On the fifth anniversary of Rebecca Perry's marriage to Vance Bradford, his first love returned to the country.

That night, she caught him in the bathroom, murmuring Catherine's name as he pleasured himself.

That was why, for five years, he had never touched her.

"Catherine is back; she's all alone. I'm just helping her as a friend."

"I understand."

"I promised her I'd accompany her to the island for her birthday. I'm just fulfilling it."

"Okay."

"This banquet requires a capable companion, and Catherine is more suitable than you."

"Okay, go ahead."

When she stopped getting angry, stopped shedding tears, and stopped making a fuss, he grew puzzled. "Rebecca, why aren't you angry?"

Of course, she wasn't angry anymore—because she was preparing to leave.

Weary of this stagnant marriage, she had secretly learned a foreign language, taken the proficiency exam, and applied to study abroad.

The day her visa was approved, she presented him with the divorce agreement.

Vance froze. "No joke. How are you gonna survive without me?"

Rebecca turned away, bought a plane ticket, and flew to the European continent, vanishing without a trace.

The next time he saw news of her was in a viral video. Dressed in a flowing red gown, she danced against a foreign sky, igniting the internet with her performance.

He gritted his teeth. "Rebecca, no matter where you hide, I will find you and bring you back!"

The faint sound of running water echoed from the bathroom; Vance Bradford was taking a shower.

It was three in the morning, and he had just returned home.

Rebecca Perry stood at the bathroom door, her heart pounding. There was something she wanted to discuss with him, but she felt nervous, unsure if he would agree once he heard it.

As she pondered how to broach the subject, a strange noise came from inside. She listened closely and realized he was pleasuring himself.

The heavy breaths and muffled groans struck her like hammers, pounding relentlessly at her chest. Bitterness surged through her like a tidal wave, leaving her gasping for air, drowning in agony.

Today marked their fifth wedding anniversary, yet they had never consummated their marriage.

So, this was why. He'd rather take care of himself than touch her.

His breathing grew more frantic, and suddenly, in a moment of intense release, he groaned lowly, "Catherine..."

That name delivered the final, crushing blow. Something inside her shattered into dust.

She clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle her sobs and turned to flee, but in her haste, she stumbled, crashing into the sink and tumbling to the floor.

"Rebecca, is that you?" Vance's voice, still ragged from exertion, carried a note of forced composure, though his breathing remained heavy.

"I-I needed the bathroom. I didn't know you were showering," she stammered, desperately grabbing the sink to pull herself up.

But in her panic, she made things worse. Water slicked the floor and countertop, making it impossible to find her footing.

She finally managed to stand just as Vance emerged. His white bathrobe was hastily thrown on, the belt cinched tightly around his waist.

"Did you fall? Let me help you," he said, reaching out to lift her.

Tears brimmed in her eyes from the pain, but she pushed his hand away, stubborn and resolute. "No need. I can manage myself."

She steadied herself but nearly slipped again. Limping awkwardly, she fled back to the bedroom—a hasty escape from the awkward scene.

For five years, she had been hiding from the outside world, from the judgmental stares, and from Vance's sympathy.

She was ashamed of her condition, though she used to have strong, beautiful legs before the accident.

She always felt inferior. A cripple like her didn't deserve someone as accomplished and luminous as Vance Bradford.

Vance followed her, his tone gentle and concerned. "Does it hurt? Let me check."

"It's nothing." She burrowed under the covers, hiding her embarrassment along with her body.

"Are you sure?" His worry seemed genuine.

"Yeah." She nodded, showing her back to him.

"Then get some sleep. Don't you want to use the bathroom anymore?"

"Nope, let's just rest."

"Alright. Oh, it's our anniversary today. I got you a gift. Open it tomorrow and see if you like it."

"Okay."

The gift sat on the nightstand; she had already spotted it. She didn't need to unwrap it to know what was inside.

Every year, it was the same-sized box containing an identical watch. Her drawer already held nine of them, including birthday gifts. This would be the tenth.

The conversation ended.

Vance switched off the light and lay down. The air was filled with the damp, fresh scent of his shower gel, but she barely felt the mattress dip under his weight.

The bed was giant, but they lay far apart, each on one edge. The space between them could fit three more people.

As if by tacit understanding, neither of them mentioned Catherine Welch or what had transpired in the bathroom.

Rebecca lay rigid on her back, her eyes stinging fiercely.

Catherine was Vance's college classmate, his first love, and his goddess. After graduation, she had gone abroad, leading to their breakup and his depression. He had spiraled into despair, drinking heavily every day.

Rebecca and Vance, however, were classmates in high school. She had harbored a secret crush on him back then.

He was the campus heartthrob and an aloof, top student, while she spent most of her time in a dance studio far from the spotlight.

She was pretty enough, but she was quiet, never one to stand at the center of things, and in a school full of confident, outspoken girls, she was easy to overlook.

So, her feelings had remained her private secret; she never dreamed of approaching him.

That changed after she graduated from the dance academy and returned home for summer break, encountering him in his broken state.

He was heavily drunk that night, weaving erratically down the street. As he crossed the road without checking the lights, a car barreled toward him, unable to brake in time.

She had been trailing him out of concern and shoved him aside—just in time for the car to strike her instead.

At that time, she had secured a spot in graduate school, but the accident left her crippled. She could never dance again.

Afterward, he quit drinking and married her.

He remained forever indebted, forever grateful, soft-spoken and distant. He showered her with gifts and money, but never with love.

She had believed time could heal everything and soften the edges of her pain. Yet after five years, he still clung to Catherine so deeply that even in his most private moments, it was her name he uttered.

She had been foolish and naïve.

She lay awake all night, checking an email on her phone over a hundred times. It was an offer from a foreign university for graduate studies—the very thing she had planned to discuss with him that evening.

But now, there was no need to consult him. Their five-year marriage, filled with countless sleepless nights, could finally begin its countdown.

When he rose in the morning, she feigned sleep, overhearing him speak to the housekeeper, Nancy. "I have a business dinner tonight. Tell Rebecca not to wait up; she should rest early."

After his instructions, he returned to the bedroom to check on her. She hid under the covers, her pillow soaked with tears.

Normally, she would prepare his outfit for work, laying it out neatly. But not today.

He dressed himself in the walk-in closet and left for the office. Only then did she open her eyes, feeling them swollen and sore.

Her phone alarm buzzed—the daily reminder she had set for herself to study.

Since the marriage, her leg had confined her to the house most of the time. To pass the endless hours, she divided her days into segments, filling each with small tasks.

She silenced the alarm and mindlessly scrolled through apps. Her mind was a jumble, unable to focus on anything, until she saw a familiar face in a video.

It was posted just the night before, and the account name was Cathy W. The algorithm was really uncanny, delivering this right before her eyes.

Rebecca tapped on the video, and lively music played, followed by voices shouting, "Three, two, one! Welcome back, Catherine! Cheers!"

One voice stood out—Vance's.

Vance had broken his no-drinking rule. He was obviously drunk, or else he wouldn't have shouted like that.

In Rebecca's memories, Vance in high school was the aloof genius, always focused on his studies. Once, a girl who admired him had offered him water on the sports field, but he had ignored her.

As her husband, he was polite and emotionally steady, never laughing heartily or showing anger. He was so calm, so detached that even brushing his fingers felt cool.

The video panned across faces, capturing a flushed Vance. His eyes were sparkling as he raised his glass with a broad smile. "Welcome home, Cathy."

So, he could laugh, be passionate, and use intimate nicknames.

He just didn't do that to Rebecca. He never smiled at her, never showed passion, and never called her by her nickname.

Nancy's voice came from outside, interrupting her thoughts. "Madam, are you up yet?"

Rebecca's daily routine was predictable. When there was no response, Nancy worried she might need help, especially considering her leg injury.

Rebecca set her phone aside, her voice hoarse. "Coming out soon."

Nancy made sandwiches for breakfast, but Rebecca managed only one bite before losing her appetite.

Nancy handed her a glass of milk. "Madam, what would you like for lunch and dinner?"

"Anything, I guess," Rebecca started, then swallowed her usual response of making whatever Vance liked.

But Nancy understood the implication. That was just the same daily conversation. "Mr. Bradford said he won't be home for dinner. He has a commitment."

Rebecca nodded, having seen the list in that post. Catherine had scheduled a week's worth of dinners, listing who was treating and what she craved.

[The most genuine friendships from the student days. I'm so lucky to have so many boys pampering me.]

Normally, Rebecca's day involved two hours of French study and several more on art theory. Without something to occupy her, how could she endure the endless waiting for Vance to come home?

She had waited before... The ache of it was unbearable. Now her plans were different.

This offer was likely the university's final round of admissions; she needed to confirm quickly.

Her first task was to pay the confirmation fee. When the bank notification popped up, she exhaled in relief.

It was another step closer to leaving Vance.

That evening, she changed her clothes and prepared to go out. Nancy asked wonderingly, "Madam, where are you going?"

Without Vance, Rebecca hardly ever left the house.

"Oh, a college friend is performing nearby and invited me to meet," she lied.

In truth, she was heading to a hotel near the exam center. She'd have the French Proficiency test tomorrow, and it was scheduled for the morning. Rushing there risked traffic delays.

Her previous attempt months ago hadn't met her target score, but with application deadlines looming, she had submitted anyway. Surprisingly admitted, she could now supplement her scores.

That was thanks to the school allowing post-admission updates.

"But..." Nancy hesitated, eyeing her leg. "Should I accompany you?"

Rebecca kept her expression neutral. "No need. It's a girls' night; an extra person would be awkward."

Nancy fretted over potential mishaps. "Then I'll let Mr. Bradford know."

"No, let him focus on his evening. I'll call him after and have him pick me up." Rebecca grabbed her bag and left.

Considering her mobility, Vance had chosen a spacious flat for their home. She took the elevator down and stepped outside.

The sunlight made her instinctively lower her head, hunch her shoulders, and pull on a hat, raising her collar.

Since her injury, the once-confident dancer who thrived on stage had vanished. Crippled, she had lost the courage to face the public eye.

Nancy often advised outings only with Vance, and the man always suggested Rebecca stay at home.

They didn't understand. Outings with Vance terrified her more. It was even worse than going out alone.

Every glance screamed, "Why does such an outstanding man have a cripple as his wife?"

Rebecca hailed a cab to the hotel. En route, gazing at the passing scenery, she spotted Vance's car parked on the roadside.

"Could you stop here, please?" she said to the driver.

His car was outside a restaurant, which reminded her of Catherine's post. Yesterday, one of his friends had hosted that gathering, and today it was his turn.

On impulse, she got out and entered the restaurant. At the reception desk, she said, "I'm here to join Mr. Vance Bradford."

She gave his phone number, and a waiter led her to the private room. "This is the one."

"Thank you," she said, though she didn't really know why she had come.

Earlier, impulse had driven her; now, at the door, her courage faltered. She didn't even dare to open it.

Lively chatter emanated from inside.

"I can't stay late or drink tonight. Got chewed out by my wife last night," said a guy.

"Come on. You said friends come first, even over the king. Now you're henpecked? Guess Vance is the real man here," Catherine protested, her voice soft and coquettish.

So, that was her personality. Vance liked that type.

Too bad Rebecca was nothing like that, not even close. She couldn't even fake it.

The guy whined, "Vance is different. Rebecca wouldn't dare to complain."

"By the way," Catherine chimed in, looking at Vance, "I heard your wife is crippled? What happened?"

There was no answer, but Rebecca felt a pang in her heart.

The conversation continued inside.

"Vance, we feel bad for you. With your money, looks, and success, you could have anyone. Why marry a cripple?"

"Honestly, you're the best of us. Now with Rebecca, you can't bring her to meetings, events, or press—anywhere a wife should appear. What a loss!"

So, that was why. Vance always kept her away from business affairs, telling her to just wait at home for him to bring back money.

Her family praised him endlessly, saying she was blessed to live a life of luxury. But now she realized he couldn't bear to show her off in public.

Inside the room, Vance laughed bitterly. "She saved my life. I owe her."

"You've repaid her with all that money. Isn't that enough to settle it?"

"Exactly! Should have just paid her off and moved on. Why sacrifice your happiness?"

"Think it through, man. It's better to enshrine a statue and pray for wealth. What's the point of keeping her?"

"What can she help you with? She can't attend events, and at home all she does is pour tea. Vance, do you seriously want this?"

Laughter erupted, Catherine's peals among them. "Really, Vance? Is that how she walks?"

Eavesdropping at the door, Rebecca felt blood rush to her head. Fury and humiliation knocked her off balance, causing her to push open the door.

Everyone was laughing loudly as Vance's childhood friend, Aiden Hodge, dramatically limped while holding a glass of water, speaking in a falsetto voice. "Vance, have some water. Ah, I slipped. Vance, help me up."

Rebecca stared at Vance, hoping that the man she loved more than anything would stand up for her.

The exaggerated performance fueled even more laughter.

Catherine, seated beside Vance, collapsed onto his shoulder in hysterics. The man remained silent.

Aiden turned, still grinning. "Vance, is it like..."

His words died as he caught sight of Rebecca standing in the doorway. His smile faltered, and his tongue twisted. "R-Rebecca?"

The others followed him to look over, all freezing.

Catherine got up from Vance's shoulder, grinning. "Oh, this must be the legendary Mrs. Bradford. Come on in. I'm Catherine Welch, Vance's friend."

Rebecca scanned the room, her blood running cold.

Finally, Vance stood up and walked over to her. "Rebecca? What are you doing here? They were just joking. Don't take it to heart."

She stared at him, feeling utterly alienated. For the first time, he seemed a stranger. In the face of mockery toward his wife, he sided with them.

Aiden put down his glass, apologizing, "Y-Yeah, it was a joke. I'm sorry, Rebecca. Please don't be mad."

Vance moved closer, attempting to embrace her. "Rebecca."

But Rebecca recalled Catherine leaning on him earlier, his masturbation in the bathroom, and the name he uttered in the climax.

That hand, the one reaching for her now, felt utterly filthy. She quickly stepped back, avoiding him.

"Rebecca?" Vance stared at his empty hand in confusion, then sighed. "I apologize on their behalf. Don't be upset, okay? I'll get a gift to make up for you. Anything you want."

Catherine shot Aiden a playful glare. "This is your fault, Aiden. Apologize properly. Not everyone's like me, clumsy and thick-skinned, laughing off your jokes."

Rebecca sneered at her cheeky speech, but these men didn't even sense the manipulation.

Aiden grumbled, "I already did! Didn't know she'd show up. It was just a joke."

"A joke is only funny if the target laughs," Rebecca retorted, her voice shaking with newfound courage.

For five years, this curse of her unworthiness of Vance had confined her. Mocking glances made her shrink, retreating like a quail to lick her wounds alone.

Aiden winced, "But I already apologized."

"I-I don't accept it!" Rebecca trembled harder, defying mockery for the first time.

Aiden mumbled, "Then what do you want?"

Rebecca shook her head, having no answer. She just rejected their ridicule and Vance's alignment with them.

"Enough, everyone." Vance intervened, positioning himself between her and Aiden.

He was the leader of the group, his words carrying authority. After graduation, his business savvy had built their empire.

The room fell silent, and he nodded, turning back to Rebecca.

"Hey," he said evenly, his gaze as detached as ever, unlike the warmth in Catherine's video. "These are my longtime friends. They didn't mean to hurt your feelings. No malice, just banter. Forgive them this once. I'll have the driver take you home."

"Rebecca," Catherine pouted, sidling up to Vance. "If you have to blame someone, blame me. This gathering is for my return. Vance, invite her to stay. I'll toast her with an apology."

Her phony tone only disgusted Rebecca further and drove her to squint at Vance with resentment. It was his very indulgence that fed Catherine's boldness.

"I'm fine," she said, holding back her bitterness. "I don't drink, especially not sour alcohol."

"Vance, is she insulting me? I..." Catherine wrinkled her nose, choking back her tears. "She misunderstood me, but it's fine. Don't blame her."

Vance's jaw tightened. "Catherine meant well. Why are you being sarcastic?"

"Meant well?" Rebecca snorted.

Only a fool would think those words were spoken with good intentions, but Vance wasn't foolish.

He simply showed bias, siding with whom he favored rather than who was right. That side was always the one closest to his heart.

Rebecca eyed the pair and their friends, feeling as though an insurmountable chasm lay between them. They formed a solid unit, while she was an intruder in their world.

She was forever extraneous. Even lingering on the periphery felt out of place.

She swallowed her bitterness, gave a cold laugh, and turned to leave. Behind her, Catherine's voice rang out. "Vance, she..."

"It's fine. I'll talk to her when I get back," Vance said, waving it off. "Let's continue."

Secretly, he glanced at the retreating figure, texting the driver to escort her.

Rebecca yearned to walk gracefully, but every step she took felt more unstable. Agitation only worsened her limp, her frantic exit mirroring Aiden's mockery.

That would definitely make them laugh even harder.

She wiped her tears with a trembling hand, hastening and wobbling more. The driver chased after her, but she was nowhere to be found outside the restaurant.

The driver reported it to Vance, who frowned and called her. Rebecca rejected it and turned off her phone at the next one.

Aiden was irked. "Her temper is just too short. You spoil her too much, man. With your status and looks, any wife would worship you. Yet she sulks? You're too soft."

Vance stayed silent, but the others piled on.

"Aiden is right. You sacrifice too much for her and the family, working tirelessly. She doesn't appreciate or support you. Throwing a tantrum over the smallest things. Worth it?"

"Marrying her was charity. Who else wants a cripple? Without you, she'd wed another disabled person."