A Symphony for Ruined Hands.

After three days of my radio silence—three days without a single expense request—my husband, Julian, the CEO of the Sterling-Hale Group, finally called.

"Darling, I've already approved the next round of expenses for your hand treatment. There, you see? As long as you learn to behave, I'm more than willing to give you anything."

His deep, magnetic voice poured through the receiver, as if he were soothing a pet he had finally tamed.

"I know artistic types like you are sensitive. You aren't used to the rules that come with this life. I'm only doing this for you, to help you adapt. For our family's reputation."

His tone was as indulgent as ever, a flawless imitation of a doting husband, frantic with worry.

But he didn't know that as his name—"Darling"—flashed on my screen, my lawyer was already finalizing the divorce papers.

When I left, all I took was the old, faded cashmere sweater I’d been wearing during the accident.

No one would have believed that the enviable Mrs. Sterling, the talk of New York's high society, couldn't even scrape together five decent performance gowns in the three years since our wedding of the century.

Every personal expense had to be approved by the family trust—a power that, as the lady of the house, should have been mine all along.

"Thea, managing finances is exhausting. It would dirty your beautiful hands."

"Let Ava handle the tedious work of approvals. Your only job is to be my perfect, stunning wife."

And so, the authority over the trust became something I had to beg for from Ava, the chief of staff who was, in name, "handling trivial matters" for me.

Three days ago, the most critical window for my hand nerve treatment arrived. I cried and begged him to approve five hundred thousand dollars to secure an emergency treatment slot at the Swiss clinic.

But Ava deliberately blocked the approval, citing "non-compliant risk control review procedures."

In the end, my career as a concert pianist was given its death sentence. A part of my soul died with it.

I had endured his indifference and humiliation for three years, staying because I had once truly loved him and because I believed his vast fortune was the only thing that could heal my hand.

But now, both of those pillars had crumbled. My hand was ruined.

And I was done with him. Utterly and completely.

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1

As I emerged from the examination room, the attending doctor's dispassionate words echoed in my ears.

"You've missed the optimal treatment window. The nerve damage in your hand is permanent. There's no need for you to come back."

A chilling silence filled me, and my heart plunged into an abyss.

When I arrived at Julian's penthouse office, he was engrossed in signing documents with Ava.

When I brought up divorce, he didn't even bother to look up, just scoffed lightly.

"Throwing another tantrum? Still upset I didn't take you to the charity gala last week?"

"Thea, don't make jokes like that. It's not funny."

I lowered my gaze, suppressing the hollow ache in my chest, and said firmly, "Julian, I'm not joking. I want a divorce."

Julian finally looked up at me.

He rounded the enormous mahogany desk and moved toward me, reaching for my hand. I flinched away.

His hand froze in mid-air. A flash of displeasure crossed his features, but it vanished as quickly as it came.

"I know you're unhappy about the treatment being paused. That was only to help you break your dependency on experimental drugs. I was thinking of your health."

"Ava was just following my orders. How could you embarrass her in front of the board?"

"I authorized an unlimited line of credit on your black card yesterday. Darling, my time is precious. I have an entire company to run, so don't make me waste it soothing your feelings."

Before I could answer, he glanced at the Patek Philippe on his wrist. "I have a meeting. I'll bring you your favorite jewelry tonight. Be a good girl and wait for me at home."

He was so sure I couldn't leave him, certain that a few crumbs of affection would have me bowing my head in gratitude.

After all, in the past, even when he left me alone in the car during a downpour to pick up Ava from the airport, all it took was him saying, "She's my most important business partner," for me to wipe away my own tears.

But now, I no longer needed those cold diamonds.

Whether the treatment resumed or not no longer mattered.

If, three days ago, Julian had bothered to check my urgent email in the middle of his damn multinational conference, I might still be that fool living in a dream.

Back then, I had pleaded with him, begged him not to end the video call, to just listen to what I had to say.

But my frantic pleas were no match for Ava's delicate, cloying voice in the background.

"Julian, did Mrs. Sterling misunderstand me? I only reminded her that the amount was quite large, and I didn't feel comfortable approving it without an official document from the clinic."

"If she is truly in a hurry, I'd be willing to push it through, even if it violates regulations, but I'm afraid the group's risk control department will investigate, and that might affect your reputation, Julian…"

"That's why I was a bit stricter with the approval—to help her develop good habits that align with the standards of the Sterling-Hale Group."

Hearing this, Julian was completely won over, forgetting my desperation entirely.

"You see, Thea? Ava is so considerate. She's always thinking of me."

"Can't you learn from her? Stop being so impulsive and unruly."

"Listen to Ava. Get the financial procedures in order first."

It was always like this whenever I needed him.

"I'm inspecting the European division. If you need anything, find Ava."

"Follow Ava's arrangements."

"Just do whatever Ava tells you to do."

I was his wife, the nominal lady of this business empire, yet I lived without a shred of dignity.

Forget normal socializing; even for galas I had to attend as Mrs. Sterling, or ribbon-cutting ceremonies where I was his prop, I had to apply to his chief of staff for gowns and jewelry.

And every time, Ava would dismiss my requests with a sweet smile and a casual wave of her hand.

"Ma'am, this gown isn't the CEO's preferred style, and this sapphire necklace is beneath your status. Please rewrite the application."

"Oh, Ma'am, you applied too late. The haute couture pieces have all been claimed. How about you wear this one from last season? Besides, you're a natural beauty. The CEO won't mind."

"Ma'am, why are you always like this? Look at this list. Didn't I tell you to confirm everything was in order before bringing it to me for approval?"

She would always drag things out until the last possible second, leaving me to stand awkwardly beside a radiant Julian in an ill-fitting, outdated dress.

And Julian would wrap his arm around my waist and whisper, "Thea, why are you wearing this again? I don't mind you being frugal, but don't embarrass the Sterling family."

"You can't even handle something this simple. You still need Ava to hold your hand. When are you going to grow up?"

And the only reason I couldn't handle such a "simple matter" was entirely thanks to Julian's "good chief of staff."

But he never saw it. Or maybe… he just didn't care.

Just as he knew my hand couldn't wait, that the treatment couldn't be delayed.

Yet he still told me, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, to just go find Ava.