On my wedding day, my fiancée publicly called off the ceremony, walking down the aisle with my best man instead. I stumbled out, shattered, only to be struck by a car in a brutal accident. The crash left me paralyzed, ending my dance career. In my darkest hour, Julian’s aunt, Seraphina Hayes, pulled me back from the Silverleaf River, where I’d considered ending my life. She married me in what tabloids called the "wedding of the century." But on our third anniversary, I overheard her whisper to her assistant: "Same routine—switch Henry’s leg meds to vitamins. Delay his therapy again." The assistant hesitated: "But if we keep delaying, he may never walk… You had him hit to paralyze him for Julian’s sake. Now Julian’s the star dancer, favored by your family. Must you still guard against Mr. Goldstein?" Seraphina snapped: "What does it matter? I’ll support him forever." Her gaze turned distant, voice heavy with sorrow: "Since society won’t let me be with Julian, I’ll ensure his happiness—no matter who suffers." 1 The truth hit me like a physical blow. I clapped a hand over my mouth, stumbling backward in sheer disbelief. How could I have been so blind? Every misfortune, every moment I thought was salvation, had been meticulously engineered by Seraphina herself! Tears streamed down my face, relentless and scalding. My heart felt as if it were being torn apart. Footsteps approached from inside. Panicked, I spun my wheelchair around, fleeing to the villa’s secluded backyard. Just then, the door to Seraphina’s private storage room, a place she always kept strictly off-limits, stood ajar. Inside, the walls were adorned with countless photographs and portraits of Julian, charting his life from infancy to adulthood. His dance certificates, his trophies, even replicas of the dance shoes and costumes he’d worn over the years – Seraphina had meticulously collected them all, displaying them like priceless treasures in glass cabinets. Every item, every inch of this room, screamed of her obsessive devotion to Julian. In the very center of the room lay adoption papers, clearly detailing her true relationship with Julian. Seraphina, I learned, had been adopted by Julian’s grandfather in her teens, meaning there wasn’t a single drop of shared blood between them. I laughed, a bitter, broken sound, tears still streaming. Seraphina, you truly played me for a fool! Very well then. Since this is the stage you’ve set, I will ensure they get the performance they deserve. Gathering my shattered composure, I left the room. As I exited the backyard, I bumped directly into Seraphina, who was hurrying towards me. She froze. “Henry, darling, why are you out here? And so far from the house? You didn’t… see anything, did you?” “No,” I replied, my voice flat. “Just took a wrong turn. Haven’t been out in the garden for a while.” Seraphina visibly relaxed. She knelt beside me, gently stroking my hair. “Silly boy,” she chuckled, “you’re getting more absent-minded as you get older, aren’t you? The guests are all here. Your wife will take you in for our anniversary celebration.” Her warm lips pressed against my forehead, but all I felt was a chilling, bone-deep cold. As we entered the grand ballroom, guests watched, their eyes filled with envy, as Seraphina guided my wheelchair. My gaze, however, locked onto the three-tiered strawberry cream cake dominating the center of the room. I am severely lactose intolerant. And strawberries? They’re Julian’s absolute favorite flavor. Sure enough, no sooner had Seraphina settled me into the seat of honor than Julian practically bounced over, tugging on her arm. “Aunt Sera, when can we cut the cake?” he whined playfully. “It’s your and Uncle Henry’s anniversary, but you got my favorite cake! That’s just cheating!” Seraphina, without a hint of shame, playfully tapped his nose. “Little glutton,” she teased. “First, let me give your Uncle Henry his gift.” Seraphina produced a bracelet and fastened it onto my wrist. I remembered a collector friend recently telling me, excitedly, how Seraphina had commissioned him to acquire a unique, fifty-million-dollar Patek Philippe timepiece. As a thank-you, he’d included a complimentary bracelet. Now, that very Patek Philippe gleamed conspicuously on Julian’s wrist. Meanwhile, the ill-fitting bracelet dangled loosely from mine. Later, during the dance segment, I sat below the stage, just as I did every year. Julian linked his arm through Seraphina’s and then addressed me: “Uncle Henry, since you can’t move your legs, I’ll take the opening dance with Aunt Sera. You don’t mind, do you?” Without waiting for my response, they glided onto the dance floor. Seraphina’s left hand rested on Julian’s shoulder, a gesture both restrained and possessive. Her right hand was intertwined, fingers locked, with his. Her almond-shaped eyes, brimming with tender affection, held no one but Julian. Though it was supposedly our wedding anniversary, this moment had become entirely about her and Julian. I had always believed Seraphina grandly celebrated our anniversary each year out of devotion to me, to ensure other high-society figures wouldn’t look down on me. Now, it was painfully clear this was her true motive all along: using our special day as a pretext, to legitimately draw closer to her true beloved. Whispers drifted from nearby guests: “Wow, Young Julian truly lives up to his principal dancer title, doesn’t he? He dances with such flair! If he and Ms. Hayes weren’t related, they’d look far more suited for each other than her crippled husband!” “Exactly! And while Ms. Hayes’ husband was once a prodigy in the dance world, he’s a mere shadow of his former self now, practically a wash-out! I bet Ms. Hayes will only keep him around for a few more years, then this used, broken man will be utterly worthless!” Seraphina, however, was utterly engrossed, dancing one number after another with Julian, oblivious to my predicament. Without her presence, these so-called high-society elites never bothered to mask their contempt for me. Their mocking voices grew louder, more spirited. Helpless, I fled the scene. I called my lawyer, instructing him to draft a divorce agreement. While I was at it, I secretly arranged for a ‘staged death’ service. 2 When the banquet finally concluded, I watched from my bedroom window as the last guests departed. Beneath the shadow of a sprawling oak, Seraphina stood for a long moment, her gaze fixed on Julian’s retreating figure, before she finally turned and came upstairs. The moment she entered the master bedroom, she pressed me onto the bed with an almost desperate urgency, raining down a torrent of kisses. “Henry, darling… tell me you love me, won’t you? I love you so much, so incredibly much. You’re mine! Only mine!” Fragments of past memories began to click into place, a horrifying mosaic forming in my mind. I finally realized: every time Seraphina was most desperate for me, it was always after she had seen Julian. Was I truly nothing more than a convenient substitute for her affections? A wave of nausea washed over me. I choked back a sob, tears welling in my eyes and spilling down my cheeks. Seraphina kissed away the dampness, finally regaining some semblance of control over her earlier, almost wild abandon. “Darling, what’s wrong? Did I hurt you somehow?” She began to murmur reassurances, kissing my skin, but her touch only intensified my revulsion. I pushed her away, scrambling to the bathroom. I leaned over the toilet, retching again and again, emptying the contents of my stomach. Seraphina gently patted my back, her expression one of profound concern, as if her heart was breaking for me. “Are you feeling better, sweetie? Should your wife call for a doctor?” A bitter laugh bubbled up inside me. A doctor? To prescribe more useless vitamins? “It’s nothing,” I mumbled, pulling away. “Just ate too much. I’ll be fine now that I’ve gotten it out of my system.” Seraphina nodded, helping me back into bed. Her soft hands gently massaged my stomach, attempting to soothe my discomfort. Suddenly, her phone buzzed with an incoming call. It was Julian. Her eyes lit up instantly. She answered the call, then rushed out of the room. “Julian has a stomachache,” she explained, already halfway out the door. “His wife’s out of town, and he’s terrible at looking after himself. I should go see what’s wrong.” I had no intention of stopping her. Once Seraphina was gone, I opened the divorce papers my lawyer had emailed, then went to the study and printed them out. On social media, Julian was already broadcasting updates: [Just mentioned I felt sick from too much cake, and Aunt Sera immediately rushed over to take care of me! ~] The photos showed Seraphina bustling in the kitchen, gently coaxing Julian to eat, and tenderly wiping his mouth. In three years of marriage, even when I was at my sickest, I had never once seen Seraphina cook for me. Another update popped up: The video showed Seraphina gently hand-washing a stained pair of Julian’s underwear. Julian, wrapping his arms around her neck, playfully teased: “Aunt Sera, you’re so good to me. What if I get divorced someday and marry you instead?” Seraphina’s expression turned serious. “You’re a grown man now, stop talking nonsense!” But I could clearly see the tremor of excitement in her hands when Julian said that. I switched off my phone and signed my name onto the divorce agreement. 3 Seraphina didn’t return that night. The next day, I made my way to the dance company alone. Today was the celebration banquet for Julian’s promotion to principal dancer, an event Seraphina and I were expected to attend together. Since my paralysis three years ago, I hadn’t set foot in this place, a place where I once earned countless accolades. And after the accident, the dance company had been swiftly acquired by Seraphina. She had told me then that she wanted to preserve this place for me, as it held so many of my memories. Now, it was blindingly clear: her sole intention, from the very beginning, was to personally elevate her beloved Julian to this coveted position. A bitter smile touched my lips as my gaze fell upon Seraphina, who was now stepping out of a car, arm-in-arm with Julian. She hurried towards me. “I’m so sorry, darling,” she began, a practiced apology on her lips. “The road was blocked last night, so I couldn’t get back.” Her excuse held no weight with me. I merely nodded, my expression blank. Seraphina seemed about to offer further explanation, but Julian suddenly stepped forward, taking control of my wheelchair. “Aunt Sera, there are so many industry bigwigs wanting to chat with you over there! I can keep Uncle Henry company here, so go on and network, don’t worry about us!” Seraphina hesitated, glancing at me with a flicker of indecision, before she walked away. The truth was, ever since Julian and my former fiancée betrayed me, I’d had no private dealings with him. Any interactions we had were usually due to his connection with Seraphina. I had no idea why he was suddenly acting so chummy. Before I could even speak, Julian wheeled me, unprompted, down the company’s Hall of Fame. Where my performance photos, certificates, and trophies once proudly stood, there was now only a display of his images and accolades. Julian didn’t even bother to keep up the pretense any longer. His smug voice drifted down to me from above: “So what if you were a prodigy? Henry Goldstein,” he sneered, “now you’re nothing but a pathetic cripple, stuck beneath my heel!” As he spoke, he moved in front of me, extending his leg in a blatant display of arrogance. “See these top-grain alligator leather shoes on my feet? Aunt Sera had them custom-made by the brand, just to congratulate me on becoming principal!” He paused, then his grin widened. “Do you like them, Uncle Henry? Oh, wait, how silly of me! You’re paralyzed, aren’t you? Even if you did like them, you couldn’t wear such precious shoes! Oh, and since I’m in such a good mood today, I’ll be merciful and tell you a little secret! Aunt Sera and I aren’t actually related by blood, you know~ Not only that, but we secretly dated for years! The only reason she married you was because I had my eye on your fiancée, and I didn’t want you getting in the way, so I asked her to string you along! Henry Goldstein, you’re truly pathetic now! You’ll never out-dance me again, and even the woman you married was just my cast-off, a charity case I threw your way. If I were you, I’d have died of shame by now, wouldn’t you?” I met his gaze, my eyes cold. “Shouldn’t you be the one dying of shame? You couldn’t compete with me on talent, so you only got your chance to shine once my legs were broken. With such dismal dance skills, have you ever considered a career change?” My words hit a nerve. Julian’s face contorted in a furious sneer, and he violently kicked my wheelchair. “Bastard! You’re a worthless cripple now, and you still dare to act so arrogant in front of me!” He wheeled me furiously towards the ornamental pond in the dance company’s outer garden, all the while chuckling darkly: “Doesn’t Aunt Sera just adore calling you Henry in bed? Oh, and my nickname is ‘Sugar,’ you know, because I loved sweets so much as a kid. Aunt Sera even gave it to me herself! Henry Goldstein, I want you to watch as I take everything from you! How about we conduct a little experiment? You can see for yourself who Aunt Sera truly cares about!” With that, Julian seized my wheelchair, pulling me, and himself, headfirst into the pond.
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