Ana's POV
Ridley exhaled deeply, like some burden had finally rolled off his shoulders. "Besides, Ana's inability to dance might actually work out for the best. Now there's nothing standing in Aileen's way.
That lead role was everything she ever wanted.
"You can't imagine the lengths I've gone to just to see her happy. I dove headfirst into this whole disaster myself to make it work."
I went rigid, despair creeping through my ribcage like ice water. Eight years ago, when Aileen arrived, I discovered I wasn't actually the Watson family's real daughter.
My fiancé broke our engagement publicly, swearing he'd drive me out of Veridia entirely.
Then he married her instead.
In one night, I became the laughingstock of our entire social circle. Friends and relatives treated me like I'd been living a lie. Whispers followed me everywhere—people said I must have been after the Watson fortune all along, clinging to that daughter title for years.
Only Ridley had approached me during my darkest moment. He'd said, "Ana, I'll marry you.
From this point forward, I'll be your support."
I'd been so moved, so grateful, that I agreed to marry him. I believed he was my destiny. For his sake, I even rejected an opportunity to train under a world-renowned dancer.
Later, when I learned Aileen had become that same dancer's final protégé and risen to become the nation's premier ballerina, I didn't question it. Now I could see Ridley's fingerprints all over that arrangement.
No surprise that even after our wedding, despite his kindness toward me, I always sensed something unreachable in him. It had all been orchestrated. Every single move.
All to ensure Aileen's dream became reality.
I let out a silent laugh, tears flowing despite myself. So this is what "dove headfirst into this whole disaster myself" actually meant.
Who else could be such a complete fool?
Eight years spinning my wheels, letting the same man manipulate me like this?
Eight years, and I sacrificed everything. I abandoned dance to become a physician because Hughes's health was delicate. I twisted myself into knots trying to reach Ridley's heart. And the whole time, I blamed myself.
My tears soaked the pillowcase. I tried raising my hand to brush them away, but it dropped back down, lifeless. An inmate had severed the tendons during my imprisonment, punishment for defying orders.
I would never wield a scalpel again. These hands had earned me the position of chief surgeon, and now everything was destroyed because Ridley and Hughes delayed my operation.
The water glass on the nightstand crashed to the floor, its sharp crack cutting through the silence. The conversation outside stopped abruptly, and Ridley burst through the door.
For an instant, alarm flickered across his features before he gathered me into his arms. "Ana, you're conscious?
The procedure was completely successful. What's wrong?"
Ridley's forehead creased with apparent concern, his face the picture of worry. If I hadn't overheard his earlier words, I might have bought into that performance.
Hughes rushed to my bedside, his voice cracking with emotion.
"Mom, are you thirsty? Let me bring you some water."
Before today, I would have considered my life ideal.
A devoted husband who cherished me; a loving son who adored me. Now, all I felt was revulsion at the elaborate charade. I, the one they deceived, looked utterly pitiful.
My sinuses burned, agony radiating through every joint. I swallowed my tears, dropped my gaze, and managed a weak smile.
Seeing my expression, Ridley trembled with apparent anxiety.
He ducked his head, then looked up again, his eyes bloodshot. "Ana, are you in pain somewhere? I'll bring the doctor back immediately. Don't worry, I'll hunt down whoever provided that false witness testimony. I won't let you suffer unjustly."
A tear traced down my cheek. My vision kept losing focus, my entire body freezing cold.
What a masterful performance they've put on. I allowed myself to be deceived all these years, drained until nothing remained, and only now do I see the reality.
My expression went blank. For the first time, I spoke with an edge. "Three months have passed.
You still haven't identified the false witness?
Can my hands and legs even be saved?"
Silently, I added: And... do you feel even a trace of genuine sympathy for me anymore?
My voice pierced the stillness. Ridley blinked, startled, before responding. "Ana, I'll move heaven and earth to get you justice. And for your hand, I'll ensure the finest specialists treat it."
Hughes pressed against my bed, gripping my hand firmly. "Mom, please don't despair. The physicians here simply lack expertise, but Dad's already flown in the top medical team from abroad."
Not because the local doctors were inadequate, I thought bitterly, but because you two stalled until it was beyond repair.
Suddenly, I felt utterly drained. I'd sustained myself in that cell for three months just to return to them. And now, the two people I treasured most had delivered this kind of "welcome home."
"Never mind," I said, forcing my mouth into a smile. I fixed my stare on Ridley, studying every micro-expression. "All I need is to locate the hit-and-run driver who fabricated that testimony and restore my reputation."
For a heartbeat, Ridley's flawless facade slipped.
"Ana, you never used to be so demanding." His brow furrowed, his tone growing distant. "I'll do everything possible to vindicate you, but I don't want you consumed by vengeance.
Wouldn't it be preferable if we simply moved forward peacefully?"
Bitterness flooded through me. My entire body ached until I felt nothing. Inside, I raged: You two obliterated every shred of hope I possessed. How exactly was I supposed to just "move forward peacefully"?
"Mom, even if your hand never recovers, Dad and I would never judge you for being disabled.
Please, release this anger." Hughes's words sounded gentle, but his youthful face wore a cruelly condescending expression.
I couldn't stomach that brand of pity wrapped in guilt.
I started to respond, but Ridley's phone buzzed. His stern expression instantly transformed into warmth.
I watched Ridley in silence, the taste in my mouth turning sour. Throughout our marriage, he'd been good to me, but his face always remained distant, frozen.
I used to wonder if he simply didn't know how to express joy. Turns out he was saving all his smiles for someone else.
After ending the call, Ridley looked mildly sheepish, his brow knitting together. "Ana, there's an issue at Hughes's school. I need to drive him over."
My head sank. Ridley had forgotten about my acute hearing.
Even though the caller spoke softly, I caught that woman's carefree laughter. "Ridley, my performance just finished. Come get me. I'll buy you dinner."
That voice was unmistakable to me. Aileen Watson, the Watson family's true daughter. Radiant, vivacious, beloved by everyone she met.
My chest turned to ice, the exhaustion crushing me. I looked at Ridley and said evenly, "But it's Saturday."
Ridley scowled, shooting Hughes a meaningful glance. The boy picked up the cue immediately. "We have a school recital, Mom. I need rehearsal time. When you recover, you'll come watch me perform."
The fabrication was transparent, and Ridley's irritation was written all over his face. Internally, I smiled grimly. So now that I'm broken and can't recover, they don't even bother with the pretense anymore?
My chest stung, but I maintained my pale smile. "Go ahead."
The irritation finally left Ridley's features.
He filled a glass with milk and placed it beside me. "You've always been fond of milk. Drink this and wait for my return."
Then he walked out with Hughes, his pace quicker than necessary, as if he couldn't escape fast enough.
I stared at the milk glass and smiled faintly.
I was lactose intolerant. The milk lover had never been me.