The night before the dance competition, my boyfriend locked me in his car under the blazing summer sun—just to ensure Melinda Qualls could win the championship.
“Xandra, you’ll have plenty of chances in the future,” he said, his voice calm and unbothered. “What’s wrong with letting her have the title this time?”
Dehydrated and on the brink of collapse, I barely managed to drag myself to the venue. When I arrived, half-dead from heatstroke, the sight that greeted me was a dagger to my heart: my boyfriend dancing passionately with Melinda.
When I tried to go on stage, he stopped me—not with words, but by breaking my leg.
“Xandra,” he pleaded afterward, as if his actions could somehow be justified, “forgive me this time. I’ll make it up to you later. Melinda saved my mom’s life—I have to repay her.”
On what should have been the happiest day of my life, our wedding day, I was instead alone in a hospital room, undergoing an abortion. The moment he lifted his bride into his arms, he didn’t find me waiting. Instead, there was a small bottle containing the remains of our unborn child. Beneath it lay a note:
[A parting of the ways—may we each find our own happiness]
***
“Zayn, please… don’t… don’t break my legs…”
Backstage at the competition, I trembled in fear, my body pressed into a corner as Zayn’s cold, merciless eyes bore into me.
I had fought to get here, barely surviving the torment I’d endured, only to face his wrath. His anger burned through me like fire, erasing any hope of comfort.
“Xandra,” he growled, “why don’t you ever listen to me? Do you have any idea how important this competition is to Melinda?”
Tears spilled down my cheeks as his words struck me. A genius, he called me—a genius who could win championships effortlessly. So what if I gave up this chance? What did it matter?
But he didn’t understand. This wasn’t just a competition. The winner would become the principal of the dance troupe and lead international tours. It was my lifelong dream to showcase our classical dance to the world, a dream my grandmother had cherished for me before she passed.
For years, I poured everything into this dream—every grueling practice session, every drop of sweat and blood. My feet bled from endless rehearsals, my wounds reopening time and again. Each pair of dance shoes I wore bore the stains of my sacrifices.
And now, with all that effort behind me, they expected me to simply step aside.
Zayn took another step toward me, a golf club gripped tightly in his hand. My heart pounded as the suffocating memories came rushing back—the heat of that car, the wilderness where he had abandoned me, my desperate cries for help that echoed into emptiness.
I clenched my fists, the pain of those moments mixing with my fury. My voice trembled as I finally spoke, my words laced with anguish.
“Zayn, you promised to love and protect me for the rest of our lives. How could you be so cruel? Dancing is my dream—my everything! Would you really break my wings for Melinda?”. Desperate and humiliated, I tore free from the bodyguard’s grasp and fell to my knees before him.
“Please, Zayn,” I begged, tears streaming down my face. “Let me compete. Just this once.”
For a fleeting moment, his expression softened. His hand reached out, resting gently on my head and hope flickered in my chest. Maybe—just maybe—he would let me have this one chance.
But then his phone buzzed, the shrill ringtone cutting through the silence. He answered the video call and Melinda’s tear-streaked face appeared on the screen. She stood on the rooftop of an eighteen-story building, her eyes swollen and red.
“Zayn,” she said, her voice trembling, “being the chief dancer has always been my dream. But as long as Xandra is here, I’ll always be second best…”
Chapter 2She wiped her tears, her voice trembling as she spoke, “I’m sorry, Zayn. It’s my fault—I’m not skilled enough and I’ve let you down.”
Before my eyes, she placed one foot on the railing, teetering on the edge. Zayn’s voice shifted from indifference to panic.
“Melinda! Don’t do anything stupid!” he shouted, his tone filled with desperation.
“Don’t worry,” he continued, trying to calm her. “I’ll fix everything. I’ll handle it all for you.”
Then, with deliberate cruelty, he turned his phone’s camera toward me. Two bodyguards pinned me down, their grip unrelenting. I thrashed in vain, my voice breaking as I cried out in terror. Zayn strode toward me, each step heavier than the last.
“Zayn!” I screamed. “Dancing is my life—it’s everything I’ve worked for! It’s the dream my grandmother believed in. If you break my leg, I’ll never be able to dance again!”
Tears welled up in his eyes, but his face remained cold and resolute.
“Xandra, don’t be afraid,” he whispered. “It’ll only hurt for a moment.”
Then, as if to justify the unforgivable, he added, “Forgive me. Even if you can’t dance anymore, you’ll still have me. But if Melinda loses, she’ll have nothing…”
Ignoring my desperate pleas, he raised the club high. And then—
CRACK.
“AHHH!”
My scream echoed through the empty backstage, raw and filled with agony. Bone-deep pain engulfed me, consuming every fiber of my being. I collapsed to the ground, helpless and trembling, as my bloodied leg twisted unnaturally beneath me.
I looked down at the shattered remnants of my left leg, my heart sinking into despair. Years of sacrifice, pride and unwavering faith—all of it crumbled in an instant. My dream of becoming a dancer was gone. Completely and irreparably shattered.
As I lay there, sobbing and broken, Zayn hung up the video call and knelt beside me. He pulled me into his arms, his touch tender yet hollow. “Xandra,” he murmured, his voice heavy with guilt, “don’t hate me. Melinda saved my mother’s life—I couldn’t just stand by and let something happen to her.”
He cupped my face, his expression torn, “Don’t worry,” he said softly. “I’ll take responsibility for you for the rest of your life.”
Hatred surged through me like wildfire. Without thinking, I slapped him across the face. Hard, “Responsibility? What will you take responsibility for?” I spat, my voice shaking with rage.
My parents died when I was just a child, leaving me to be raised by my grandmother. She and I had been each other’s whole world. To afford my dance lessons, she worked tirelessly—cleaning tables at a restaurant by day and scavenging cardboard and bottles at night.
I still remember that stormy night, years ago, when she was hit by a motorcycle while trying to retrieve a few bottles blown away by the wind. She came home drenched, blood dripping from her lips, yet she still smiled as if nothing had happened.
That night, I hugged her and sobbed, begging her to let me quit dancing. I couldn’t bear to see her suffer anymore.
But she only stroked my hair with her frail, trembling hand, “Don’t cry, my darling,” she whispered. “Grandma isn’t in pain. When I was young, I loved to dance, too. But in my time, girls like me had no chance to shine. You’re my hope, my pride. It’s my greatest joy to see you bloom on the stage.”
Her words became my strength. Every step I took was for her—for the love she poured into me, for the dream she never had the chance to chase. I endured pain, tears and heartache, but I never stopped dancing.
And now, Zayn Erickson had destroyed it all. His empty promise of “responsibility” was nothing but a cruel joke—a weak excuse to clear the path for Melinda.
I laughed bitterly through my tears, “Responsible? You call this responsibility?”
Zayn’s devotion to Melinda was absurd. The Qualls Family had been close friends of the Erickson Family for decades. Melinda and Zayn had grown up as childhood playmates.
When they were twelve, a gas leak occurred during a family trip at a rented B&B. Melinda had risked her life to pull Zayn’s mother out of the building, saving her from certain death. But the tragedy cost Melinda her own mother, who perished in the explosion.
From that day forward, the Erickson Family treated Melinda like one of their own. When her father remarried, bringing an abusive stepmother into her life, the Erickson Family took her in completely. She became their daughter in all but name and they granted her every wish.
There was even a time when the Erickson Family pressured Zayn to marry her. But he refused, saying he only saw her as a sister and that I was the only woman he loved.
Yet, time and time again, for the sake of this woman he supposedly didn’t love, he hurt me—the one he claimed to cherish. The irony was unbearable.
I had questioned their relationship before, but every time I tried to voice my concerns, it only enraged him.
Chapter 3“I’ve already broken Melinda’s heart for you. Why are you being so hard on her?”
I sat on the cold floor like a discarded doll, lifeless, my tears falling silently.
Zayn’s expression softened as he watched me, his own eyes glistening with unshed tears. He knelt down beside me, taking my trembling hand in his.
“Xandra,” he said gently, as if his words could erase what had just happened. “Don’t worry.”
“I was careful,” he continued, his voice disturbingly calm. “You won’t be able to dance again, but you’ll still be able to walk. It’s not the end of the world.”
He said those words with such sincerity, as though his cruelty was an act of kindness—like stealing my dream was some sort of twisted gift.
I leaned my head back against the wall, the weight in my chest suffocating. My heart felt like it had been crushed under the same club he had used on my leg. I never thought the man I loved would not only break my heart but also destroy my body.
For years, I had clung to the memory of the boy who loved me at first sight, the boy who once promised, “Xandra, I’ll love you forever. Even if your grandma’s gone, I’ll protect you with everything I have.”
For that boy, I had given him my trust, my heart and all of myself. I had tried to be the perfect girlfriend, devoted and unwavering. But in all the storms I weathered over the years, when had he ever truly stood by my side?
A metallic taste rose in my throat and the tears in my eyes blurred my vision. I stared at Zayn, the man I thought I knew, for a long moment before speaking.
My voice cracked as I said, “Zayn, let’s break up.”
His hand, which had been gently wiping away my tears, froze mid-air. His lips quivered as he stared at me, his eyes wide with disbelief, “What… what did you just say?” he stammered, as if the words couldn’t register in his mind. “Break up?”
In an instant, his expression turned incredulous, “I’ve already said I’ll take responsibility for you! The hotel for our wedding has already been booked. And you’re breaking up with me over something so trivial?”
I leaned my head against the wall and let out a bitter laugh. Trivial?
To him, breaking my leg and robbing me of my life’s dream was just a minor inconvenience.
Zayn quickly masked his anger and leaned in closer, trying to embrace me. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“After everything we’ve been through, Xandra… are you really willing to throw it all away like this?” His gaze fell to my injured leg, which continued to bleed. He sighed deeply.
“There are things you don’t understand yet. I’ll explain everything to you later. For now, let me take you to the hospital to get treated.”
He reached out to touch me, but before his hand could meet mine, his phone buzzed. It was another call. From her.
I didn’t need to see the name on the screen to know.
“Oooh, Zayn,” Melinda’s voice whined through the speaker, laced with mock vulnerability. “I just finished receiving my award and was about to go celebrate, but… but these drunk men—they tried to grab me! I’m so scared…”
Zayn’s entire demeanor shifted. His pupils narrowed, his expression darkened with rage.
“Those bastards,” he growled. “Don’t worry, Melinda, I’ll come right now.”
Her voice wavered, tinged with poorly hidden amusement. “But… Zayn, what about Xandra? I don’t want to cause trouble for you.”
His jaw tightened, his voice sharp and decisive. “She wouldn’t dare stop me. And if she tries, I’ll break her other leg too.”
He hung up the phone and immediately turned to me, his face softening again as though he hadn’t just issued that cruel declaration.
“Xandra, don’t misunderstand,” he said, his tone almost patronizing. “Melinda’s a delicate girl. If I hadn’t said that, she wouldn’t let me leave.”
“You stay here and rest. I’ll take you to the hospital as soon as I’ve sorted things out for her.”
I wasn’t surprised by his choice. I’d stopped being surprised a long time ago. No matter what promises he made to me, once Melinda appeared, I would always be the one pushed aside. Every single time. My heart felt hollow, as though it had been carved out with a blade and left to bleed. I watched him turn to leave, his determination unwavering.
“Zayn,” I called out, my voice a whisper.
He stopped in his tracks, but when he turned to face me, his expression was already laced with irritation.
Chapter 4"Xandra! Didn’t I tell you already? Melinda was stopped by a drunkard and is in danger!"
Zayn’s voice was filled with self-righteous anger.
"You’re a woman too. Don’t you understand how scared she must be in a situation like this? And yet, to take care of your emotions, she’s trying not to trouble me! Why can’t you be kinder to her?"
His words struck me like shards of glass, sharp and cruel. My chest burned with a thousand tangled emotions—anger, betrayal, heartbreak. I didn’t know whether to cry or laugh.
As Zayn continued to rant, utterly oblivious to my pain, I forced myself to move. Ignoring the searing agony in my broken leg, I crawled toward him. Every inch forward felt like an eternity, but I didn’t stop. Finally, I reached his side and yanked his bag open.
Inside, I found what I was looking for—my phone. He had confiscated it, locking it away so I couldn’t call for help, all to ensure he could rush to her aid without my interference.
How absurd.
This man, the one who claimed to love me, had left me stranded in unbearable 50-60 degree heat with no way to escape. If I hadn’t smashed the car window with a desperate burst of strength, I’d have been a lifeless, shriveled corpse by now. But even then, he had taken the phone back.
Perhaps he feared I’d call the police, feared I’d expose the truth of his actions. So he locked me in a utility room before leaving.
"Be good and stay here," he said casually, as if he were locking away a troublesome child rather than a wounded, bleeding woman.
Then he turned and walked away, leaving me behind without a second glance.
A cold wind swept through the room, cutting through my thin camisole and chilling me to the bone. The air conditioning in the utility room was kept at freezing temperatures—below ten degrees—to prevent the expensive dance shoes stored there from getting moldy.
But I wasn’t a pair of shoes. I pounded on the glass with all the strength I had left, my cries hoarse and desperate, "Zayn! I won’t call the police, I promise! Just let me out, please! It’s so cold in here—I’ll freeze to death!"
But there was no response. Only the hollow echo of my own voice. Time blurred. The biting cold seeped into my bones, turning my hands and feet numb. My voice faded into silence. I curled into myself, trying in vain to hold onto whatever warmth I had left. It didn’t work.
Soon, I couldn’t feel the cold anymore. A strange warmth crept over me, gentle and deceiving. I knew this was the beginning of hypothermia, the body’s final trick before succumbing to the cold.
I couldn’t fight it. My strength was gone and all I could do was lie there, staring at the darkened ceiling, feeling the fragile thread of my life slipping away. My eyes fluttered shut. And then, nothing.
***
When I opened my eyes again, the sharp scent of antiseptic filled my nose. The harsh white lights of a hospital room flickered overhead.
"You’re awake."
A man in a white coat stood beside me, his features calm yet kind. He held out a glass of water with slender, steady hands.
"How did you end up locked in a utility room like that? Were you kidnapped or coerced?" he asked, his voice soft but serious. "Don’t be afraid. If you need help, I can call the police for you."
I opened my mouth to respond, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, tears streamed down my face. For the first time in what felt like forever, I was alive. I had escaped death—escaped him.
The doctor, noticing my distress, didn’t push further. He knelt slightly to meet my eyes and explained patiently, "I was accompanying my sister to the dance competition. She left something backstage and when I went to retrieve it, I noticed blood on the ground. I followed the trail all the way to the utility room."
"It’s a good thing I wasn’t too late," he added with a faint smile. "Otherwise, you’d have turned into a popsicle by now."
He hesitated for a moment, studying me with a mix of regret and pity.
"I know who you are," he said finally. "The rare talent in the dance world—someone destined to shine." His voice softened even further. "But I have to tell you… your leg… you won’t be able to dance again."
The words hit me harder than any physical blow. My chest heaved as sobs wracked my body. I buried my head in my arms, shaking uncontrollably.
The doctor—he introduced himself as Adam Grant—stood nearby, clearly uncertain of how to console me. Finally, he handed me another report.
"Ms. Neall," he said gently, "there’s something else. You’re… pregnant."
"What?"
I stared at the report in disbelief, reading and rereading the words over and over again. My heart twisted and turned, a storm of emotions crashing over me.
I placed my hand on my stomach, feeling the faint stirrings of a life I hadn’t known was there.
Tears streamed down my face again, but this time, I didn’t know if they were for sorrow, fear, or the tiniest flicker of hope.
Ten minutes. That’s all it took for me to make a decision. Bringing a child into a world devoid of love—into a family like this—would only cause more pain. Not just for the child, but for me as well.
Tears slid down my cheeks as my heart felt like it was being torn into jagged pieces. Taking a deep breath, I forced myself to look up at Adam, his steady presence somehow anchoring me in the storm of my emotions.
"Doctor," I began, my voice trembling but resolute. "Please schedule me for an abortion. Thank you."
For a moment, Adam froze, as if caught off guard by my words. Then he gave a quiet nod, his usual calm demeanor returning.
I leaned back against the hospital bed, the sharp ache in my chest intensifying with every breath I took. When Adam kindly offered to contact the police on my behalf, I shook my head.
The Erickson Family was powerful—one of the most influential families in the city. Adam, despite his good intentions, would only bring trouble upon himself if he got involved. Moreover, if I couldn’t destroy them with one decisive blow, acting prematurely would only alert them to my plans.
Instead, he handed me a phone. I logged into my social account, needing to see the world outside this suffocating room.
The moment I opened the app, a new update from Melinda appeared at the top of my feed. She was lying on a hospital bed, her face glowing with health, while Zayn stood beside her, carefully feeding her porridge.
The caption read.
[Thank you to the most important person in my life. No matter what happens, you’ll always be by my side.]
And below, Zayn’s reply.
[Silly girl, you’re the most important person in my life too. I’ll protect you forever.]