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."

Catherine, reading the room, interjected timely, "Don't mind their harsh words, but as your long-time friends, we're truly concerned about you. We're blunt, but it's nothing personal. Don't take it to heart."

"I'm not upset," Vance replied, pocketing his phone. "Doesn't matter. She won't stray far. Let's go on."

In five years, home was her only refuge. He was not worried because she had nowhere else to go.

Aiden eyed Catherine, muttering, "Catherine is the bigger person here. If you two hadn't split..."

"Don't talk nonsense." Catherine glared. "Keep your mouth shut for one night. Vance is married now. That's inappropriate."

Her gaze turned wistful toward Vance. "I don't want much. Just want to be accepted by you guys and stay by your side. That's enough."

"Silly talk." Aiden thumped his chest loyally. "You're forever our princess, and we will never let anyone bully you. Vance, right?"

Vance swirled his wine, the scene evocative of old times. He'd sit back, watching his crew banter with Catherine, not intervening unless things got out of hand.

Now queried, he smiled faintly. "Of course."

...

Rebecca didn't go home. Instead, she settled into her booked hotel.

All the pent-up grievances and pain were unleashed the moment she closed the door behind her. Aiden's limp-mocking replayed endlessly in her mind, and their laughter haunted her like a curse.

She had known all along their whispers behind her back, but she had never told Vance.

She understood his work's toll, so she avoided conflicts, unwilling to add to his burdens or strain his bonds with his friends.

Now, she saw her folly. He'd never clash with them over her; their friendship trumped everything.

To him, she was nothing more than a debt—a burden that dragged him down. Without her, his life would be so much easier.

"She is a cripple. Who else would want her?"

"Yet she still expects so much from Vance?"

"I'd rather be the crippled one than wed one and face ridicule."

"Other CEOs flaunt elegant partners; Vance? He doesn't even have someone he can take out in public."

...

The gossip and ridicule that Rebecca had heard over the past five years came rushing back like a tidal wave.

She felt like she was being dragged under, drowning in it all. She couldn't breathe, the pain so intense it felt as if her chest and lungs were being torn apart.

Trembling, she accessed a locked album on her phone—something untouched for five years. It contained photos and videos from her school days, documenting her dance practices and shows.

Post-injury, she sealed these relics, set a password, and forced herself not to open it.

Now her shaky finger tapped on a random video. The music played; she spun, flipped, and performed a mid-air split.

She was vibrant, agile, and applauded thunderously.

Was saving Vance wrong? But even then, marriage wasn't her aim.

He insisted, orchestrating a grand proposal and kneeling before her with a huge diamond ring that sparked hope.

She turned off her phone and collapsed in sobs. It was the first unbridled cry in five years.

She wept until her tears ran out, but pain remained burning in her chest, licking at her from the inside like fire. But it was that very pain that brought her a moment of clarity in the suffocating whirlpool of emotions.

The more it hurt, the more lucid she became.

She rushed to the bathroom, splashing cold water on her face to calm down. The mirror reflected her dulled self, and she bit her lip. "Rebecca, one good cry is enough. No more. Now, eat well, rest well, and tomorrow, focus on your exam."

The one thing she could be thankful for was that, during those long five years, she had spent her time studying to kill the boredom.

Not because she had grand ambitions. She just had so much time and had nothing to do.

Waiting for Vance to come home had been her whole life, but he always came home late. At first, she thought it was because of work. Later, she realized that he just didn't want to face her too soon. She had overheard it herself.

Back then, she understood how hard he worked. She even gathered the courage to show concern for him, making him special meals and delivering them to his office, only to overhear the hard truth.

He was talking with a friend who asked why he hadn't gone home yet. There was hardly anyone left in the office, and yet he, the CEO, was still working overtime.

Vance had replied, "I don't know how to face my wife's enthusiasm."

Simple-minded back then, Rebecca didn't understand the implication, but that friend did.

He gasped, "No way! Don't tell me you haven't slept together yet."

Vance fell silent because that was the truth. He never touched her, even though she had hinted or taken the initiative. Every time, he found excuses like her condition or his tiredness to reject her.

She wasn't stupid. Gradually, she realized he simply didn't love her, and that was why he didn't want to touch her. But hearing it from his mouth hurt her deeply, the pain almost suffocating.

His friend, half-jokingly, half-seriously, asked him, "You don't mean to tell me you have no physical reaction at all, do you? Anyway, she's pretty."

Vance's reply was the needle that pierced deep into her heart, and for the following years, it continually wounded her. Every time she thought about it, the pain would gnaw at her.

"I've tried," Vance replied. "I wanted to have a normal married life with her, but every time I look at her leg, I lose all interest."

So, that was how it was. Her leg, the one scarred and atrophied from saving him, in his eyes was disgusting, revolting. It was something that turned him off and killed his desire.

She never knocked on the office door that day. The meal she had prepared with such care was thrown into the trash can.

From then on, she never set foot in his company again.