Broken Legs, Broken Heart

Reid arrived promptly and helped Adonis lift me and my wheelchair into the car.

The party was bright and glitzy, almost to the point of being overwhelming.

As soon as we entered, everyone focused on Elisabeth, brimming with admiration and envy.

The cheers for her rang sharply in my ears, making me clench my fists. For a moment, I felt the overwhelming urge to expose them all, showing what a deceitful and malicious person Elisabeth truly was.

I glared furiously at her insincere face.

"Zaylee, let me take you inside," Reid offered as he parked, taking control of the wheelchair from Adonis.

His voice was gentle, a tone I hadn't heard in a long time, yet it momentarily calmed me.

What would rushing in achieve? Acting recklessly would only risk my chance to reclaim what's mine, potentially putting me in greater danger.

I took several deep breaths, willing myself to stay composed.

Once Reid pushed me inside, everyone's attention shifted to us.

Elisabeth approached with a smile, holding her champagne flute aloft:

"Zaylee, you made it. I thought you might be too upset with me to join the party."

She handed me a glass from the table:

"Come on, Zaylee, let's have a toast!"

Still recovering and against my will, Reid had dragged me out of the hospital. My current physical state was far from capable of handling alcohol, so I shook my head and declined:

"I can't drink."

Elisabeth was insistent, her tone slightly mocking:

"Oh, come on, it's such a great occasion. Just one glass—you're not going to ruin it for me, are you?"

Reid, standing beside her, looked displeased:

"Don't be disrespectful. Accepting a toast shows respect; do you want it forced upon you?"

Watching their synchronized act filled me with despair. The man I once loved, my partner in training, now stood beside Elisabeth.

Under everyone's gaze, I reluctantly accepted the glass.

The moment I took a sip, the strong alcohol burned, bringing tears to my eyes. My tolerance was low, and my face flushed red, anger rising within me.

But I knew impulsiveness would only lead to more humiliation.

Fighting back tears and rage, I made an excuse to leave for the restroom.

Feigning concern, Elisabeth chimed in:

"Can you manage the restroom by yourself? Should I come along? I'm curious about the wheelchair experience, haha..."

Her eyes taunted me, and she laughed, barely able to contain herself.

With clenched teeth, I forced a faint smile, replying stiffly:

"No need, I can handle it."

Desperately needing air, I hurried away from the stifling atmosphere.

When I emerged from the restroom, Elisabeth was leaning against the wall with a malicious expression.

She sauntered towards me, looking down:

"How's life in a wheelchair? Torturous, isn't it?"

Teeth grinding, I tightly gripped the wheelchair's handles.

Fury roiled inside, yet I could only endure in silence.

My lack of response seemed to excite her:

"A soccer prodigy? You weren't hard to crush."

"You're a cripple now, beneath me, never to rise again, haha!"

With that, she kicked my wheelchair sharply.

I lost balance instantly, crashing heavily to the ground.