Three months later, at Sinclair Corporation's quarterly board meeting…

Directors filled the seats around the massive circular table, tension hanging in the air.


On the projection screen, financial data scrolled through the quarterly report. The new energy sector stood out dramatically—its revenue and profit growth dwarfing traditional divisions, the lone bright spot in an otherwise disappointing financial landscape.

Cherry sat at Sullivan's right hand, wearing a perfectly tailored charcoal suit, her hair swept into an elegant knot, her makeup flawless, her expression serene.

She delivered the new energy report with crystal clarity, effortlessly citing figures and analyzing future projections with surgical precision.


Sullivan watched her, his eyes troubled and complex.

Over these three months, Cherry had integrated the new energy division with breathtaking efficiency, securing key partnerships and launching the East City project on a steep upward trajectory.


Her brilliance was undeniable, her influence growing daily. Even her harshest critics among the old guard had been forced to acknowledge her results.

Yet between them remained nothing but essential work communication. She performed her VP duties flawlessly while maintaining an impenetrable wall around herself—completely shutting him out.

He'd tried apologizing, making amends, even quietly eliminating threats from Henry's remaining allies—all ignored. The scar on her palm seemed etched on her heart as well, permanent and unyielding.

"…In conclusion, the new energy sector has become our growth engine. I propose increasing investment here while divesting or restructuring underperforming traditional divisions to optimize our overall asset structure." Cherry finished, her cool gaze sweeping the room.

A low murmur rippled through the room. Divesting traditional businesses threatened many veteran executives' power bases.

"I support Deputy Director Thorne's proposal." Sullivan's voice cut through the murmurs. "Transformation is necessary. Growing pains are inevitable, but our direction must be clear."

His support surprised some and made others exchange knowing glances. Everyone could see Sullivan trying to make amends—and perhaps trying to bridge the chasm between them.

Cherry merely nodded slightly, not even glancing at Sullivan—as if his support meant nothing to her.

The meeting ended with an undercurrent of tension.

As everyone filed out, Sullivan called to Cherry.

"Cherry."

She stopped and turned, polite but distant. "Does President Sinclair need something else?"

Sullivan approached and handed her a document folder. "Victoria Skye has been charged with multiple crimes—false reporting, identity fraud, conspiracy. The evidence is conclusive; she faces years in prison. As for Henry… he misappropriated company funds for personal speculation. I've submitted evidence to the board and supervisory committee. He'll be permanently removed from Sinclair Corp's power structure."

He paused, his voice low. "I'm sorry. I misjudged them both and allowed threats to grow under my nose."

Cherry took the folder without opening it. "They got what they deserved. Cleaning house is just part of your job, President Sinclair."

Her detached response extinguished the last flicker of hope in Sullivan's heart. Looking at her composed face, he finally understood that nothing could recover what had been lost.

"What are your plans now?" he couldn't help asking. He sensed that Sinclair Corp could no longer contain her.

Cherry looked past him to the skyline beyond the window. "Sinclair Corp is a good platform, but ultimately, it's the Sinclair family's kingdom."

She turned her gaze back to his face. For the first time, her eyes held neither hatred nor coldness—only clear, resigned calm.

"Sullivan Sinclair, I don't hate you anymore."

Sullivan trembled, staring at her in disbelief.

"Hatred consumes too much energy," Cherry said slowly, as if discussing someone else's experience. "That thorn hurt terribly when it first pierced my heart. But when I finally gained the strength to pull it out, I realized it had become part of me—a reminder, but no longer a source of pain."

She opened her left palm, the scar still visible, but her eyes no longer fixated on it.

"I spent ten years loving you, and paid a devastating price to learn that self-reliance trumps dependency. Sinclair Corp is impressive, but it's not my final destination."

"You're leaving?" Sullivan's voice trembled slightly.

"The East City project is on track, and the team is solid. My work here is done." Cherry's tone was resolute. "I'm resigning as Vice President."

"Where will you go?"

"I'm founding my own company—focusing on cutting-edge research and applications in new energy." For the first time, a spark of genuine passion lit Cherry's eyes. "This is what I truly want—a kingdom that belongs to me, Cherry Thorne."

Sullivan fell silent. He knew he couldn't hold her back.

The woman before him had transformed into an eagle soaring toward distant horizons.

His past cruelty had, ironically, forged a stronger, more brilliant version of her.

This was perhaps fate's cruelest irony for him—and its kindest gift to her.

He took a deep breath, swallowing the bitterness and emptiness, clinging to his last shred of dignity. "If you need any help…"

"That won't be necessary." Cherry cut him off with a light, confident smile. "President Sinclair, until we meet again."

She extended her hand—not for a handshake, but to return the folder containing Victoria and Henry's fates.

Then she turned without hesitation, walking away with steady, measured steps from the room that had witnessed her suffering, struggle, and ultimate transformation.

Sullivan watched her disappear through the doorway, the folder's edge cutting into his palm. He knew that this time she was truly leaving—walking toward a future of her own making, one where he had no place.

What he had lost was a woman who had once loved him with her whole heart.

What the world gained was an unstoppable force named Cherry Thorne.

One month later, Cherry Thorne's "Thorn Energy" was officially established. No lavish celebration—just a core technical team and crystal-clear objectives.

She stood in the sunlit office of her own company, gazing at a view that now belonged to her alone.

Her phone chimed with a message from Sullivan Sinclair—just four words: "Wish you success."

Cherry glanced at it, didn't reply, and set the phone aside.

She raised her hand toward the window, sunlight streaming through to illuminate her palm. The scar caught the light, no longer ugly but transformed—like a badge of honor.

The thorn in her palm had once caused her unbearable pain.

Now it had become the strongest bone in her wings, lifting her higher and farther than before.

Her kingdom, built by her own hands.

Her future, ruled by herself alone.