After Dumping the Billionaire, the Genius Surgeon Makes a Powerful Comeback

Serena's POV:

I watched the antique clock on the wall, its long hand mercilessly ticking past eight. It was the fifth time I had checked.

On the table, the Beef Wellington I'd spent all afternoon preparing was cooling, the edges of its pastry going pathetically soft. This is my husband Xavier Harrington's favorite dish. The candlelight glinted off the crystal goblets, catching the shimmer of the dress I'd chosen for tonight. It was his favorite dress.

I picked up my phone. The screen was dark. My message from half an hour ago, "Xavier, are you on your way home? Dinner is ready," remained without a single checkmark to indicate it had been read.

My gaze fell on the two elegantly wrapped gift boxes beside the place settings. One held a pair of custom-engraved cufflinks with his initials. The other contained the limited-edition princess doll Mia had been begging for.

Today was our fifth wedding anniversary. A day I had started preparing for a week ago, and a day they had apparently forgotten.

I remembered the morning. Mia had thrown her arms around my neck, and for a hopeful second, I thought she'd say, "Happy anniversary, Mommy." Instead, she'd chirped, "Mommy, Auntie Savannah is taking me to her design exhibition today!"

And my husband, had given me a perfunctory kiss while adjusting his tie, his eyes never meeting mine in the mirror. "Savannah's exhibition is important to her," he'd said. "I have to be there to support her."

He never even asked if I wanted to go with them. In his eyes, I, a housewife, had no place at all in the dazzling world of my sister Savannah - the rising designer.

A faint cramp started in my stomach, a hollow ache from the long wait. I had no appetite.

I picked up my phone again, my thumb hovering before I tapped open Xavier's social media feed. His assistant had just posted a new photo.

There he was, standing under a spotlight, holding a microphone for Savannah. The look on his face was one I hadn't seen directed at me in years: pure, undiluted pride. Savannah was holding Mia, who was clutching a small trophy and beaming. The caption read: "Congratulations to the brilliant Ms. Savannah Sinclair on winning the 'New-Wave Designer of the Year' award! A special thanks to Harrington Group CEO, Mr. Xavier Harrington, for his unwavering support!"

My finger rested on the words "unwavering support." An icy fluid seemed to seep from my heart, spreading through my veins until my fingertips were cold.

So, it wasn't just an exhibition. It was an awards ceremony. An event far more important, it seemed, than our wedding anniversary.

I switched off the phone. The dark screen reflected my own colorless face.

I stood and walked to the three-tiered strawberry cake on the sideboard. A single candle, shaped like the number "5," stood proudly in the center. I struck a match and lit the lonely wick. The flame danced, a silent, mocking celebration.

I didn't make a wish. For five years, my wishes had gone unanswered.

I leaned in and blew.

The flame died. A thin curl of smoke rose, carrying the last cloying scent of sweetness into the cold air.

I opened the gift box, took out the exquisite cufflinks, and without a second of hesitation, tossed them into the roaring flames. Then came the princess doll. The plastic warped instantly, melting into a grotesque, bubbling mass that released a sharp, acrid smell.

I watched until they were nothing but ash. Five years of hope and effort, incinerated in a moment.

I turned back to the table and began clearing it, scraping every last bit of the carefully prepared, now cold, food into the trash. The Beef Wellington. The black truffle mashed potatoes. The baked lobster. Everything I had made for them, destined for the cold, clinical bin.

When I was done, a weariness I had never known settled over me. It wasn't physical. It was a fatigue of the soul.

I gave the empty dining room one last look. This room, which I once thought was the heart of our home.

I walked out and didn't look back.

For the first time, I truly examined my marriage. The thought I had buried so deep, the one named "give up," had finally broken through the soil tonight.

I didn't go to the master bedroom. I walked down the hall, towards the study. A place I hadn't set foot in for five years. A place where the real me was stored away.

Tonight, it was time to let her out.