Elaine's POV

The year I first despised my husband, Dylan Hartman, he ruined my leg for the sake of his precious assistant, Amara Ridley.

In return, I ensured that I got the most realistic prosthetic leg custom-made.

One quiet night, I snuck into her apartment, slipped the leg into her bathtub, and waited.

When Amara screamed, it sounded like music to my ears. The sound cut through the silence, sharp and filled with horror.

I stayed hidden, watching through the crack in the door, enjoying every second of her shock.

Everyone told me Dylan would make my life a living hell.

They said he'd crush me completely, make me regret ever crossing him, but he didn't.

Dylan just tossed me a divorce agreement.

His voice was colder than ice as he said, "A cripple like you, Elaine, still wants to keep the title of my wife? Get out of my sight."

And just like that, I was gone from his life.

Three years later, at my father's celebratory party, I saw Dylan's secretary, Amara Ridley, once again.

She walked in wearing a red dress, a sly smile on her lips, and just as she passed me, she ground her high heel into my prosthetic leg.

"Well, well. Look who it is. Turns out it's the useless woman Dylan discarded," Amara sneered.

Without a second thought, I took her wrist and snapped it hard.

I didn't even flinch when I did it.

"Did you forget about the leg in the bathroom?" I asked calmly. "Should I get you a more realistic pair?"

——

The sound of bone breaking echoed through the hall.

For a moment, there was dead silence, and then came her heart-wrenching, full of panic scream.

Amara's wrist hung at an unnatural angle, and her face went pale as she glared at me.

"Elaine! You crazy woman! Three years ago, I was kind enough to let you keep your pitiful life!"

Her voice was shrill, shaking with rage. "With Dylan protecting me, I can make you fall from the clouds again, just like before. I'll make sure you don't keep your other leg, too!"

A few of the socialites around her, their faces twisted with judgment, started to move in closer.

"You're insane! How could you hurt Amara?"

"Do you even know who she is? She's having the Chairman of Hartman Group's baby!"

One woman, the leader of the group, poked my forehead with her sharp nails.

She sized me up, her voice dripping with mockery. "I thought you were someone important. Turns out, you're just the useless woman Dylan tossed out three years ago."

"What now? One leg isn't enough?" the woman sneered. "You want him to break the other one, too?"

Then, a few men stepped forward, blocking my escape.

I could hear their low chuckles, the kind that tried to intimidate.

"So, you're the former ballet lead?" one of them said, chuckling. "Can't dance with a broken leg, so you've turned to fighting now? Don't you get it? Everyone knows Mr. Hartman pampers Miss Ridley. If you touch her today, you're touching Mr. Hartman's lifeline."

Their insults and mockery didn't faze me. I was used to it. I wasn't afraid anymore.

I paid them no mind, instead focusing on Amara. Even as his fiancée, there were definite advantages to being Dylan's fiancée.

Publicly, the woman who once manipulated me with a false show of weakness threatened to ruin my remaining leg.

But Amara had forgotten one thing: I don't let people trample me.

In front of everyone's gaze, I took out a handkerchief and calmly wiped the spot where I had touched Amara's hand.

The corners of my mouth curled into a faint smile as my gaze drifted to her slightly rounded belly.

"Three years ago, I overestimated your skills and underestimated your shamelessness," I said slowly, letting my words sink in. "How, after faking a miscarriage to trick me into losing my leg, are you still not satisfied?"

I leaned in closer and continued, "This time, I'll make sure you really miscarry. I promise you'll never be able to conceive again in your life."

The knife hovered dangerously close to her belly. And then, just as I was about to take the next step, someone grabbed my wrist.

"Dylan!" Amara cried out in terror. "I'm so scared! Elaine's going to kill me!"

Her tearful wail rang in my ears.

It was the same way she had sounded three years ago when Dylan beat me with a bat, shattering my leg. I had ended up in a pool of blood, all because of her screams.

"Dylan, save the baby!" she cried. "She's going to kill our baby!"

Her words hit me like a ton of bricks. The memory of the pain and betrayal flooded back. But I didn't let it consume me.

'No,' I thought. 'No more pity. No more mercy.'

They would pay for everything they had done.

Elaine's POV

It felt like I was being yanked straight back into that nightmare.

"Three years, Elaine. One broken leg. A stray with no home, and you still haven't learned how to be a good, obedient dog?"

That voice, carved into my bones and haunting every single day of my life, slammed me right back into the present.

Dylan's grip on my wrist was brutal, sharp enough to make my eyes water, but I couldn't help it.

I smiled.

With my free hand, I tapped the cold, metallic surface of my prosthetic leg, which was concealed under my trousers. The sharp tapping sound cut through the quiet banquet hall, slicing through the air like a knife.

"Dylan," I said, my voice calm and even, "now that I think about it, I should thank you. The leg you destroyed back then? It's stronger now than your life."

Before he could even process my words, I swung my prosthetic into his shin with all the force I had.

A dull thud echoed through the room, followed by the sickening crack of bone.

Instantly, the color drained from his face. Dylan's expression turned to disbelief, and for a moment, the entire hall fell into an eerie silence.

Then the crowd went wild.

"Oh my God! Who is she? Is she crazy? She actually hit Dylan!" someone shouted.

The woman next to her leaned in, whispering loud enough for everyone to hear. "Wait… Miss Ridley just reminded me. I remember now! That scandal three years ago shook the whole city. Wasn't Mr. Hartman's ex-wife, the lead ballerina, supposed to have pushed someone out of a building because she was jealous that Miss Ridley was pregnant? And then Mr. Hartman broke her leg himself? Could this really be her?"

"Yeah, didn't she get kicked out of the Hartman estate after that?" another voice added. "She just… vanished, right?"

Instantly, Dylan staggered, his face pale and sweat dripping down his brow. He clung to the floor, barely keeping himself upright.

Meanwhile, Amara screamed, ignoring the pain in her fractured wrist. She rushed to Dylan's side, positioning herself in front of him like she was protecting him from some threat.

"Elaine, you're insane!" she shouted. "Dylan gave you everything—resources, opportunities! He raised you from nothing to lead the ballet company, and this is how you repay him?"

I didn't even glance in her direction. Instead, I kept my gaze locked on Dylan, whose face had darkened with fury.

"Dylan," I said, my voice thick with sarcasm, "you're still clueless—calling a squawking chicken a swan."

Amara's face turned a deep shade of purple, her fury barely contained.

With the help of his bodyguards, Dylan straightened up and pushed Amara behind him in a protective gesture—just like he had three years ago.

"Elaine, no matter how much you cling to me, I will never give you another chance," Dylan said, his voice colder than I had ever heard it. "I love Amara's purity and gentleness. In her world, there's only me. Unlike you, who only cares about your stage and your reputation. You took my money, climbed up on the Hartman name, and showed your selfish, materialistic core. A woman like you will never have my love."

His gaze was ice-cold, full of disdain, like I was nothing more than trash to him.

"I don't care what you've been up to these past three years, or how you wormed your way into this party," Dylan sneered. "But at my family's doorstep? A cripple like you doesn't even have the right to show your face with us, Elaine."

With a flick of his wrist, a group of burly bodyguards moved in, circling me like predators closing in.

"Elaine, how dare you lay a hand on Amara!" Dylan spat. "I crippled you once, and I can do it again. Believe me, I'll make sure you never walk properly again, not for the rest of your life."

But I wasn't afraid, nor did I retreat. I locked eyes with Dylan, meeting his murderous glare head-on as I sauntered toward him.

"Dylan," I said, my voice resolute, "you'd better remember every word you said today. Because when the day comes, and you're kneeling at my feet, begging me, I'll give them all back to you, one by one, exactly as they are."

Right then, Dylan's face twisted further with rage.

My mind wandered to a memory from three years ago. I recall signing my lifetime contract as the principal dancer with the Swan Ballet Company.

It was the highest honor in the world of ballet.

But more importantly, it was the dream that my mom and I had devoted our entire lives to.

Elaine's POV

It only took one lie from Amara and Dylan's insane need to control everything for him to crush my leg. The snap of my bones was a sound far worse than the crack I heard when Amara's wrist broke tonight.

I collapsed in a pool of my own blood, the pain almost knocking me out cold. But somehow, I still managed to inch closer to him, begging him to take me to the hospital.

"Dylan, please, my leg…"

At that moment, my sole focus was on saving my leg and preserving my career as a ballet dancer.

But he just stood there, coldly watching me, utterly unmoved by my pain. Then he forced me to kneel and apologize to Amara, threatening to destroy the only thing I had left from my mother: the pair of ballet shoes she had painstakingly hand-made for me while she was gravely ill.

That night, my pride, my entire sense of self, was shattered.

I'll never forget the gut-wrenching pain of my broken leg, nor the ice in his eyes when he threw the divorce papers at me while I lay in that hospital bed.

That gnawing humiliation still clings to me.

It's like a dark stain, rising with a rush of hatred whenever I think of it.

Now, when I look at Dylan, all that's left is pure, unfiltered hatred.

The flames have consumed the love I once had for him.

"Dylan, very soon you'll understand the price you have to pay," I said slowly, watching his face tighten with rage. "Everything you're so proud of? It's all going to be buried because of your own stupidity. The Hartman Group? That's the price for the leg you gave me."

My words hit him like a bolt.

Dylan flinched, the last remnants of his composure slipping away.

Without a second thought, he grabbed my neck, shoving me down hard. My back hit the sharp edge of the table, pain shooting through me, the world around me dimming.

He didn't give me a moment to breathe.

Dylan yanked my hair, snapping my head back, so I had no choice but to look at him.

"Elaine, who the hell do you think you are?" he growled. "You're a cripple, and you still have the nerve to shout at me! I could lift you into the sky or throw you straight into hell! I want your dead mother to see what her proud daughter has become—a pathetic wreck, not even fully human, not even a ghost!"

But he wasn't done.

His grip loosened on my wrist, just slightly, as if testing me, savoring the power.

"Actually," he said, voice suddenly colder, "I've changed my mind. A good toy like you shouldn't be broken so easily. I'll lock you up again, make you wear that ridiculous prosthetic leg, and dance like a dog with broken legs right in front of me. Can you imagine how much fun that would be?"

Memories rushed back like a tidal wave.

I remembered the night my leg was destroyed. Lying in that cold storage room, I begged for a single painkiller, but I never received one.

I recalled how he, under Amara's influence, spread lies about me, labeling me as a jealous and twisted abuser. The entire dance world turned against me, shutting me out and making me a pariah.

In one night, I went from being a ballet star to a filthy outcast.

"Dylan," I said, my voice calm but sharp, "your biggest mistake wasn't breaking my leg. It was leaving me alive. Now the game starts again—and this time, I'm taking what's mine."

I clenched my jaw, thoughts racing. 'Dylan, Amara, everyone who stepped on me, everyone who whispered lies about me—they're all going to pay. And they're going to pay twice as hard.'

Dylan's face darkened, his expression shifting into something more menacing than before.

"Is that so?" he said, his voice laced with venom. "Then, as you wish."

Dylan didn't even look at me.

Instead, he spun toward his bodyguards, barking orders like he owned the place.

"Keep an eye on her," he snapped. "Don't let her run. Don't let her die. I don't want her leaving this hall before the night's over."

Then he turned to Amara, suddenly gentle, as if she were a delicate doll he needed to protect.

"Amara, you scared?" His voice was all warmth and sugar.

He helped her to her feet, eyes glinting with fake concern.

"Don't worry," he cooed. "We'll get you to the hospital. You and the baby are going to be fine."