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."
