Chapter 3

Serena's POV:

The case opened under my fingers, and a set of exquisite surgical scalpels gleamed back at me in the lamplight.

The handle of the primary blade was engraved with a line of fine script: "To my best student, Serena. — Dr. Ambrose Voss."

Beside the scalpels lay a yellowed envelope. Inside was my un-submitted certificate of completion from Meridian International Hospital.

All I had to do, five years ago, was send that envelope in. One stamp. One trip to the post office. And I would have been a fully credentialed surgeon at one of the top hospitals in the country.

I never sent it. Because my husband didn't need a surgeon. He needed a housewife who waited.

I ran my thumb over the cool, familiar weight of a scalpel. The feeling woke something dormant in my blood—a forgotten pride, a quiet strength. The woman this family had forgotten came back to the surface, one heartbeat at a time.

I returned to the divorce agreement and began writing the clauses, one by one.

Division of assets: all of my pre-marital assets, investment returns, and any income generated from my personal design and investment work during the marriage would remain solely mine. I wanted nothing from the Harrington family. Not a single dollar.

I wrote that clause without hesitation. The wealth the world assumed I depended on was, to me, just the gilded bars of my cage.

Then—the custody of our daughter, Mia. I stopped. The nib of the pen hovered over the paper, and a drop of ink bled into the fiber, spreading like a single, dark tear.

I want Auntie to be my mom.

Was I really going to fight a nasty custody battle for a daughter who no longer loved me?

I pushed the draft aside, a profound exhaustion settling deep in my bones. But no. Mia was still my daughter. She was young, easily swayed. I couldn't abandon her completely because of her temporary confusion.

I would give her one last chance. And I would give myself one, too.

I picked up my phone, opened the calendar app, and created a new event. I titled it: "Heartbreak Countdown." I set the duration for thirty days.

The rules were simple. Starting tomorrow, every time Xavier or Mia broke my heart, I would make a note. When the number of heartbreaks reached thirty, or the thirty-day limit expired—whichever came first—I would sign the divorce papers without a second thought. I would walk away from everything, including the fight for Mia's custody.

This month was my final gift to Mia, a chance for her to see who truly loved her.

And it was a buffer for me, time to prepare my escape.

I put the draft of the divorce agreement, the scalpels, and the certificate back into the drawer. I locked it and slipped the small key into my pocket.

By the time I was done, the sky outside was beginning to lighten. I didn't return to the cold master bedroom. I went to the guest room next to the study. This would be my final sanctuary in this gilded prison.

Lying on the unfamiliar bed, my mind was wide awake, racing, planning my life after this. My career. A new home. A new life.

I closed my eyes. The face that appeared in my mind was not Xavier's. It was the bright, shadowless light of an operating theater, and the stern, expectant gaze of Dr. Voss.

I am Serena Sinclair. I am not just a wife or a mother.

I am myself. The surgeon who could save a life with a blade.

The countdown had begun. Thirty days. I had given that family one month to remember who I was.

It took them less than twelve hours to fail the first test.