During an aerial rotation in our Latin Dance routine, my husband and dance partner failed to catch me.

I fell to the floor, resulting in high-level paraplegia.

Zane Rhodes frantically slapped himself across the face, claiming it was an accident and swearing he would take care of me for the rest of my life.

He tearfully complained about financial strain and stopped paying my medical bills, only to turn around and buy a custom-designed dance costume for his first love.

I missed the optimal window for treatment and would be bedridden for life.

As I grieved for my broken body, I happened to overhear him on the phone with his friend:

"Isn't what you did to Quinn Vance too cruel? You intentionally didn't catch her just so Celia Linden could win the championship."

Zane Rhodes was silent for a long moment. "I've wronged Quinn, but I'll take full responsibility for her! Even though she's lost her legs and her dreams, she has all of my love!"

Staring at the utter blackness my life had become, I slit my wrists.

As blood spattered, a red-eyed Zane Rhodes told me he regretted it.

...

"Why are your eyes so red? Are your legs hurting again?"

Zane Rhodes was as gentle as ever after hanging up the phone.

'For a moment, I couldn't tell which was the real him.'

"The Dance Troupe just called. They need me to head over."

'The Dance Troupe? Wasn't he just on the phone with his friend, mocking me?'

I stared at him, searching his eyes for any sign of a lie.

He averted his gaze unnaturally.

It was his subconscious tell when he was lying.

"The Dance Troupe said they can lend me some money, so I'll be able to pay for your treatment."

I laughed sarcastically.

A few days ago, a nurse came to chase up the payment, and that's when I learned my treatment fees were long overdue.

That was why I couldn't start my rehabilitation.

When I asked Zane Rhodes about it, he put on a troubled expression. "Treating your legs has wiped out my savings, but don't worry. I'll take out a loan if I have to and get the fees paid."

I kept waiting.

Until yesterday, when the doctor delivered the diagnosis: I had missed the optimal window for treatment and would likely never stand again.

Only then did I understand that this life was over, that I would forever be a bird in a cage.

"Fine, you can go."

I lay back down, not clinging to him and begging him to stay like I usually did.

Only after the door to my hospital room closed did I bury my head and cry.

I cried myself into a daze and eventually fell asleep, only to be woken by the news on TV.

It was Celia Linden.

She had won another Latin Dance competition and was surrounded by reporters for an interview.

I saw a reflection of my old self from before the paralysis—I used to win every major competition, mobbed by countless reporters offering their congratulations.

"Celia Linden, now that you've won the championship, who do you want to thank the most?"

"My first love. I want to thank him for always being by my side, encouraging me. He even gifted me my dance costume!"

"That looks like a special custom-designed dance costume!!"

"Whether it's custom-designed or not isn't important! But he's just so good to me! Oh! Stop being so nosy!"

Celia Linden's pretty face flushed slightly as she glanced happily to the side.

In the corner of the shot, there was a flash of a light blue sleeve.

That was the shirt Zane Rhodes was wearing today.

I nervously squeezed my hands.

'What if it was just a coincidence, the same shirt?'

I dialed the number for The Dance Troupe's Director.

My heart pounded in time with the ringing of the phone.

"Zane Rhodes? He didn't tell me he was coming!"

He abandoned my surgery to go celebrate Celia Linden's championship win.

I knew it was true, yet I still had to seek confirmation, unwilling to accept it.

I looked at Celia Linden's incredibly lavish, diamond-studded dance costume, and I couldn't help but touch my own numb legs.

'So, your claims of being short on cash and having to delay my treatment fees were all just lies.'

I sniffled, fighting back tears. "Director," I said, "I want to see the video of the competition from the day I fell."

The Director was startled.

I had always resisted the idea; just mentioning it was enough to make me break down.

I fast-forwarded to the part where I fell.

I leaped into the air.

Zane Rhodes's body wavered. The hand that should have caught me froze just two inches away.

I crashed hard to the floor.

That was followed by his shocked cry and his frantic rush to help me up.

To anyone watching, it would have looked like a complete accident.

But thinking back to Zane Rhodes's nonchalant tone on the phone, his wavering stance and frozen hand seemed chillingly deliberate.

For Celia Linden, he crippled me and ruined my life.

And yet, he was the one who had ignited my dream.

During a Latin competition in college, I was getting poor results and constantly hitting a wall. I had decided to give up dancing after one last performance.

The moment the music stopped, I heard a burst of applause.

"I feel so lucky that a dancer as brilliant as you exists in this world. It's a privilege to witness such a beautiful performance!"

His voice was filled with undisguised admiration.

That was the first time I met Zane Rhodes.

Two complete strangers: one confessing her uncertainty about the future, the other encouraging her not to give up on her dream.

I put my dancing shoes back on, and after graduation, I was reunited with Zane Rhodes.

I was overjoyed, but at the peak of my career, I was suddenly rejected by all the major dance competitions.

After asking around, I found out that I had been blacklisted by Zane Rhodes's ex-girlfriend, Celia Linden.

With no prize money from competitions, I couldn't afford my mother's surgery. Staring at the hospital's critical condition notice, I knelt before Celia Linden.

She made no demands of me, not even the clichéd "leave Zane Rhodes" ultimatum you see in TV dramas.

She just gave me a detached glance, one that made me understand the vast, unbridgeable chasm between us.

Celia Linden eventually relented, but it was too late. My mother had already missed the optimal window for treatment, and she passed away.

I didn't dare blame anyone. I could only spend my nights clutching my mother's clothes, weeping.

After Zane Rhodes and I got together, I brought it up with him once.

He was silent for a long moment.

"Celia can be a bit willful. Don't take it to heart."

My eyes widened. I couldn't believe what I was hearing.

'Could the single word "willful" whitewash the crime that led to my mother's death?'

Zane Rhodes tugged irritably at his tie.

"Then what do you want me to do? Confront her over something that can't be undone?"

"You can't blame Celia for this. It's entirely because you, her daughter, were too incompetent to save her. That's why your mom died without treatment!"

'Incompetent?'

'I won the championship every single time I competed!'

But I didn't dare talk back.

I was afraid Celia Linden would destroy the stable life I had fought for all over again.

I watched the video over and over again, until Zane Rhodes came back.

He walked over, and when he saw I was watching the competition video, a flicker of unease crossed his face.

"Don't watch this. I don't want you to be upset. It breaks my heart."

His face was full of tenderness, but my heart was full of scorn.

"My becoming like this... wasn't it all your doing?"

The words had barely left my mouth when Zane Rhodes, seemingly hurt by my attitude, shot back, his voice turning sharp.

"What are you talking about? Quinn, I've done everything I can to take care of you since your accident. Is this really what you think of me?"

"If it weren't for me, you would have broken your legs in the morning and been thrown into a crematorium by your gambling-addict father before the afternoon was over!"

He grew more earnest as he spoke, his expression screaming, 'How can you be so unreasonable?'

"Wasn't it for Celia Linden?"

My tone was ice-cold.

"I..."

The color drained from Zane Rhodes's face, and all the words he was about to say caught in his throat.

"It's not what you think."

After a long pause, Zane Rhodes finally spoke, his voice dry.

"I wronged her when I gave her up back then."

"You're the one who wronged her. What does that have to do with me? On what grounds do you get to use my legs to compensate her? I'm not the other woman."

I was losing control.

"Calm down! Actually, if you look at it from another angle, this isn't all bad."

"I've repaid my debt to Celia Linden, so from now on, I can be completely devoted to you. I'll never have anything to do with her again."

"Even though you can't walk anymore, you have all of me!"

I couldn't believe my ears.

"What's so great about having a bastard like you! I just want my whole body back!"

After losing my legs, the physical disability had worn away all my mental and emotional strength. I could no longer love anyone peacefully.

Zane Rhodes's gaze instantly turned cold.

"It seems you haven't realized that you'll be living off my charity for the rest of your life."

Soon, I understood what Zane Rhodes meant by that.

I wanted a drink of water, but my wheelchair got stuck on the rug.

"You can stay right here and reflect on your actions. Think about what kind of attitude you should have toward me from now on."

Zane Rhodes slammed the door and left, his face full of smug satisfaction.

My mouth was parched. I stared at the glass of water just out of reach, and the thirst gradually transformed into an agonizing pain that seared my soul.

I don't know how much time passed before an uncontrollable urge to urinate washed over me.

The catheter needed to be changed.

Normally, Zane Rhodes would change it for me at this time.

I bit my lip hard and violently pushed the wheelchair's joystick.

The wheelchair shook wildly, and I fell to the floor.

I couldn't even feel the pain as I scrambled to crawl toward the bathroom.

I desperately arched my body, but I still couldn't fight my body's needs. A warm stream soaked through my pants.

I clenched my fists, wishing I could just die right then and there.

The humiliation of losing control was far more crushing to my self-respect than any verbal insult could ever be.

It wasn't until The Aide arrived the next morning.

The Aide placed me on the bed, deftly pulled off my pants, and, without a shred of decency, began wiping between my legs with a towel.

I was flipped back and forth by her hands, like a dead pig waiting to be slaughtered.

She looked at the filth on her hands in disgust and complained incessantly, "This stinks to high heaven. Can't even control your own piss and shit."

"If I were you, I'd rather be dead! Being alive is just a waste of air and food."

I trembled with anger, my teeth chattering. "This is your job. My husband pays you a handsome fee..."

Before I could finish, The Aide stuffed my soiled pants into my mouth. The foul smell assaulted my nostrils, making me want to pass out.

"So noisy! You're in this state and still won't shut up! Mr. Rhodes just took pity on you and is giving you a scrap to eat, just like he's feeding a stray dog on the street!"

"For a rich man like Mr. Zane Rhodes, money is just a number. His most precious asset is his time, and his time is spent on..."

The Aide gave a cold sneer, leaving the sentence unfinished.

But I knew what she meant.

Half an hour ago, the social media account for Celia Linden's Dance Troupe posted a few photos.

Zane Rhodes and Celia Linden were dancing in an embrace on a vast stage, the focus of everyone's attention.

That was something I could never have again in this lifetime.

Why were my life and my love so painful?

I slit my wrist.

As the fresh blood stained the floor, I couldn't help but wonder maliciously what Zane Rhodes's reaction would be.

Sadness? Grief?

Or maybe he'd just be glad to be rid of a burden like me!