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.
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