Back to Dance, Back to Life

Ashton's POV “Greedy little thing, wait until I finish giving your uncle his gift.” Seraphina smiled and slipped a bracelet around my wrist. It reminded me of what a collector friend told me a few days ago, how excited he’d been when Seraphina asked him to help her buy a rare Patek Philippe watch, one worth fifty million. Gleeful, he had thrown in a matching bracelet for free. Now, that same Patek Philippe glittered on Christian’s wrist, while the ill-fitting bracelet hung loosely on mine. When the ballroom dancing started, as it did every year, I stayed seated in the audience. Christian approached with that usual bright smile, taking Seraphina’s arm. “Ashton, since you can’t dance, why don’t I take Seraphina for the opening dance? You don’t mind, right?” Before I could even respond, they were already gliding into the crowd. Seraphina’s left hand rested gently on Christian’s shoulder, tender yet restrained, while her right hand intertwined with his. Her gaze was filled with warmth and emotion—eyes that could only hold him. This was supposed to be our wedding anniversary. But tonight, it was clearly theirs. For years, I thought the lavish anniversary parties were her way of honoring me, of showing the world she didn’t care that I was paralyzed. Now I realized the truth—these parties were nothing but excuses for her to be near the man she truly loved. Guests whispered behind me. “Wow, Mr. Montague really is the perfect lead dancer. Look at that form! Honestly, if he and Ms. Seraphina weren’t aunt and nephew, they’d make a much better match than her crippled husband.” “Right? That husband of hers used to be some kind of prodigy in the dance world, but now he’s just a useless man in a wheelchair. Give it a few years, and Miss Seraphina will get bored, and no one will want that broken leftover anymore.” Their laughter stung more than I wanted to admit. Yet, Seraphina danced on, lost in Christian’s orbit, completely unaware of how cruel the whispers were. Without her presence to protect me, the upper-class crowd dropped their polite masks and bared their disdain. Soon, I couldn’t take it anymore. I turned my wheelchair and quietly left the hall, calling my lawyer to draft a divorce agreement. And while I was at it, I also booked a faked-death service. When the banquet ended, I sat by the window of our room, watching the guests leave. Under the trees, Seraphina stood there for a long time, staring at Christian’s departing figure. Only after he was completely out of sight did she finally turn and head upstairs. The moment she entered our bedroom, she pushed me down on the bed, kissing me over and over like she couldn’t breathe without me. “Sweetie, say you love me, okay? I love you. I love you so much. You’re mine, only mine.” As her words echoed, fragments of memory started piecing themselves together. I suddenly realized every time she was this desperate for me, it was always after she saw Christian. Was I… just his substitute for her desires? A wave of nausea hit me, and tears slipped from my eyes before I could stop them. When she tasted the wetness on my face, she finally paused, her voice softening. “Honey, what’s wrong? Did I hurt you?” Her kisses trailed gently across my cheek, meant to soothe me, but the more tender she was, the sicker I felt. I shoved her away, stumbled into the bathroom, and threw up again and again. She immediately followed, rubbing my back as I retched. To anyone else, she might’ve looked like the picture of concern. “Honey, are you feeling better? Should I call the doctor?” I almost laughed through the bitterness. A doctor? For what? To prescribe more vitamins that didn’t heal anything? “No need. I just ate too much. I’ll be fine after this,” I flatly replied. She nodded and helped me back to bed, massaging my stomach with gentle hands. Then suddenly, her phone rang. It was Christian. Her eyes lit up instantly. The moment she hung up, she grabbed her purse and rushed out of the room without even looking back.

Ashton's POV “Christian’s having stomach pain,” Seraphina said as she grabbed her keys. “His wife’s been away on a business trip, and you know he’s hopeless at taking care of himself. I’ll go check on him.” Even so, I didn’t bother stopping her. The moment she left, I opened the email from my lawyer, printed the divorce papers, and laid them neatly on my desk. Out of habit, I glanced at my phone, and there it was. Christian’s latest post on social media: [I said I felt a little sick after too much cake, and my auntie rushed over to take care of me.] The attached photos showed her cooking in his kitchen, spoon-feeding him soup, and gently wiping the corner of his mouth like a doting lover. In the three years we’d been married, even when I was bedridden with pain, I had never once seen Seraphina cook. Then, another post popped up, this time a short video. Seraphina was hand-washing one of Christian’s stained underwear, her sleeves rolled up. Christian looped his arms around her neck, teasing her in that familiar, shameless tone. “Seraphina, you treat me so well. If I ever get divorced, I’m marrying you, okay?” She frowned and said sternly, “Don’t talk nonsense, you’re an adult now.” But I saw it—how her hands trembled from excitement when he said it. And that was enough. I closed my phone, signed my name on the divorce agreement, and set it aside. That night, Seraphina didn’t come home. The next morning, I went alone to the dance company. Today was the celebration party for Christian’s promotion to principal dancer, which was an event both Seraphina and I were expected to attend. It had been three long years since I last set foot in this place that once carried my dreams and glory. After my accident, Seraphina bought the entire company. She told me it was because this place held my memories, and she wanted to preserve them for me. Now I finally understood. She bought it so she could personally place him, the man she truly loved, on the throne that once belonged to me. I gave a bitter smile just as I saw her arriving, arm in arm with Christian. But when she spotted me, she hurried over and breathlessly said, “Sorry, sweetheart. The roads were closed last night, so I couldn’t make it back.” I didn’t bother replying and just nodded faintly. She looked like she wanted to say more, but Christian stepped forward and grabbed the handles of my wheelchair. “Seraphina, there are a lot of industry bigwigs looking for you. Don’t worry about Ashton, I’ll keep him company.” After a moment’s hesitation, she nodded and walked off. Christian and I hadn’t spoken privately since the day he and my ex-fiancée betrayed me. Any contact since then was only because of Seraphina. So, I didn’t know what game he was playing now, acting all friendly. He didn’t give me a chance to ask. He soon pushed me toward the Hall of Honor—a long corridor lined with framed photos and awards. Only now, every one of my pictures and trophies was gone, replaced by his. Finally, he dropped the pretense, and his smug voice echoed above me. “So, what if you were a prodigy, Ashton? Look at you now, flat on your back, right where you belong.” He then strolled in front of me and proudly lifted his leg, showing off his new shoes. “See these? Crocodile leather, custom-made. Seraphina ordered them herself to celebrate my promotion.” Then he laughed lightly, eyes gleaming with mockery. “Do you like them, Ashton? Oh, wait, silly me. You’re paralyzed. Even if you wanted them, you couldn’t wear something this fine.” He leaned closer, smirk widening. “Actually, since I’m in a generous mood today, I’ll share a secret with you. Seraphina and I are not related by blood. In fact, we used to date for years.” He paused for effect, clearly enjoying the shock on my face. “You know why she married you? Because I had my eyes on your fiancée back then. You were in the way, so I asked her to reel you in and keep you busy.”

Ashton's POV “Ashton, you’re so pathetic now!” Christian sneered. “You can’t even dance better than me anymore. And the woman you married was someone I threw away out of pity for you. If I were you, I’d have died of shame already!” I lifted my gaze to meet his and calmly asked, “Shouldn’t you be the one ashamed? You couldn’t beat me with skill, so you waited until I was injured to make your move. Your dancing talent is so awful. Has it ever occurred to you to try another career?” My words hit him like a slap as Christian’s face twisted with rage, and he kicked my wheelchair hard. “You bastard! You’re a useless cripple now, yet you still dare to act proud in front of me?” He grabbed the handles of my wheelchair and pushed me toward the garden pond outside the dance hall, laughing as he went. “Tell me, does Seraphina call you 'sweetie' when you’re in bed?” He smirked. “Funny thing, she used to call me that way, too. She gave it to me because I loved sweets as a kid. Cute, right?” Then his grin turned vicious. “Ashton, I’m going to make you watch as I take everything you ever had. How about we run a little experiment? You’ll see who she really cares about!” Before I could react, he yanked my wheelchair and sent both of us crashing into the pond. “Sweetie!” A desperate cry split the air—Seraphina’s voice. The water churned violently, and a shadow jumped in. I struggled to stay afloat and saw Seraphina swimming toward me. I reached out for her, but her hands bypassed mine. She grabbed Christian instead, pulling him up while I sank beneath the surface. So, she was truly calling him “Sweetie.” A bitter smile curved my lips before darkness claimed me. When I woke again, it was thanks to a kind stranger who’d pulled me from the water. But the first thing I saw was Seraphina clutching Christian tightly in her arms. He was crying into her chest, while she whispered soothingly, her eyes never once glancing my way. “Don’t be scared, sweetheart. I'm here. I’ll never let anything happen to you,” she comforted. I smiled bitterly and was about to turn away, but Christian suddenly pointed at me, his tone filled with false remorse. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have pulled him into the water when he tried to hit me with his wheelchair. I just lost my balance. I didn’t mean to.” Seraphina froze for a second. When she looked at me, her eyes were full of accusation, though her voice remained calm. “I’m sure it was just an accident. What matters is that you’re both safe.” Christian frowned, clearly displeased that she hadn’t taken his side more openly. Later, when no one else was around, Seraphina pulled me aside. “Ashton, Christian is still young and innocent. Even if you’re angry, you shouldn’t take it out on him or worse, try to hurt him like that.” I almost laughed. Of course, she didn’t believe me. “I’m in a wheelchair,” I said coldly. “And he’s perfectly healthy. You really think I could hurt him?” She frowned, then countered, “Whether it was intentional or not, I don’t want something like this happening again.” Then, as if realizing her words were too harsh, she softened her tone. “Christian is my brother’s only son. If anything happened to him, we’d both have a hard time explaining it.” “Fine. Got it,” I flatly said, not bothering to argue. She hesitated then, as if it just occurred to her that she hadn’t even checked on me since I’d been rescued. Her hand twitched like she wanted to reach out. But before she could take a step, Christian let out a loud cry from behind us, complaining of pain. And just like that, Seraphina turned and ran back to him without a second thought.

Ashton's POV When I got home, I gathered everything that once tied me to Seraphina—our love letters, the journals we shared, and all the photos we ever took together. I piled them up in the yard and set them on fire. The flames devoured everything, leaving nothing but ashes. After that, I signed for the new portable crutch I’d ordered. It would make leaving a little easier. Then, a new post from Christian popped up on my feed. [Auntie’s way too worried about me! I just swallowed a bit of water, and she booked the entire hospital for a full-body check-up. So many doctors around me. I’m getting social anxiety!] In the attached video, I could hear her voice—familiar, soft, and full of warmth. “Be good,” she said. “Get all the tests done. Only then can I stop worrying.” That night, Seraphina came home very late. And when she did, she wasn’t alone. Christian followed right behind her. “He’s a little shaken and not feeling well,” she explained. “I’ll let him stay here for a few days until he’s better. He’s scared to be alone.” I didn’t argue. Soon enough, this wouldn’t be my home anymore. What right did I have to object? Seraphina then wrinkled her nose, noticing the faint smell of smoke in the air. “Did something burn? What’s that smell?” “Nothing important,” I replied evenly. “I just burned some old things.” Her expression hardened. “Don’t burn things in the house anymore. It’s bad for the boy’s health.” I nodded since everything worth burning was already gone. That night, I wasn’t feeling well, probably coming down with a fever, so I went to bed early. But sometime after midnight, a loud thunderclap exploded outside my window, and I jolted awake, my heart pounding. Without thinking, I reached out, instinctively seeking Seraphina’s arms for comfort. Ever since the car accident, loud noises like thunder made me panic. For the past three years, she was always the one who’d hold me tight, whispering, “I’m here. You’re safe.” That was the only way I could calm down. But this time, my arms met empty air. Seraphina was already out of bed, slipping on her coat. “The boy’s terrified of thunder,” she said softly. “I’ll go check on him.” I gave a small, bitter laugh at myself. Even now, I still instinctively turned to her for comfort. Watching her leave, I slowly got up, took the signed divorce papers, and placed them neatly on the table. Then I pulled out my phone and made a call. “You can come pick me up now,” I said quietly. As I made my way downstairs with my crutch, I passed the guest room and heard muffled sobs inside. “Seraphina,” Christian’s voice trembled, “you still love me, don’t you? I know you do. You’ve never gotten over me. Please don’t go. Stay with me, okay?” Through the half-open door, I saw him wrap his arms around her neck, pressing his lips to hers. Seraphina turned away at first, trying to resist. But eventually, she gave in, pulling him close by the waist, kissing him back deeply. A flash of lightning illuminated the room, freezing the image in painful clarity: the two of them tangled together. A sharp, unbearable ache tore through my chest. I turned and walked away without looking back. Outside, rain poured down in sheets as I climbed into the waiting car. The driver started the engine, and we disappeared into the storm. Third Person's POV The next morning, Seraphina woke up in Christian’s bed. He was still asleep, looking peaceful. She couldn’t resist pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead before slipping out of bed. Sunlight spilled through the curtains. Maybe she’d gone too far last night, she thought, but she could always make it up to Ashton later. She decided to order his favorite breakfast—avocado toast—from that little shop he loved. He was picky about food, and only something fresh and light like that could please him. Just as she was about to place the order, her phone rang. It was her assistant. “Ma'am, something terrible’s happened!” “What is it?” she asked, frowning. “Mr. Chandler… last night, his car was caught in a landslide. The vehicle was swept into the lake. Both the car and he are missing!”