Chapter 1

My boyfriend’s first love and I both participated in the dance competition.

He knew that it was my lifelong dream for me to become the champion, but he still tried to stop me.

He first locked me in the car, and then asked someone to completely break my legs.

With my bloody legs, I witnessed his first love Melinda Qualls win the championship at the competition.

But after everything was over, my boyfriend knelt on one knee and asked me to marry him.

I agreed.

On the wedding day, I aborted our child.

He was happy to welcome his bride, but he only saw a bottle.

Inside was our unborn child.

1

On the eve of the dance contest, my boyfriend imprisoned me in his vehicle under the scorching summer heat—ensuring Melinda Qualls would claim the title.

"Xandra, you'll have other opportunities in the future," he stated, his tone nonchalant. "Why not let her have this victory?"

Parched and nearly fainting, I barely made it to the venue. Upon arrival, weakened by the heat, I witnessed a scene that crushed my spirit: my boyfriend dancing intimately with Melinda.

As I attempted to perform, he prevented me—not verbally, but by fracturing my leg.

"Xandra," he implored later, as if his actions were justifiable, "please forgive me. I'll compensate you later. Melinda rescued my mother—I must repay her."

On what should have been my joyous wedding day, I found myself alone in a hospital, undergoing a termination. As he carried his bride, instead of finding me, he discovered a small container with our unborn child's remains. A note lay beneath:

[Our paths diverge—may we each find contentment]"Zayn, please... don't... don't harm my legs..."

At the competition's backstage, I cowered in a corner, quaking with fear as Zayn's ruthless gaze pierced me.

I had struggled to reach this point, barely enduring the torment, only to face his fury. His anger seared through me, extinguishing any hope of solace.

"Xandra," he snarled, "why can't you ever obey me? Do you realize how crucial this competition is for Melinda?"

Tears cascaded down my face as his words struck me. He called me a prodigy—one who could effortlessly win championships. So what if I relinquished this chance? What difference did it make?

But he failed to comprehend. This wasn't merely a contest. The victor would become the dance troupe's leader and conduct international tours. It was my lifelong aspiration to showcase our traditional dance globally, a dream my grandmother had nurtured for me before her passing.

For years, I dedicated everything to this dream—every arduous practice, every bead of sweat and drop of blood. My feet were raw from endless rehearsals, wounds repeatedly reopening. Each pair of dance shoes I wore bore testimony to my sacrifices.

And now, after all that effort, they expected me to simply yield.

Zayn advanced towards me, clutching a golf club. My heart raced as suffocating memories flooded back—the stifling car, the remote location where he had deserted me, my frantic cries for help echoing unanswered.

I balled my fists, the agony of those moments mingling with my rage. My voice quivered as I finally spoke, my words laden with anguish.

"Zayn, you vowed to cherish and safeguard me forever. How can you be so heartless? Dancing is my passion—my entire world! Would you truly clip my wings for Melinda?" Desperate and mortified, I wrenched free from the guard's grip and collapsed before him.

"Please, Zayn," I pleaded, tears streaming. "Allow me to compete. Just this once."

For a brief moment, his expression softened. His hand gently touched my head, and hope flickered within me. Perhaps—just maybe—he would grant me this single opportunity.

But then his phone rang, the harsh ringtone piercing the silence. He answered the video call, revealing Melinda's tear-stained face. She stood atop an eighteen-story building, her eyes puffy and red.

"Zayn," she said, her voice unsteady, "being the principal dancer has always been my aspiration. But with Xandra here, I'll forever be second-rate..."