Elaine's POV
The year I first despised my husband, Dylan Hartman, he ruined my leg for the sake of his precious assistant, Amara Ridley.
In return, I ensured that I got the most realistic prosthetic leg custom-made.
One quiet night, I snuck into her apartment, slipped the leg into her bathtub, and waited.
When Amara screamed, it sounded like music to my ears. The sound cut through the silence, sharp and filled with horror.
I stayed hidden, watching through the crack in the door, enjoying every second of her shock.
Everyone told me Dylan would make my life a living hell.
They said he'd crush me completely, make me regret ever crossing him, but he didn't.
Dylan just tossed me a divorce agreement.
His voice was colder than ice as he said, "A cripple like you, Elaine, still wants to keep the title of my wife? Get out of my sight."
And just like that, I was gone from his life.
Three years later, at my father's celebratory party, I saw Dylan's secretary, Amara Ridley, once again.
She walked in wearing a red dress, a sly smile on her lips, and just as she passed me, she ground her high heel into my prosthetic leg.
"Well, well. Look who it is. Turns out it's the useless woman Dylan discarded," Amara sneered.
Without a second thought, I took her wrist and snapped it hard.
I didn't even flinch when I did it.
"Did you forget about the leg in the bathroom?" I asked calmly. "Should I get you a more realistic pair?"
——
The sound of bone breaking echoed through the hall.
For a moment, there was dead silence, and then came her heart-wrenching, full of panic scream.
Amara's wrist hung at an unnatural angle, and her face went pale as she glared at me.
"Elaine! You crazy woman! Three years ago, I was kind enough to let you keep your pitiful life!"
Her voice was shrill, shaking with rage. "With Dylan protecting me, I can make you fall from the clouds again, just like before. I'll make sure you don't keep your other leg, too!"
A few of the socialites around her, their faces twisted with judgment, started to move in closer.
"You're insane! How could you hurt Amara?"
"Do you even know who she is? She's having the Chairman of Hartman Group's baby!"
One woman, the leader of the group, poked my forehead with her sharp nails.
She sized me up, her voice dripping with mockery. "I thought you were someone important. Turns out, you're just the useless woman Dylan tossed out three years ago."
"What now? One leg isn't enough?" the woman sneered. "You want him to break the other one, too?"
Then, a few men stepped forward, blocking my escape.
I could hear their low chuckles, the kind that tried to intimidate.
"So, you're the former ballet lead?" one of them said, chuckling. "Can't dance with a broken leg, so you've turned to fighting now? Don't you get it? Everyone knows Mr. Hartman pampers Miss Ridley. If you touch her today, you're touching Mr. Hartman's lifeline."
Their insults and mockery didn't faze me. I was used to it. I wasn't afraid anymore.
I paid them no mind, instead focusing on Amara. Even as his fiancée, there were definite advantages to being Dylan's fiancée.
Publicly, the woman who once manipulated me with a false show of weakness threatened to ruin my remaining leg.
But Amara had forgotten one thing: I don't let people trample me.
In front of everyone's gaze, I took out a handkerchief and calmly wiped the spot where I had touched Amara's hand.
The corners of my mouth curled into a faint smile as my gaze drifted to her slightly rounded belly.
"Three years ago, I overestimated your skills and underestimated your shamelessness," I said slowly, letting my words sink in. "How, after faking a miscarriage to trick me into losing my leg, are you still not satisfied?"
I leaned in closer and continued, "This time, I'll make sure you really miscarry. I promise you'll never be able to conceive again in your life."
The knife hovered dangerously close to her belly. And then, just as I was about to take the next step, someone grabbed my wrist.
"Dylan!" Amara cried out in terror. "I'm so scared! Elaine's going to kill me!"
Her tearful wail rang in my ears.
It was the same way she had sounded three years ago when Dylan beat me with a bat, shattering my leg. I had ended up in a pool of blood, all because of her screams.
"Dylan, save the baby!" she cried. "She's going to kill our baby!"
Her words hit me like a ton of bricks. The memory of the pain and betrayal flooded back. But I didn't let it consume me.
'No,' I thought. 'No more pity. No more mercy.'
They would pay for everything they had done.
