Chapter 3

The next morning, as soon as Julian left the house, I pulled a metal box out from under the bed. Inside was a stack of cash I had painstakingly saved up from my recent shifts at work.

This was the money I had originally set aside for the end of the month, intending to hand it over to him to "pay off his debts."

Using my laggy old phone, I sent an email to my former ballet instructor. Then, I logged onto a booking site and bought a one-way ticket to Europe for that very night.

In truth, shortly after my injury, my instructor overseas had reached out to me multiple times. She had even arranged consultations with the best orthopedic specialists in Europe, urging me to fly out as soon as possible for rehabilitation.

But I had refused.

At the time, the doctor had explicitly told me that my right leg had suffered permanent damage and could never be restored.

Coupled with the massive high-interest loan Julian claimed to have taken out for my medical bills, I couldn't bring myself to abandon him when he needed me.

But now, that filter of hypocrisy had been completely shattered. That doctor’s diagnosis wasn't necessarily the truth either.

That afternoon, I left the basement right on time.

I headed to the diner where I worked part-time and handed my resignation to the shift manager, ready to put an end to this nightmare once and for all.

The main dining area on the right side of the restaurant had been rented out for a private celebration party.

I stood at the front counter, waiting for the manager to cash out my final paychecks.

Behind me, the sharp click of high heels echoed against the wooden floorboards.

Chloe walked out of the VIP area wearing a burgundy velvet gown, trailed by a group of dressed-up men and women.

She headed straight for the bar, clearly noticing me waiting by the register.

Chloe stopped in her tracks. Her gaze swept mockingly over my crippled right leg and my cheap, threadbare coat.

A moment later, an undisguised, vicious smirk curled her lips.

"Hey everyone, look who's here,"

She called out, deliberately raising her voice and gesturing to her friends behind her.

"Isn't this our former prima ballerina?"

The group erupted into a chorus of careless, mocking laughter.

I ignored her completely. Taking the envelope of cash from the manager, I turned around and headed straight for the exit.

Halfway to the door, Chloe suddenly stepped forward, sticking her foot right in my path.

My right ankle was already incapable of bearing weight. Tripped by her sudden movement, I instantly lost my balance.

I stumbled forward, desperately bracing my hand against a nearby table to save myself from crashing to the floor.

A sharp, piercing pain shot through my ankle.

I steadied myself and turned around, reaching out to push her away.

But before my hand even grazed her, Chloe let out a sudden, piercing scream and threw herself backward.

She crashed into the serving cart at the edge of the dining room, knocking over a whole row of wine glasses.

Shattered glass rained across the floor.

She collapsed onto the floor, clutching her wrist and putting on a flawless act of sheer terror.

Hearing the commotion, Julian came sprinting out from the party crowd.

His eyes immediately zeroed in on Chloe, who was sitting among the glass shards.

His face paled. He rushed over and pulled Chloe into his arms, carefully inspecting her for injuries.

Only after confirming she was unhurt did Julian finally look up at me.

"Aria, what the hell is wrong with you?" he yelled. "It's one thing that you can't stand seeing Chloe succeed, but you actually pushed her? Are you trying to make her a cripple just like you? Your leg is ruined because of your own bad luck. You have no one else to blame!"

I stood just outside the blast radius of shattered glass, staring down at this man.

"My bad luck?" I asked calmly, staring dead into his eyes.

Julian glared back at me coldly. "Yes. Just your bad luck."

Without another word, he scooped Chloe off the floor, cradling her protectively against his chest, and walked back into the party without once looking back.

Everyone else in the restaurant was staring at me with obvious contempt.

I didn't shed a single tear. It wasn't worth it.

That night, I returned to the basement apartment.

I pulled a few essential clothes from the closet and shoved them into my worn-out backpack.

Then, I locked the door and left that moldy, suffocating room without looking back. Within the hour, I was on a train heading to the airport.

At 11:00 PM.

Julian pushed open the door to the basement, holding a cheap, discounted slice of cake in his hand.

Just like after every argument we’d ever had, he was fully prepared to coax me, firmly believing that I would forgive him.

But as the door swung open, he was met with a pitch-black room.

"Aria?"

He called out, casually tossing the cake onto the coffee table.

Assuming I hadn't finished my evening shift yet, he pulled out his phone to text me.

But as his gaze swept past the half-open closet, he froze.

My meager collection of clothes inside, along with the tattered backpack that usually hung in the corner, were completely gone.

Julian’s casual demeanor completely vanished.

Without warning, a sudden, blinding panic seized him by the throat.