Ashton's POV

On my wedding day, my fiancée dumped me right at the altar, then walked down the aisle hand in hand with my best friend.

Heart shattered and mind blank, I stumbled out of the hall, only to get hit by a car moments later. When I woke up, I was paralyzed. My dream of becoming a dancer vanished overnight.

In my darkest moment, when I was about to throw myself into the river, it was my friend’s aunt, Seraphina Montague, who pulled me back.

She then announced to the world that she loved me and even held a grand wedding, making me her husband.

But on our third anniversary, I overheard her talking to her assistant.

“Same routine as before,” she said coldly. “Tell the doctor to switch his medicine to vitamins. And cancel the rehab sessions, find an excuse.”

The assistant hesitated. “But, Ma'am, the doctor said if we keep delaying his treatment, he might never walk again.”

Then came a pause, and something that froze my blood.

“You’ve already achieved what you wanted for Mr. Montague,” the assistant said quietly. “You had someone run Mr. Chandler over on purpose, just so he couldn’t dance again. Now that Mr. Montague’s the lead dancer and his wife’s family adores him, do you still need to keep Mr. Chandler crippled?”

“Stop talking nonsense,” Seraphina snapped. “If he can’t stand, then he can’t stand. It’s not like I can’t afford to take care of him for the rest of his life.”

Then her tone softened—sorrowful, almost wistful. “If society says I can’t be with Christian, then I’ll protect him from afar. I’ll make sure nothing ever threatens his happiness.”

——

My hand flew to my mouth. I staggered back, trying not to scream.

It couldn't sink into me that my accident and my so-called salvation had all been part of her plan.

Tears blurred my vision, and my chest ached so badly it felt like it would split open.

When I heard footsteps from the corridor, I quickly spun my wheelchair around and hurried toward the backyard.

That was when I noticed that Seraphina’s storage room, the one she never let anyone near, was slightly open.

Curiosity pushed me inside.

There, I saw that every wall was covered with photos and paintings of Christian Montague from his childhood to now. His dance trophies and medals gleamed under the lights, his worn-out dance shoes and costumes carefully preserved behind glass.

Every inch of the room screamed her obsession.

In the middle of the room lay a foster certificate revealing the truth.

It turned out that Seraphina had only been adopted by Christian’s grandfather when she was a teenager. They weren’t related by blood at all.

I laughed through my tears. “Seraphina, you really fooled me, didn’t you?”

If this was all an act, then fine, let me return the stage to them.

I wiped my tears, composed myself, and turned to leave. But as I reached the garden path, she appeared.

“Ashton,” she called, startled. “What are you doing here? You didn’t see anything, did you?”

I forced a calm smile. “No. I just got lost. It’s been a while since I came out to the garden.”

She let out a sigh of relief, crouched down, and ruffled my hair gently. “Silly boy. You’re getting more absent-minded as you grow older. Come on, everyone’s waiting. Let’s go celebrate our anniversary.”

Her warm lips then brushed my forehead, but all I felt was an icy chill sinking into my bones.

When we entered the banquet hall, the guests all looked at us with admiration, envying her devotion to a crippled husband.

But my eyes locked onto the three-tiered strawberry cream cake in the center of the table.

I was severely lactose intolerant, and strawberries were Christian’s favorite.

As soon as Seraphina seated me at the main table, Christian came bounding over with a grin, grabbing her arm playfully.

“Auntie! When can we cut the cake? It's your and Ashton’s anniversary, and you chose my favorite flavor? That’s cheating!”

Seraphina just laughed softly and tapped his nose with her finger, utterly unashamed.

Ashton's POV

“Greedy little thing, wait until I finish giving your uncle his gift.” Seraphina smiled and slipped a bracelet around my wrist.

It reminded me of what a collector friend told me a few days ago, how excited he’d been when Seraphina asked him to help her buy a rare Patek Philippe watch, one worth fifty million. Gleeful, he had thrown in a matching bracelet for free.

Now, that same Patek Philippe glittered on Christian’s wrist, while the ill-fitting bracelet hung loosely on mine.

When the ballroom dancing started, as it did every year, I stayed seated in the audience.

Christian approached with that usual bright smile, taking Seraphina’s arm. “Ashton, since you can’t dance, why don’t I take Seraphina for the opening dance? You don’t mind, right?”

Before I could even respond, they were already gliding into the crowd.

Seraphina’s left hand rested gently on Christian’s shoulder, tender yet restrained, while her right hand intertwined with his. Her gaze was filled with warmth and emotion—eyes that could only hold him.

This was supposed to be our wedding anniversary. But tonight, it was clearly theirs.

For years, I thought the lavish anniversary parties were her way of honoring me, of showing the world she didn’t care that I was paralyzed. Now I realized the truth—these parties were nothing but excuses for her to be near the man she truly loved.

Guests whispered behind me.

“Wow, Mr. Montague really is the perfect lead dancer. Look at that form! Honestly, if he and Ms. Seraphina weren’t aunt and nephew, they’d make a much better match than her crippled husband.”

“Right? That husband of hers used to be some kind of prodigy in the dance world, but now he’s just a useless man in a wheelchair. Give it a few years, and Miss Seraphina will get bored, and no one will want that broken leftover anymore.”

Their laughter stung more than I wanted to admit.

Yet, Seraphina danced on, lost in Christian’s orbit, completely unaware of how cruel the whispers were.

Without her presence to protect me, the upper-class crowd dropped their polite masks and bared their disdain.

Soon, I couldn’t take it anymore. I turned my wheelchair and quietly left the hall, calling my lawyer to draft a divorce agreement. And while I was at it, I also booked a faked-death service.

When the banquet ended, I sat by the window of our room, watching the guests leave.

Under the trees, Seraphina stood there for a long time, staring at Christian’s departing figure. Only after he was completely out of sight did she finally turn and head upstairs.

The moment she entered our bedroom, she pushed me down on the bed, kissing me over and over like she couldn’t breathe without me.

“Sweetie, say you love me, okay? I love you. I love you so much. You’re mine, only mine.”

As her words echoed, fragments of memory started piecing themselves together. I suddenly realized every time she was this desperate for me, it was always after she saw Christian.

Was I… just his substitute for her desires?

A wave of nausea hit me, and tears slipped from my eyes before I could stop them.

When she tasted the wetness on my face, she finally paused, her voice softening. “Honey, what’s wrong? Did I hurt you?”

Her kisses trailed gently across my cheek, meant to soothe me, but the more tender she was, the sicker I felt.

I shoved her away, stumbled into the bathroom, and threw up again and again.

She immediately followed, rubbing my back as I retched. To anyone else, she might’ve looked like the picture of concern.

“Honey, are you feeling better? Should I call the doctor?”

I almost laughed through the bitterness. A doctor? For what? To prescribe more vitamins that didn’t heal anything?

“No need. I just ate too much. I’ll be fine after this,” I flatly replied.

She nodded and helped me back to bed, massaging my stomach with gentle hands.

Then suddenly, her phone rang. It was Christian.

Her eyes lit up instantly.

The moment she hung up, she grabbed her purse and rushed out of the room without even looking back.

Ashton's POV

“Christian’s having stomach pain,” Seraphina said as she grabbed her keys. “His wife’s been away on a business trip, and you know he’s hopeless at taking care of himself. I’ll go check on him.”

Even so, I didn’t bother stopping her. The moment she left, I opened the email from my lawyer, printed the divorce papers, and laid them neatly on my desk.

Out of habit, I glanced at my phone, and there it was. Christian’s latest post on social media:

[I said I felt a little sick after too much cake, and my auntie rushed over to take care of me.]

The attached photos showed her cooking in his kitchen, spoon-feeding him soup, and gently wiping the corner of his mouth like a doting lover.

In the three years we’d been married, even when I was bedridden with pain, I had never once seen Seraphina cook.

Then, another post popped up, this time a short video.

Seraphina was hand-washing one of Christian’s stained underwear, her sleeves rolled up. Christian looped his arms around her neck, teasing her in that familiar, shameless tone. “Seraphina, you treat me so well. If I ever get divorced, I’m marrying you, okay?”

She frowned and said sternly, “Don’t talk nonsense, you’re an adult now.”

But I saw it—how her hands trembled from excitement when he said it.

And that was enough. I closed my phone, signed my name on the divorce agreement, and set it aside.

That night, Seraphina didn’t come home.

The next morning, I went alone to the dance company.

Today was the celebration party for Christian’s promotion to principal dancer, which was an event both Seraphina and I were expected to attend.

It had been three long years since I last set foot in this place that once carried my dreams and glory.

After my accident, Seraphina bought the entire company. She told me it was because this place held my memories, and she wanted to preserve them for me.

Now I finally understood. She bought it so she could personally place him, the man she truly loved, on the throne that once belonged to me.

I gave a bitter smile just as I saw her arriving, arm in arm with Christian.

But when she spotted me, she hurried over and breathlessly said, “Sorry, sweetheart. The roads were closed last night, so I couldn’t make it back.”

I didn’t bother replying and just nodded faintly.

She looked like she wanted to say more, but Christian stepped forward and grabbed the handles of my wheelchair. “Seraphina, there are a lot of industry bigwigs looking for you. Don’t worry about Ashton, I’ll keep him company.”

After a moment’s hesitation, she nodded and walked off.

Christian and I hadn’t spoken privately since the day he and my ex-fiancée betrayed me. Any contact since then was only because of Seraphina. So, I didn’t know what game he was playing now, acting all friendly.

He didn’t give me a chance to ask. He soon pushed me toward the Hall of Honor—a long corridor lined with framed photos and awards.

Only now, every one of my pictures and trophies was gone, replaced by his.

Finally, he dropped the pretense, and his smug voice echoed above me. “So, what if you were a prodigy, Ashton? Look at you now, flat on your back, right where you belong.”

He then strolled in front of me and proudly lifted his leg, showing off his new shoes. “See these? Crocodile leather, custom-made. Seraphina ordered them herself to celebrate my promotion.”

Then he laughed lightly, eyes gleaming with mockery. “Do you like them, Ashton? Oh, wait, silly me. You’re paralyzed. Even if you wanted them, you couldn’t wear something this fine.”

He leaned closer, smirk widening. “Actually, since I’m in a generous mood today, I’ll share a secret with you. Seraphina and I are not related by blood. In fact, we used to date for years.”

He paused for effect, clearly enjoying the shock on my face. “You know why she married you? Because I had my eyes on your fiancée back then. You were in the way, so I asked her to reel you in and keep you busy.”