froze. "I'm going to get you out," I said fiercely. "Once you're out, we're leaving this city. We'll go somewhere nobody knows who we are." She stared at me, her eyes slowly welling with tears. Lowering her head, she reached inside her jumpsuit and pulled out a small item, sliding it toward the partition. It was a palm-sized cloth pouch made of pale blue cotton. The stitching was neat and delicate, with a tiny white lily embroidered near the opening. "I made this whenever I had free time," my mother whispered, her voice cracking. "My stitching isn't great, don't laugh at it. Keep it with you wherever you go from now on." I took the pouch through the slot, my fingertips tracing every single stitch. I could see her in my mind's eye, hunching under the dim prison light, sewing this little pouch stitch by stitch. "Mom," my voice broke. "Wait for me. I swear I'm getting you out." My mother nodded through the glass, tears finally spilling over her cheeks. Leaving the prison, I tucked the pouch deep into my coat pocket, keeping it pressed against my chest. Three days later, Julian escorted me to the annual Ballet Charity Gala. It was the biggest night of the year for the city's performing arts scene. Crystal chandeliers bathed the theater's grand ballroom in golden opulence. I wore a floor-length black gown, walking in with my arm linked through Julian’s. The second we stepped through the double doors, Julian pulled his arm away. Sharon Hayes was standing nearby, wearing a shimmering blush-pink gown. Seeing us, she sashayed over with a radiant smile. "Julian." She naturally hooked her arm around his other side, turning to me with faux innocence. "Natalie, you came too." Julian didn't pull away from her. For the entire night, Julian revolved around Sharon. He brought her champagne, introduced her to prominent surgeons and wealthy benefactors, proudly telling everyone, "This is Sharon Hayes, our head scrub nurse. She's exceptional." When someone occasionally asked about me, he would only dismissively reply, "This is my fiancée. She dances." And then he would immediately turn back to Sharon. I sat alone at a corner table, watching them mingle effortlessly through the crowd. Sharon was laughing brightly. Julian's eyes never once left her, filled with a tenderness so profound it was sickening. It was a tenderness he had never once given me in eleven years. When the gala ended, the guests began to filter out. I walked out of the theater doors just in time to see Julian helping Sharon into his car. I didn't call out. I didn't run after them. I just stood under the awning, watching the tail lights disappear into the night. I flagged a yellow cab and gave the driver the direction. The car stopped outside a high-end luxury high-rise downtown. Julian helped Sharon out of the vehicle. Sharon appeared completely drunk, leaning her entire weight against his chest. With one arm wrapped firmly around her waist, Julian tapped his keycard and opened the glass lobby door. It was Julian’s private penthouse. I sat in the back of the cab, watching them enter the elevator. A few minutes later, a window on the third floor lit up. That light stayed on for a very, very long time. And I sat in that dark cab for just as long. Finally, I spoke to the driver. "Let's go." The taxi pulled away into the night. I leaned against the headrest and closed my eyes. The little blue pouch was in my purse, resting against my leg, cold against my skin. I thought to myself: It's over. Everything ends here.Natalie's POV The next morning, I waited for Julian in the living room. He hadn't come home all night. When he finally walked through the front door, he carried the crisp chill of the morning air. Seeing me on the sofa, he blinked in surprise. "Why are you up so early?" "Julian," I looked straight into his eyes. "What exactly is going on between you and Sharon?" Julian’s hand froze mid-motion as he took off his coat. Then, he continued calmly, his tone completely dismissive. "What are you talking about? She's my colleague. She's new to the team, so I'm mentoring her." "So mentoring includes bringing her back to your private penthouse?" My voice was unnervingly level. "Last night after the gala, I watched you carry her upstairs. The lights on the third floor stayed on all night." Julian spun around, his face instantly darkening. "You followed me?" "I didn't follow you," I replied. "I just saw it." "Natalie, can you stop being so disgusting?" Julian’s voice turned biting and cold. "Sharon was drunk. I took her somewhere safe to sleep it off. It’s that simple. Can you clear the filth out of your mind for once?" "Filth?" I looked at him and let out a soft, humorless laugh. "Julian, you think I'm the disgusting one?" "The wedding happens as planned," Julian cut me off ruthlessly. "Stop making a scene. When you're done throwing your tantrum, go focus on the wedding prep." Without waiting for a response, he headed upstairs without sparing me a second glance. I sat on the couch, watching his retreating back, my hands slowly clenching into fists. Three days later, Julian dragged me out onto the second-floor terrace of the Sterling villa. "You stole Sharon's watch, and then you used it to threaten her into staying away from me?" Julian’s grip on my wrist was brutal, tight enough to shatter my bones. "Natalie, when did you become this venomous?" "I didn't steal her damn watch!" I struggled against his grip, but couldn't break free. "Julian, let go of me!" "Let go?" Julian scoffed cruelly. "You pull a pathetic stunt like this, and you want me to let you go?" On the other side of the terrace, Sharon stood shivering, her face pale, tears pooling in her wide eyes. "Julian, please, just stop..." Her voice trembled as she backed away toward the railing. "It's all my fault... I shouldn't have worn the watch... Natalie, I'm sorry, I won't press charges, please just don't be mad..." As she took another step back, her heel hit the low stone ledge. "Sharon, watch out!" Julian’s face drained of color. He violently shoved my wrist away and lunged toward her. He charged with such violent force that his shoulder slammed heavily into mine. Off balance, my foot caught empty air. I flipped over the terrace railing. I heard Sharon's piercing scream. I heard Julian yell my name. And then came the deafening, bone-crushing impact against the stone patio below. Agony tore through my right leg like a chainsaw slicing directly through the bone. I lay on the ground, staring at the gray sky above, drifting between consciousness and blinding pain. Footsteps pounded toward me. People were screaming commands. But the sounds faded into white noise. When I opened my eyes again, I was in a hospital bed. A heavy plaster cast encased my right leg, extending all the way from my mid-thigh down to my toes. The attending surgeon stood beside my bed. Seeing me awake, he let out a heavy sigh. "Comminuted fracture of the right tibia," he said gently. "You'll need strict bed rest for at least three months. Whether your leg can ever fully regain its original function... I cannot guarantee." Three months. I stared blankly at the acoustic tiles on the ceiling, unable to make a sound. The door to the private room pushed open. Julian stood in the doorway, his complexion ghostly pale. His lips parted slightly as if he wanted to speak. He didn't step inside. He just stood there, looked at my cast for three seconds, and then turned around and walked away. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving me completely alone once more. The cast felt suffocatingly heavy and freezing cold, pinning me down like a tombstone. Strangely, there was no hatred left in my chest. Hate requires too much energy. I didn't even have the strength left to despise him. There was only a hollow, biting numbness spreading from the soles of my feet straight to my heart. I knew that starting today, there was nothing left between Julian Sterling and me. Not even ashes.Natalie's POV On my third day in the hospital, I placed a call to the prison administration to check on my mother. The clerk on the line said everything seemed normal, but offhandedly mentioned that someone from high up had been inquiring about her status recently. My fingers turned numb around the receiver. Because I refused to take the blame for stealing that watch, Julian wasn't going to let it go. He wouldn't rage at me directly. He would aim his knife straight at my mother. I lay in that hospital bed, staring at the ceiling, without sleeping a single wink all night. The next afternoon, Julian arrived. He was wearing his pristine white lab coat, carrying a basket of fruit. He set it on the nightstand and pulled up a chair beside my bed. "How's the leg feeling?" he asked casually, like a doctor checking on an ordinary patient. I looked at him, my dry lips trembling. All I could see was my frail mother in prison, and that chilling warning: Someone has been inquiring about her. I lowered my head, my voice breaking into a whisper. "Julian, I'm begging you. Just this once." Julian stared at me without speaking. "Let my mother go," I pleaded, my whole body shaking. "She doesn't know anything. She's suffered enough in there. If you have anger, take it all out on me. Just don't touch her." Julian leaned back in his chair, studying my pathetic state, and let out a cold smirk. "Now you know how to beg?" he drawled. "Where was this attitude before? Weren't you so proud, refusing to admit your mistakes?" My fingernails ripped into the hospital sheets. "All you have to do is publicly admit you were wrong," Julian said, his voice measured and smooth. "Apologize to Sharon in front of everyone. Confess that you stole her watch and threatened her. The moment you do, I will pull the strings to get your mother approved for medical parole. Deal?" I lifted my head, meeting his gaze. "I didn't steal her watch." "Then my hands are tied." Julian stood up, brushing imaginary dust off his tailored slacks. "Think it over carefully. Whenever you come to your senses, you know where to find me." He reached the door, pausing with his hand on the handle to cast a cold glance back. "By the way, your mother isn't young, and her health is failing. Medical parole isn't something that can wait forever." The door clicked shut. Tears spilled silently from my eyes, soaking through the coarse pillowcase. I didn't give in. I knew that even if I degraded myself and lied, Julian would never actually let my mother go. He didn't just want an apology. He wanted to break my spine and turn me into his obedient puppet forever. I couldn't bow. At six o'clock the following morning, my phone shrieked. It was the city morgue. "Miss Vance? We have received your mother's body from the correctional facility. Please come in to identify her." I held the phone, my brain failing to compute the words. "What did you say?" "Your mother passed away last night in the prison infirmary. Cause of death was sudden cardiac arrest." The phone slipped from my lifeless fingers, crashing onto the linoleum floor. I sat frozen on the bed, paralyzed. I don't know how long I sat there like a corpse until a nurse walked in to change my IV. Seeing my white face, she asked what was wrong. I didn't answer. I hit the call button, demanded a wheelchair, and insisted on checking myself out AMA for a few days. The nurse warned me that placing weight on my shattered tibia would ruin any chance of recovery—that I was throwing away my leg. I looked her in the eye and said, "My mother is dead. I have no one left." She stopped trying to argue. I took a taxi straight to the city morgue. The basement morgue was freezing, the refrigerated air biting straight into my bones. The attendant pulled back the white sheet, revealing my mother's face. Her eyes were shut tight. Her skin was an ashen gray, her lips tinged with violet. She was visibly thinner than she had been during our last visit. I stood beside the stainless-steel slab, staring down at her face. I didn't shed a single tear. I reached out and touched her cheek. It was ice cold. I pulled my trembling hand back, pressing it against my side. "Mom," I whispered. "I'm here to take you home." I handled every single arrangement alone. Cremation, purchasing the urn, organizing the memorial. No relatives, no friends. Just me in a wheelchair, pushed by a hired orderly, rolling back and forth between the funeral home and the municipal offices. Everything I could sign sitting down, I signed. Everything else, I coordinated over the phone. The funeral was set for three days later. I dialed Julian’s number. First call: no answer. Second call: no answer. Third call, fourth call, tenth call... I dialed dozens of times. Every single one went straight to voicemail. I sat in my wheelchair by the entrance of the memorial chapel for six hours. From two in the afternoon until eight at night. The sun dipped below the horizon, darkness enveloped the cemetery, and the streetlights flickered to life one by one, stretching my shadow long and lonely across the gravel. Julian never came. Only later did I learn that during those exact three days, Julian had taken Sharon Hayes to a private island resort down south. He had turned off his phone so nobody could disturb their vacation. At eight o'clock, the funeral director walked over to me. "Miss Vance, should we proceed with the service?" "Proceed," I said evenly. I stood alone before the small headstone, looking at my mother's portrait, and bowed three times. Just me, and my mother’s ashes. After the service, I transferred her ashes from the heavy urn into that tiny blue pouch. The pale blue cotton, the delicate stitches, the embroidered white lily. The pouch she had lovingly sewn for me under the dim prison lights. I pulled the drawstring tight, tucked it into my bag, and held it tightly against my ribs. Then I rolled out of the cemetery, never looking back. I didn't cry. And I never dialed Julian Sterling's number again.Natalie's POV When I returned from the funeral home, it was pouring rain. I didn't have an umbrella. I had the cab drop me at the street corner, and I hobbled the last hundred feet on crutches, dragging my cast through the puddles. Rainwater streamed down my hair, soaking my clothes entirely. The wet fabric clung to my skin, freezing and heavy. When I pushed the front door open, Julian was sitting on the living room sofa. Seeing me, he frowned deeply. "Why are you soaked like this?" He stood up immediately, crossing over with a voice dripping with practiced concern. "Go upstairs and get changed before you catch pneumonia. I had the kitchen make hot cocoa and clam chowder. I'll have them bring it up." He reached out to steady my arm. I took a step back on my crutches, avoiding his touch entirely. Julian’s hands hung in the air for a second before he pulled them back. His face showed no guilt, only mild perplexity. "Go on then. Put on some dry clothes." He acted like he knew nothing. This was the man who, on the very night I finished burying my mother, could stand there with a straight face, offering me hot cocoa and asking if I was cold, as if the world were completely at peace. I looked at him, feeling an overwhelming wave of sheer absurdity. Without a word, I turned and dragged myself upstairs. The next afternoon, the Sterling family hosted a luncheon at a private Michelin-starred restaurant downtown. They had booked the entire dining room. Sharon sat right next to Julian. I sat at the far end of the long table, the furthest possible distance from them. Throughout the meal, Julian doted on Sharon completely. "Try the sea bass, it's fresh." "Eat your greens, it's good for your recovery." "This soup is their signature, drink some." His fork danced between Sharon’s plate and the serving platters, never once glancing in my direction. Midway through, he used his tongs to drop a generous mound of parsley onto my plate. "Eat up, Natalie," he said smoothly, as if he had no idea I despised it. I stared at the green garnish sitting on my porcelain plate, never picking up my fork. I have been deathly averse to parsley since childhood. Julian had been with me for eleven years; there was no way on earth he didn't know. He didn't forget. He simply didn't care. Sharon’s friend sat next to me—a trendy socialite who spent the entire lunch exchanging gossipy giggles with Sharon. Halfway through the meal, she reached across the table for a napkin. Her elbow swung out, catching the strap of my tote bag hanging off the back of my chair. The bag crashed to the floor. The little blue pouch rolled out, the drawstring loosening upon impact. Pale gray ashes spilled across the hardwood floor, dusting the tablecloth, sprinkling over the hem of my black dress. The entire dining room instantly plunged into absolute silence. Everyone stared in horror at the fine gray powder, and then at the soot clinging to my dress. I froze for one second. Then, I dropped to my knees, balancing on my good leg, using my bare hands to gather the ashes. My fingers trembled uncontrollably as I scooped the fine dust from the floor and the table, cradling every speck in my palms. A server panicked, knocking over a freshly brewed pot of Earl Grey. Boiling hot tea splashed violently over the back of my hands, but I didn't flinch. I kept frantically gathering the dust. Blisters flared instantly on my scalded red skin, but I felt nothing. "Ew!" Sharon shrieked, backing away and staring at her cuff. "Some of that dust got on my sleeve! This is a brand-new Chanel dress!..." Julian immediately whipped around, his eyes locking onto Sharon’s sleeve, his face filled with distress. "Are you okay?" He snatched a linen napkin, frantically dabbing at the speck of dust on Sharon’s cuff, his voice thick with protective anguish. "If it's ruined, throw it away. I'll buy you ten new ones." Not once did he look down at me. All that mattered in his universe was a speck of my mother's ashes dirtying Sharon’s designer sleeve. Kneeling on the cold floor, I scooped the final pinch of ashes into my palm, then slowly pulled myself up using the chair for support. On the back of my hand, the blisters had ruptured, clear fluid mixing with the tea and trickling down my knuckles. I looked at the people around the table. Julian was still comforting Sharon. Her friend was scrolling on her phone, pretending nothing happened. The Sterling relatives were murmuring among themselves. Not a single person looked at me. I looked down at the ashes cupped in my blistered palms. They felt so weightless. Light as nothing at all. I carefully poured the ashes back into the blue pouch, pulled the drawstring tight, and slipped it safely into my bag. Then, picking up my purse, I hobbled out of the private room on my crutches. Nobody called after me. Back at the Sterling estate, I went straight to my bedroom and locked the door behind me. I swung the closet open and began pulling out every single garment inside. The designer dresses Marcus had bought me, the diamonds Julian had gifted me, everything bearing the Sterling name. I folded them with meticulous care and stacked them neatly across the bed. I wasn't taking a single thread. I packed only a few basic outfits I had bought with my own performance stipends, my passport, and the blue pouch containing my mother's remains. When it was done, I sat on the edge of the mattress, gazing at the pile of luxury items. My soul felt completely still. From this day forward, I had only one single thought regarding Julian Sterling. Run. Run as far away as possible, and never, ever look back.