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.

After a moment of awkwardness, Vance and Catherine quickly adjusted to the mistaken roles. They began chatting and laughing effortlessly with the business contact.

Standing together, they looked like a well-matched couple.

Rebecca watched silently, taking a photo with her phone. As she turned to leave, the sharp "needle" buried deep in her heart pricked her once more. A sharp, intricate pain that rapidly spread through her chest, even causing a sour ache at the tip of her nose.

Just as she was about to exit the mall, a voice called out, "Rebecca?"

She turned to see someone waving vigorously from the descending escalator. To her surprise, it was her instructor from the dance academy.

"Mrs. Lemke?" she exclaimed, her heart lifting with joy.

Lauren Lemke quickly descended the escalator and approached, taking hold of Rebecca's hands with evident joy. "It's really you, Rebecca! It's been five years since we last saw each other. How have you been?"

A wave of sadness washed over her. Five years had passed, and she had lived like a useless invalid.

Facing Lauren now, she felt embarrassed.

Still holding Rebecca's hand, Lauren asked, "Are you busy? If not, let's find a place to have some afternoon tea."

Rebecca wasn't busy at all. In the past, her deep-seated insecurity might have led her to shut herself off further, politely declining any connection to her old dance world and its people.

But ever since she had opened that album of dance photos and videos on her phone, it felt as though a fissure had cracked open in her darkened sky. Suddenly, she yearned for light to pour in.

She nodded, her eyes shimmering with tears. "Sounds good."

Lauren led her to a cozy teahouse located in the center of the first floor, and she asked, "How are the others? What have they been up to?"

She had distanced herself from that world so completely and for so long that she had withdrawn from every single group chat with her former peers.

"Do you really want to know?" Lauren gave her a perceptive look, aware of her situation.

The promising student who had been guaranteed a spot in graduate school suddenly gave it up. Naturally, questions had arisen, and Lauren had even made a special trip to Soliaridge to visit her once.

Rebecca nodded emphatically, and Lauren proceeded to fill her in. Five years was indeed enough time to transform a person's life entirely.

Her classmates had all moved forward in remarkable ways. Some had joined dance troupes and risen to become principal dancers. Others had pursued advanced studies abroad and now held doctoral degrees. A few had stayed on at the academy as instructors, nurturing the next generation of talent.

Everyone had taken a big step forward in their respective paths. Only she had remained stagnant.

But starting from today, she vowed to make a change. She would strive to catch up, even if she could no longer dance. She would find her place in other fields.

"I-I'm ready to give you an update on my progress too," she said, her eyes feeling hot and prickly.

She felt she owed Lauren more than just a promise.

"That would be wonderful," Lauren replied with a smile as warm and encouraging as ever.

Rebecca leaned in close to Lauren's ear and whispered about her plans to study abroad.

"This is fantastic! I knew it! None of my students are quitters!" Lauren exclaimed, gripping her hand tightly in excitement. "And it couldn't be better timing. Our troupe has a European tour coming up. You should come along to get a sense of things and start adapting to life over there."

"I..." Rebecca hesitated, not sure if her legs could handle the trip.

She could no longer dance; even walking was a pain for her. And the graduate program she had applied for was in a theoretical field.

"Nothing's impossible," Lauren encouraged her. "If that accident hadn't happened, you would have been a member of the youth dance troupe by now. You can join us in a support role—as a runner, stage manager, or even helping with makeup."

Lauren spoke with such firm conviction, treating Rebecca not as a cripple but as someone fully capable.

Rebecca couldn't help but smile; she loved this feeling of not being defined or pitied because of her disability. Even if she couldn't dance, she could still contribute in other ways. She wasn't just a useless invalid.

Lauren's phone vibrated with an incoming message. After reading it, she looked up and said, "It's my husband. Would you mind if he joins us?"

"Of course not," Rebecca replied with a smile, though she felt a bit timid about it.

After five years of seclusion, she had grown unaccustomed to meeting new people, but she knew she had to start somewhere. This was her first step.

"Then I'll have him come over," Lauren said, replying to the message.

However, what Rebecca never could have anticipated was that Lauren's husband turned out to be the very same business contact Vance had met earlier.

"Pascal is here on business, and I came along for a few days of leisure, not expecting to run into you. It's fate," Lauren explained.

Rebecca noticed that Vance, Catherine, and Pascal were walking together toward the teahouse.

When the trio finally arrived at their table, Rebecca remained seated, observing the fascinating shifts in color on Vance's and Catherine's faces.

"Come take a seat. This is my wife, Lauren. She is a dance teacher," Pascal said warmly. "And this is the gentleman I'm collaborating with on this trip, Mr. Vance Bradford, along with his wife."

Vance's hand trembled slightly, and Catherine fidgeted restlessly. They both stared at Rebecca with tense anxiety.

Rebecca simply looked back at them, offering a faint, composed smile.

Lauren also made introductions for Rebecca's benefit. "This is my husband, Pascal."

Then, pointing to Rebecca, she added, "And this is one of my students—the one who had the greatest potential to win the National Dance Championship back in the day."

Vance stiffened at the mention of the contest, and his gaze shifted downward, as if he were attempting to look at Rebecca's leg.

Rebecca detected unmistakable pain in his eyes. Of course, he was in pain.

If it hadn't been for her injury, he would never have married her. In that case, the woman by his side now could have rightfully been his wife.

Rebecca chuckled, "Actually, I am..."

"Ah!" Catherine let out a sharp yelp at just the right moment, interrupting Rebecca mid-sentence.

Rebecca paused, looking over. Catherine had spilled the tea, the hot liquid splashing all over her hand and clothes.

"I'm so sorry. How embarrassing. This is really rude of me," she stammered, hurriedly grabbing napkins to wipe it up.

"It's alright," Lauren said, not understanding the underlying tension, and even helped by passing more tissues.

The episode prevented Rebecca from revealing the truth. But if Rebecca had truly wanted to continue, no one could have stopped her.

From across the table, Vance cast her a pleading glance, subtly shaking his head and mouthing, "Don't say it."

Truth be told, she hadn't intended to say it in the first place. She had deliberately spoken only half the sentence, just to watch the two of them scramble in panic.

Throughout this afternoon tea session, some sat as if on pins and needles, while others remained perfectly at ease.

As Rebecca reached for her teacup, Lauren suddenly noticed something in her hand. "Is that a wedding ring? You're married? To whom?"

The question landed like a bolt from the blue, causing Vance and Catherine to pale dramatically.

Rebecca glanced at Vance's hand resting beside his teacup, a mocking smile curling at the corner of her lips. He had never once worn a wedding ring; the pair from their ceremony had been removed immediately after the wedding and left to gather dust somewhere unknown.

"Yes, I've been married for five years now," she replied calmly. "My husband's last name is Bradford."