Chapter 6

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.