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.

After that incident, Rebecca turned to books.

She hadn't planned far ahead; she simply wanted to infuse her empty life with quiet pursuits. Keeping busy might dull the sting of those words.

She never expected these small, personal distractions would, in the end, become her lifeline.

She needed to ace tomorrow's exam. She had to leave this place, as far away as possible. The thought still brought intense pain to her heart.

She couldn't distinguish if the ache stemmed from Vance or from her five wasted years. But it no longer mattered.

What counted was refusing to wallow in the pain any longer. Even if it lingered for ages before fading, she was committed to saving herself.

She ordered a light meal and a set of disposable clothes. Then she phoned the front desk for a morning wake-up call, and at last, she compelled herself to sleep.

Perhaps due to the previous night's insomnia, she slept soundly.

The next day, she woke up on time and turned on her phone. Messages poured in, the device vibrating incessantly, all from Vance.

She skipped reading them, fearing they'd disrupt her focus on the exam. After breakfast, she left for the exam center, which was a mere five-minute walk away.

As soon as she stepped out of the hotel, her phone buzzed with a call from Vance. In a panic, she nearly dropped it, swiftly rejecting the call before shutting it off again.

Emerging from the exam hall, her heart pounded with exhilaration. She felt satisfied with her performance.

The oral examiner smiled throughout their conversation. She understood most of what she heard, and the written parts felt steady and controlled.

She dared not predict her score, but at least she had completed everything. She wasn't useless after all.

Walking alone on the sidewalk, she kept her head down, mentally reviewing every detail of the exam until a pair of leather shoes appeared in her path.

Expecting no deliberate block, she couldn't retract her step in time and bumped into the person.

Without his steadying grip, she would have fallen. And that person was the last one she wanted to see.

"Rebecca," Vance muttered, his voice strained.

She remained silent, sensing his barely contained anger. He grasped her shoulders and softened his tone, asking in his usual gentle, warm manner, "Why didn't you come home?"

He asked that question while knowing the answer, but it wasn't the time to argue with him.

Her bag had just been knocked to the ground, the flap open, and her exam pen peeked out, which could give away her participation in the exam.

She quickly wrenched free, squatted down, shoved the pen inside, and secured the bag.

"What's that?" he asked, looking at her bag.

"Nothing. Just a pen," she replied, trying to sound natural, though her fingers gripped the bag so tightly they blanched.

"Let me see it," he said.

She clutched it closer. "What do you need a pen for?"

"Give me your phone," he demanded.

After a brief standoff, she extracted it from the bag and handed it over.

He glanced at the dead phone, then handed it back. "I called you so many times and sent countless messages. Why didn't you respond? Still angry?"

She held the phone, relieved he hadn't delved into her emails or discovered the exam-related messages.

If that was his only concern...

She had no desire to argue with him or explain anything. She simply wanted to flee far away, and that urge intensified in his presence.

Mistaking her silence for lingering resentment, he sighed, "You're usually so understanding. Why run off over this?"

Rebecca swore she intended to stay calm, but his words would provoke even a saint.

"Was it my fault? Was I being unreasonable?" she shot back. "Should I have joined in and complimented Aiden on his spot-on imitation?"

Vance's face flushed with awkwardness. "That's not what I meant. You can't control what others say. There is no need to take their words to heart."

"I can't control them, but you could!" she retorted, staring at him. "What were you doing? Laughing with Catherine pressed against you?"

"Rebecca!" His expression darkened, revealing anger for the first time.

She understood that Catherine was his sore spot. What more was there to say?

She hugged her bag, trying to walk past him. His arm extended, wrapping around her waist and pulling her close.

"I'm sorry for yelling at you," he murmured. "I just don't want you to misunderstand Catherine. She is a friend, just like the others. I only see her as a sister. She's unmarried, so speaking ill of her isn't fair."

Rebecca couldn't grasp his reasoning. Hadn't they brought this on themselves? Catherine had leaned on him shamelessly, yet they feared commentary?

She managed only a faint "Oh."

"Rebecca..." he paused, detected her detachment. "Why still upset? You stayed at a hotel alone and didn't return home. I haven't even reproached you much, yet your anger persists?"

That was his typical line. In his mind, it was her fault for everything.

"Come on, let's drop it," he cooed. "Lunch first. Then I'll accompany you to the mall, alright?"

Rebecca considered it. That was fine. She had something to tell him anyway.

Vance led her to a nearby restaurant. As they entered, Rebecca instinctively lowered her head, raised her collar, and shuffled behind him to downplay her limp.

It was a habit, though she soon relaxed. If she didn't measure up, so be it. She wasn't planning to match him anymore.

Once seated, Vance placed the order, passing her the utensils, when the food arrived.

"Dig in. These are all your favorites," he said, his voice as soft as ever.

Rebecca eyed the spicy dishes and smiled bitterly. He had no idea she couldn't handle spice; home dinners were always spicy because he preferred them.

"I'm not hungry," she said, not touching the food. "I have something to tell you."

"What is it?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "Wherever you want to go, I'll join you. I have the whole afternoon free. We can hang out, and then we'll go to your parents' house for dinner."

She stared at his barely perceptible smile, her heart flooding with profound bitterness as she contemplated the words she was about to utter.

"Vance..." Rebecca choked back her tears, her voice trembling despite her efforts to stay composed.

"What's wrong?" Vance reached for her hand. "If you feel like crying, then cry. Don't hold back."

His voice was truly so soft and gentle. It brought her back to the day years ago when she had come out of the operating room after the surgery.

He and the nurse had wheeled her back to the ward, and he had stayed by her bedside, speaking to her in that same tender tone, as if his words could drip with compassion. "Does it hurt? Cry it out. Don't hold back."

At that time, she had believed that such gentle care was the best medicine to ease her pain. Then it took her years to fully understand that a man's tenderness and concern could never truly evolve into love.

"Vance, let's get a divorce," she said in a low voice, withdrawing her hand as the stinging pain gradually blurred her eyes with tears.

He furrowed his brow, clearly not expecting her to say something like that.

After a brief silence, he called over the waiter to bring a clean small dish, then picked up a piece of fish with his fork and carefully began removing the bones.

At the same time, he spoke in a soft, soothing voice. "I know you're still angry, but mentioning divorce isn't a rational response. If we divorced, what would you do? How would you manage to live on your own?"

Rebecca's breathing became rapid and uneven.

For five years, in the eyes of everyone around her, she had been seen as nothing more than his appendage. If separated from him, she would become a pitiful, unwanted soul incapable of surviving independently.

And now, it was clear that he thought the same way.

"I can do it," she replied firmly.

For the first time, she stood her ground with determination, eager to prove her strength and fight for her dignity. Yet he merely smiled, as if dismissing her words as nothing more than a momentary fit of pique.

He placed the carefully deboned fish in front of her and said, "Eat up. I'll permit you to stay upset for a little while longer, but once the meal is over, you can't be angry anymore."

"I'm not angry. I want a divorce," she insisted, unsure how to make him see that her request wasn't just an impulsive outburst born from frustration.

"You see," he set down his fork, "today, I pushed back two meetings and a business discussion specifically to spend time with you and make you happy. Tomorrow and the day after, I might not have nearly as much availability. Let me repeat this. Catherine is a good friend to all of us. She's part of our crew. I treat her the same as I do Aiden and the others. She really likes you and has always wanted to become friends with you. With this attitude of yours, how am I supposed to introduce her to you properly?"

"Then there's no need to introduce her at all," Rebecca replied, not believing for a second that Catherine truly wanted to be friends with her.

Vance's voice sharpened. "Rebecca!"

She had known that, whenever the topic involved Catherine, his patience wore thin, and his temper wasn't as controlled.

"Eat up. Afterward, we'll go to the mall, buy whatever you like, and then head over to your parents' house for dinner. It's been quite a while since you've gone back to see them, hasn't it?" he said, adding more food to her plate.

Unwilling to deprive herself, she picked up her fork and began eating what she could.

Regardless of the situation, she needed to ensure she maintained her health first and foremost. There was no point in taking out her frustrations on her stomach.

"That's the right approach," Vance said, his voice returning to its gentle tone. "But from now on, don't bring up that word again."

She paused for a moment, then lowered her head and continued eating in silence.

After finishing the meal, she had no desire to go shopping, but Vance insisted on it, driving them directly to the mall without further discussion.

Over the course of their five-year marriage, the number of times Vance had accompanied her on a shopping trip could be counted on one hand. In fact, the occasions when they had appeared together in public at all were exceedingly rare.

The mall's lighting was intensely bright, even during the daytime, creating a glaring atmosphere that she found uncomfortable.

Clutching her purse, she walked cautiously in his shadow. The first floor was lined with counters displaying luxury bags, watches, and jewelry.

"Anything you like?" he asked, turning around.

She didn't want to buy anything at all. She just wanted to go home.

But before she could respond, someone called out from a distance, "Mr. Bradford!"

"It's a new business partner I've recently connected with. I'll go over and greet them quickly," Vance explained. "You can browse around on your own for a bit. I'll come find you shortly."

Vance's clients were all people she didn't know. She watched as he walked over and shook hands with a gentleman not far away, then stood there awkwardly.

Amid all this opulent luxury, there was nothing that caught her interest or that she wanted to purchase.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the voice of a sales associate. "Miss, it's your turn."

She turned around, realizing that she had inadvertently positioned herself in the queue at one of the luxury brand stores.

"Oh, no, thank you," she said hastily, quickly stepping away from the line.

She wandered through the mall until, at a certain high-end watch counter, she caught sight of a familiar figure—Catherine.

As she looked at the brand of watches on display, something heavy seemed to sink deep within her chest, and without fully realizing it, she found herself walking toward the counter.

Accompanying Catherine in browsing the watches was Aiden. As Rebecca approached closer, the conversation between the two became increasingly audible.

"If you like it, just go ahead and buy it," Aiden said.

Catherine hesitated. "But this doesn't seem right. Even though Vance gave me his supplementary card and told me to use it freely, I can't bring myself to buy something this pricey."

Rebecca stopped in her tracks, unable to take another step. Her heart felt as heavy as her feet.

"The supplementary card... Vance's supplementary card..."

"Since he gave it to you, he obviously meant for you to use it. When has Vance ever been the type to say one thing but mean another?" Aiden reassured her. "We've been friends for so many years. You know his character better than anyone. If he gives something, it's with full sincerity."

"I guess you're right." Catherine nodded, beginning to turn her wrist this way and that to show Aiden the watch from various angles.

Rebecca saw it, too.

"How does it look?" Catherine asked. "I really love this model. I've wanted it since college. Vance promised me he'd buy it for me upon graduation, but then..."

A wave of mocking yet bitter amusement welled up in Rebecca's heart. But then, every year on her birthday and their wedding anniversary, Vance had given her watches of this same model.

Originally, she had thought that even if Vance didn't put much heart into it, at least he remembered her important dates and their anniversaries.

The gifts might have been repetitive and lacking in thoughtfulness, but they were at least valuable. Now she realized that he did care. It was just that none of it had ever been directed toward her.

"Well, Vance is fulfilling that promise now, isn't he?" Aiden laughed. "You can buy whatever you want these days. He can afford it all."

"Then I'll go ahead and charge it?" Catherine said, her excitement visibly growing by the second.

Meanwhile, in another part of the mall, Vance had finished exchanging pleasantries with his business contact. The man, who was there to pick up his wife from shopping, learned that Vance was accompanying his wife as well and suggested they go over to say hello.

As Vance walked in her direction, Rebecca quickly ducked out of sight, hiding behind a Roman column.

Catherine spotted him and waved her hand enthusiastically. "Vance, over here!"

Peering out from behind the column, Rebecca saw Vance and his business contact making their way toward Catherine.

She immediately linked her arm through Vance's and began swaying it playfully. "I want to buy this watch. Is that okay?"

"Sure," Vance replied, his gaze softening.

The sparkle in his eyes brought his entire face to life, a stark contrast to the bland, emotionless demeanor he always wore at home when he was with Rebecca.

"Thank you. I'm going to swipe the card now," Catherine chirped, waving the supplementary card.

The business contact smiled warmly. "You guys have such a deep bond. It's so touching, Mr. and Mrs. Bradford."

The pair blinked at the appellation, but neither of them attempted to correct the misunderstanding.