I stared at the ceiling in despair, my eyes vacant.

Heather seemed to notice something was off about me. She hurried over, took my hand in hers, and said, "Don't be scared, Christopher. With Claire and me here, no one can hurt you."

Claire came closer to me as well, speaking in a gentle voice. "Don't worry, Christopher. Even if you can never get out of bed again, we'll take care of you for the rest of your life."

My injuries started aching again when I heard that. I remembered how hard it was when I first began racing.

Our parents died in a car accident when I was seven, leaving behind the ten-year-old Claire and me.

For my survival, Claire had to work three jobs a day. She even denied herself proper meals and gave me the only bit of meat she had.

When I got older, I happened to see a racing competition one day, and winning came with a big cash prize.

I signed up right away, hoping to give Claire and me a better life. I trained day and night. There were times the car flipped over, and countless times I brushed shoulders with death.

Later, while I was out shopping, I saved Heather when she collapsed from low blood sugar by the side of the road. To thank me, she became my girlfriend.

At the time, I was always busy training, so she would often visit me with lots of good food. My team members often jokingly called her Mrs. Bowman.

When I had finally gotten the first prize money of my racing career, I excitedly shared the news with them. They both hugged me, telling me that my health and safety mattered more to them than anything else.

Before all of this had happened, I truly believed I was the happiest person in the world.

It wasn't until right before this race when I was knocked out and taken away that I finally understood what it felt like to be betrayed by the people closest to me.

The scars on my body would fade in time, but the wounds in my heart would never heal.

Heather came over with a bowl of beef stew. "Christopher, have some stew. It'll help you with your recovery."

The moment I saw the meat in it, my stomach turned. I never liked the taste of beef. The one who liked beef was Samuel.

Claire realized it at that moment and snatched the bowl away. "Heather, did you forget that Christopher doesn't eat beef? Give that to me."

Heather tried to make amends by hugging me. However, the moment I came into contact with a woman, the PTSD I had developed from what those women did to me made my body start to tremble uncontrollably as I recalled those horrible memories.

They had stepped on the wound where I had lost my kidney with their high heels and used their long nails to scratch patterns into my skin just to satisfy their twisted desires.

I started coughing violently as if I were suffocating until a mouthful of blood came out.

Startled, Claire wanted to summon a doctor, but Heather stopped her. "His throat's just a little irritated. We'll just get him some honey and lemon water, and he'll be fine."

With that, they left. I closed my eyes in heartbreak. That wasn't just irritation at all. My throat had been scalded with hot water by those women, so it was covered in blisters.

After the nurse finished changing my IV, she quietly said to her colleague, "What kind of family are they? They're only giving him saline. They refused to put him on anti-inflammatory medication. The patient's never going to recover like this."

The other nurse whispered, "I heard the patient got in someone's way, so they'd rather keep him like this forever, even if he's barely hanging on."

My head spun when I heard that. I finally understood why I hadn't been getting any better.

Feeling crushed, I borrowed a phone from the nurse and called my racing coach.

After the call connected, hearing that familiar voice made tears stream down my face. "Mr. Hudson, I'm a cripple now. I'll never be able to race again."

My coach, Ross Hudson, comforted me. "It's okay. What is valuable will always be recognized. You can still put what you have left to good use, like me."

His words reignited my will to live. I said firmly, "Wait for me, Mr. Hudson. Once I recover, I'll go see you."

Just then, Heather abruptly came in, prompting me to shove the phone into the nurse's pocket as quickly as I could.

Heather shot the nurse a look, which made the nurse hurry off.

Claire, who came in after Heather, questioned, "Christopher, what were you doing just now? You're about to marry Heather. If you dare mess around, I won't go easy on you."

I stayed silent. After Heather and Claire gave me some honey and lemon water, Claire suggested taking me out for a bit of fresh air.

Before I could even say anything, they exchanged a glance and wheeled me out without another word.

After the car stopped in front of a bar, they helped me into my wheelchair.

Unexpectedly, Heather said she had forgotten to bring my prescribed medicine, so they drove off without me, leaving me shivering in the cold wind alone.

That was when a group of women in their 50s or 60s appeared not far off. The one leading the group, a woman with a pitted face, strode toward me.

"Ladies, I found us a fine catch. Come check him out."

A lecherous-looking woman eyed me hungrily. "Look at all his injuries. Doesn't he look endearing with how pitiful and delicate he is? I've never had the chance to mess around with a disabled guy before."

They dragged me into the bar, shut the private room door, and began pouncing on me.

The pitted-faced woman started a live stream. "Everyone, check out this little thing. Isn't he pathetic?"

Several women started pulling at my shirt. I screamed for help, "Somebody help me! Is there no law left in this world?"

Someone smashed a bottle on my head. "Who said you could scream? Can you afford to handle the consequences of ruining my mood?"

As my shirt was ripped off, the wound on my stomach was exposed. The pitted-faced woman looked disappointed. "So not only is he a cripple, but he's also missing a kidney!

"He can't even be considered a man anymore. Ladies, what should we do with this useless thing?"

The viewers in the live stream continued to grow, clearly enjoying the spectacle. "Tie him up and make him crawl around like a dog."

"Since he's useless now, just throw him in the river. Seeing people like him pisses me off."

Right then, the door was kicked open. Narrowing my eyes to see better, I saw that it was Claire and Heather.

Heather ordered her bodyguards to subdue the women while Claire hurried to drape her coat over me.

Though the women were grabbed, they showed no fear at all. On the contrary, they looked completely at ease, like actors after "cut" was called.

As Claire wheeled me out, Heather said the women would be punished appropriately. But when I rolled the wheelchair back and peeked through the glass into the private room, I saw Heather handing them money.

My heart dropped, as if it had fallen into an icy abyss. So they had done all of this on purpose. They just wanted to rub salt into my wounds over and over again.

After returning to the hospital, I stared blankly at the ceiling, overwhelmed with despair. I refused to eat, acting like a living corpse.

Suddenly, the TV began reporting the news. "Famous racecar driver Christopher Bowman was spotted in a bar with several women in their 50s and 60s. He seemed to have a very messy private life."

Claire tried to turn it off, but switched it to a different channel that showed Samuel giving an interview.

He held up the trophy that should have been mine. "I earned this trophy on my own merit. Hard work always pays off."

As the TV abruptly turned off, I grew so mad that I passed out from overwhelming fury.

When I woke up groggily, I heard Claire worriedly say, "Christopher's already traumatized… If we keep ruining him like this, he'll never recover."

Heather spoke in a cold voice. "Breaking him mentally is exactly what I want to do. He must never pose a threat to Samuel, even if I have to take care of him for life. After all, Samuel saved our lives."

Pain shot through my waist when I heard that. They had no clue that if I hadn't taken action during that car accident, they wouldn't even be alive right now.

When Claire and Heather noticed that I was awake, they immediately stopped talking. Heather stammered in a probing tone, "C-Christopher, you didn't hear anything just now, right?"

I shook my head, and it was clear they were relieved.

Heather came over to hold my hand. "Christopher, don't listen to what anyone says. With me here, no one dares speak badly of you."

I gazed at her, my heart already broken. Wasn't she the one behind everything that had happened to me?

Not only did she destroy me physically, but she also broke me mentally. She was the one who didn't want me to recover and wanted me to become a complete wreck.

Heather cleared her throat before speaking hesitantly. "Christopher, our engagement photos won't turn out well with all your injuries at the moment.

"Why don't we have Samuel stand in for you, and we'll just edit your face onto his?"

Since the person in the photos could be substituted, maybe the groom could also be changed.

The moment I opened my mouth to protest, the pain in my ankle flared. I didn't even want to imagine what would happen if I refused her.

In the end, I simply nodded silently. Claire's frown gradually eased when she saw my reaction. "Christopher has always been sensible. He won't fuss over something that trivial."

Heather excused herself to take a call outside. When she came back, she said apologetically, "Claire and I have something important to take care of tonight. You'll have to look after yourself."

A while later, they went out to buy lunch.

When the nurse came to change my IV, she muttered indignantly, "Mr. Bowman, I can't believe they're going to go celebrate a race win when you're in this state. They clearly don't care about you."

That was the moment I finally understood that I was the one nobody cared about. After some time, Samuel suddenly came in and punched my injured ankle.

"Now that you're barely alive, do you still think you can compete with me? Tonight, Heather and Claire will be at my celebration. While we'll be clinking glasses, you'll be lying in this cold hospital bed, waiting for your end."

The pain left me soaked in sweat, my body trembling nonstop. I snapped, "Samuel, you lowlife! You didn't even win that trophy fairly. You'll always be inferior to me."

Samuel raised an eyebrow disdainfully. "You seriously won't learn until it's too late, huh? Maybe I should help you meet your end a little sooner."

He grabbed the fruit knife nearby, raising it over his head with both hands. Unable to move freely, I could only close my eyes and accept my fate.

A scream sounded, but I felt no pain. When I opened my eyes, I saw Samuel clutching his stomach before collapsing to the floor.

Just then, Heather and Claire came in and noticed that Samuel was bleeding from the stomach.

Storming over, Heather slapped me across the face. "Have you lost your mind, Christopher? Samuel came to see you out of goodwill. How could you stab him with a knife?"

Samuel flashed me a sinister smile before a look of grievance appeared on his face. "I just wanted to peel an apple for Christopher, but then he said that the trophy belonged to him and that he was going to kill me as I was inferior to him…"

Claire slapped the other side of my face. "Samuel won fair and square. How petty can you be? I'm really disappointed in you."

Heather, fuming, ordered her bodyguards, "Dump Christopher in the closest rainforest! He can come back when he finally learns his lesson!"

I screamed desperately for them not to do this to me, but they couldn't care less about me. All they cared about was Samuel's injury.

That evening, at the celebration, someone tried to drink with Samuel, but Heather stopped them.

"Samuel's injured. He can't drink. I'll drink his share for today."

Later, someone jeered, "Samuel, aren't you supposed to take the engagement photos on Christopher's behalf? Why don't you raise a glass in his place as well?"

Samuel picked up a glass of juice from the side, looking expectantly at Heather.

Heather said graciously, "Since it's a happy occasion, I'll go along with it."

Just as they were about to toast to each other, a bodyguard burst into the room, holding a torn, blood-stained shirt. "Ms. Vega, Mr. Bowman is missing. He may already be dead."