A car accident took my father’s life instantly, and my mother was left in a vegetative state. As the principal dancer of the troupe, I found myself unable to dance anymore.

I attended the funeral confined to a wheelchair. After the mourners had left, a group of thugs abducted me.

They subjected me to horrific abuse inside my father’s funeral hall—and streamed everything live. The footage was sold cheaply and quickly spread across the internet.

The dance troupe immediately terminated my contract. My fiancé, Zech Winters, sent me a cold breakup message and fled the country.

In one night, I lost my father, my love, my career, and my reputation—leaving only my mother, trapped in silence and stillness.

At my lowest point, Zech’s uncle, Alan Winters, appeared.

The reputedly ruthless, cold-hearted head of the Winters family suddenly knelt before my wheelchair and spoke in the gentlest voice I had ever heard: “Nina, let me take care of you.”

For five years of marriage, he treated me like a precious treasure. I thought he was the light after all my darkness—until I found another woman’s name on our son’s birth certificate.

Julia Lawrence.

The daughter of the driver who caused the accident.

I went to confront Alan, but unexpectedly, Zech’s voice echoed nearby.

“I told you, you were too harsh back then. The accident had already ended Nina Ranford’s dancing career. Why did you hire someone to livestream her torture?”

“What do you know?” Alan’s voice turned icy. “She can’t dance, but the company wanted her as a behind-the-scenes coach. Julia wouldn’t tolerate her presence, so I had to destroy her reputation completely.”

My heart shattered, torn to pieces by the cruel truth. My own husband had annihilated my career and dignity in the most merciless way imaginable—just to please his lover.

I stumbled away and made a call. “I accept your invitation. Give me a week,” I said. “But I have one condition.”

...

“I know it sounds extreme, so I’ll marry her and give her the best life possible. She won’t have to appear in public and be cursed, and her mother’s medical bills will be covered. That should be enough compensation.”

The click of a phone ending, Alan’s voice drifting from the ajar door, accompanied by the faint haze of cigarette smoke.

I laughed bitterly, nails digging into my palms.

Five years of being fooled by his hypocritical charity—and I even bore his child!

Zech sneered, “Nice words. You’re just a surrogate to him. You and Julia already have a child—why can’t she have another for me and Julia?”

Alan sounded helpless. “Her body can’t handle another pregnancy.”

“I don’t care!” Zech snapped. “Julia can’t have kids because of her dancing career, and she won’t use a surrogacy agency. Isn’t that why you tricked Nina into this?”

“You’re acting reluctant now. Afraid to let go of Nina? Still attracted to her?”

Alan’s voice froze cold. “Don’t question my feelings for Julia.”

The office fell silent. Even outside the door, I could feel the tension.

I clenched the birth certificate, staring hard at the mother’s name.

Julia.

Slowly, I stood and walked out unsteadily.

Four years ago, just as I was regaining mobility, Alan was diagnosed with a brain tumor and given little time. He worried more about me than himself, kneeling tearfully and begging, “Nina, promise me you’ll never hurt yourself for me.”

When I refused, he smiled bitterly. “It’s all my fault. I can’t be with you forever.”

“If only we had a child. At least he could stay with you when I’m gone...”

Those words sparked new hope, and I decided to have a child for him.

But my body was damaged, and a natural pregnancy was impossible. Artificial insemination risked 50% paralysis.

Alan refused to accept it. Only when I threatened to end my life was our son, Zachary Winters, born.

A month later, a follow-up revealed Alan’s tumor was a misdiagnosis.

There’s nothing better than a false alarm—especially when it gives us new life.

Even if I had to spend two more years in a wheelchair, suffering excruciating pain day and night, I was at peace. I never imagined it was all a lie. Zachary—the child I risked everything to have—was the son of my husband and the daughter of my enemy.

I was just a naive surrogate.

After a long silence, I wiped my tears, took out my phone, and called Pat Sinclair, the youngest director in Kirk Theatre’s history.

“I accept the theatre’s invitation. Give me a week.”

The Kirk Theatre—the world’s most prestigious choreography competition and dream stage for dancers everywhere.

“No problem,” came the silky voice on the other end, a plucked cello string trembling through my ear.

A week was enough to sort out my past—and confront Alan.

I took a deep breath and added, “But I have one condition.”

When I got home, the house was quiet.

Zachary should still be napping at this hour.

I gently pushed open his door, careful not to make a sound that might wake him. But the music coming from the room made my blood run cold.

He was watching a dance video of Julia.

I bit my lip tightly and stood by the door, waiting silently as he watched the entire routine.

When the video ended, Zachary looked a little lost.

“Dad hasn’t taken me to see Aunt Julia in so long,” he murmured, holding his cheek. “If only Aunt Julia were my mom. Then I could see her every day.”

Every ounce of strength left my body, and my heart felt like a raw wound had been torn open.

So Zachary had already met Julia. So, in his heart, she mattered more than I did.

I stumbled, making a slight noise, which caught Zachary’s attention.

“Mom!” He flipped the tablet over and looked at me anxiously. “When did you get back?”

I saw hesitation in his eyes. Taking a deep breath, I deliberately asked, “What were you watching?”

His eyes darted away. “Cartoons!”

“Mom, where have you been? Zachary woke from his nap and noticed you weren’t here!” He climbed out of bed and threw himself into my arms.

He was bigger than most kids his age, and the force of his hug sent a sharp ache through my knees.

My vision blurred, and I collapsed to the floor, tears streaming uncontrollably.

“Mom, why are you crying again?” Zachary asked, anger creeping into his voice instead of concern. “I just wanted you to hold me, and you’re crying like that. Not like Julia…”

He quickly stopped himself, obviously warned by Alan not to mention Julia around me. Zachary curled his lips in frustration. “Other kids have their moms holding them, but you? You’re always complaining about pain. How can you be a mom like that? Humph!”

I stood frozen, watching him run circles around me and then head downstairs.

This is the child I fought so hard to bring into this world. This is the child I raised, despite the unbearable pain.

I curled up on the floor, my tears forming a small puddle beneath me.

On the way home, my mind kept circling the question: What should I do with this child?

This child I carried for ten months, even if not of my blood, I raised him with my whole heart.

Loving him had become instinct, part of who I am. I wanted to take him with me.

But now, I realize—it’s unnecessary.

When Alan returned and heard what happened that afternoon, he rushed over without even changing.

His warm hand pressed gently to my knee, his face filled with worry and distress.

“Tell me, where does it hurt?”

His warmth made me feel queasy. “Zachary’s carelessness is to blame. I’ll have to teach him a lesson later. Nina, I’ll take you to the hospital first.”

“No, it’s not necessary.” I pushed his hand away gently and forced a smile. “It’s just an old injury. Nothing serious. A warm compress will do.”

Alan’s phone suddenly vibrated. He glanced at the screen, then touched my face softly.

“I have work to finish. I’m going to the study. You should get some rest.”

“Okay.” I nodded but quietly followed him once he left.

Alan lit a cigarette and dropped his phone on the table, leaving it on speaker. “What’s going on?”

“Nina performed a dance for me—a routine she’s never shown publicly before,” Zech’s voice echoed through the room. “Have Nina do it again, record it, and send the video to Julia.”

Alan hesitated. “Nina’s knee is acting up again. We can’t let her move around like that.”

“Stop making excuses. Julia needs it for the competition. You want to record it or not?”

Alan was silent for a moment. “Fine. I got it.”

“Dad!” Zachary, who had been quietly hiding in the study, suddenly appeared. Alan ended the call and asked, “Did you hurt Mom today?”

“I didn’t mean to...” Zachary sounded guilty. “I just wanted Mom to hold me. But she’s so useless! She cries whenever I touch her, unlike Aunt Julia—she holds me and spins me around!”

He hesitated, then asked shyly, “Dad, can we invite Aunt Julia over to play? I miss her!”

“Go apologize to Mom first. I’ll bring Aunt Julia over tomorrow.”

“Yeah! It’s a deal!”

I hurried back to my room, and soon Alan came in with Zachary.

Alan nudged Zachary, who stepped forward, head down, mumbling, “Mom, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

I said nothing, only watching him quietly.

Zachary looked up, eyes wide.

How had I never noticed before how much his eyes resembled Julia’s? He was so good at playing the weak, pitiful child—the tenderhearted act.

I whispered, “Go wash your hands and get ready for dinner.”

Assuming I’d forgiven him, Zachary smiled, winked at Alan, and skipped away.

Alan helped me sit on the bed. “Should I call a doctor?”

I shook my head. “It doesn’t hurt anymore.”

“I still want to see a doctor to be sure.” He wrapped his arm around my shoulders and whispered in my ear, “Nina, why don’t you dance for that kid, Zech?”

His lips brushed my ear, teasing softly, “Let the doctor heal your leg first. Then you can dance for me, too, okay?”

A bitter taste rose in my throat. That dance was hard enough for a healthy dancer—let alone for me now.

After winning gold at the Global Dance Competition, I’d impulsively danced for Zech once. The next day, after the celebration banquet, the car accident happened—and I never danced again.

In five years, Alan had never touched my scars. This was the first time he asked to see me dance.

Meeting his expectant eyes, my hands, hidden under the blanket, slowly clenched into fists.

Of course—as long as it was for Julia, he didn’t care about me.

I nodded, and he left satisfied.

The next morning, Zachary woke early, bubbling with excitement.

Alan returned early that afternoon. “Julia heard you were hurt and came to see you.”

Julia stood beside him, looking down at me. “Long time no see, Nina. Are you okay?”

I sat in my wheelchair and smiled faintly. “I’ll be fine.”

Leave this place, and everything will be fine.

Alan, six days left—and I won’t be fooled by you again.