Married to Betrayal

Chapter 2

I could barely move. My heart was pounding so hard it echoed in my ears. My fingers felt numb. My breath came in quick, shallow gasps that hurt my ribs.

And then the door creaked wider.

Zayne stepped out. His sharp eyes immediately locked on mine. His expression shifted so fast it almost made my head spin—surprise, panic, then that calm, cold mask he always wore when he needed to lie.

I stood there frozen, my hands empty, the tray of food at my feet, the spilled rice and sauce staining the floor. My knees threatened to buckle. I could barely hold myself upright.

"Amira," he said smoothly, the same gentle tone he always used when he was covering something up. "What are you doing here?"

I swallowed hard. My throat burned. My chest ached. I forced my lips into a small, shaky smile. "I… I brought you dinner," I whispered, my voice barely audible. "You were working late, so I thought—"

"That's sweet," he cut me off gently, stepping forward, blocking the door with his body, his hands stuffed casually into his pockets. But his eyes—they were sharp. Watching. Calculating. "But you shouldn't have. I told you I had a lot to handle tonight."

I hesitated, heart still racing. "I—I just wanted to help." I shifted, pretending to glance past him. "Can I just put it inside?"

His hand shot out, grabbing my wrist. Not hard. But firm enough.

"No need," he said, voice tight, too tight. "I’ll take care of it later."

I looked at his face. His eyes were cold. Guarded. And suddenly, everything felt wrong. I blinked back the tears stinging my eyes. I let out a shaky breath. "Zayne… is everything okay?" I asked softly, my voice trembling despite my efforts to sound normal.

He softened his expression, giving me that familiar gentle smile. The one he always used to hide the truth. "Of course. Just tired, baby. Go home, okay? Get some rest."

I nodded slowly. "Okay," I whispered. My hands were still shaking. My heart still pounded painfully in my chest.

But I forced myself to turn around. Forced my legs to move. "Goodnight," I murmured, my voice barely there.I heard him sigh behind me.

He pressed a kiss to my forehead. It was soft but empty, cold in a way that made my skin crawl.

“Goodnight, Amira,” he murmured.

A faint wave of nausea rose in my throat. I forced myself not to flinch, not to pull away. The air between us felt heavy, poisoned. His touch used to make my heart race, but now it only made my stomach twist.I walked away. Each step felt heavier than the last. My mind was spinning so fast it made me dizzy. My stomach twisted with nausea. My whole body trembled.

I barely made it to the car. I sat there, gripping the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles turned white. My breath came in shaky bursts as hot tears streamed down my face.

I remembered everything.

The past crashed over me like a tidal wave.

I was twenty-one. I had one dream—to be a ballet dancer. I had trained my whole life. The audition was days away. I was happy. In love. Engaged to Zayne, who always told me I was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen when I danced.

And then it happened.

I was walking home from the studio. It was raining. The streets were empty. I never even saw them coming.

I was grabbed. A cloth pressed to my mouth. Darkness.

When I woke up, I was in a freezing, dark room. My hands were tied. My legs—oh God—my legs were broken. The pain was so blinding I couldn’t even scream. I was left there. Alone. Bleeding. Begging.

I thought I would die there.

When they found me, I was half-dead. Bones shattered. My body ruined. My dreams destroyed.

It comes back to me sometimes—like a film that won’t stop playing.

The sound came first. A scream of metal. Tires screeching. Then the crash. My body hit the ground before I even knew what had happened.

And then came the pain.

A sharp crack tore through my legs. It was loud—so loud I thought the world had split open. The sound echoed inside my head. Then came the heat. White-hot, burning, blinding. It crawled up my legs, burst through my spine, tore its way out of my throat as I screamed.

I screamed until my voice gave out. Until my breath caught and all that came out were dry, broken sobs.

The road was cold under me, rough and wet. I tried to move, but my body didn’t obey. My legs—God—my legs were twisted at angles no human body should ever bend. My skin was slick with blood. The pain pulsed with every heartbeat, so fierce it blurred my vision.

But worse than the pain was the terror.

Because even through the haze, I knew. I knew what it meant.

My legs. My career. My dancing.

Gone.

Just like that.

The life I’d built from the time I was five, the stage lights, the applause, the feeling of flight—all gone in one single, shattering moment.

I clawed at the ground, trying to crawl, trying to drag myself toward the faint glow of headlights in the distance. But my body wouldn’t move. My legs were dead weight. I could feel the bone grinding when I tried to shift, the pain exploding again, so sharp I thought I’d go blind.

I remember sobbing, begging the air, begging the night to give me one more chance. I would have given anything just to stand again, just to dance one last time. But the world didn’t listen. The world never listens when you beg.

Then everything started fading.

The cold crept in slowly. My body trembled, but I couldn’t stop it. My fingers went numb. My breath came out in short, shallow gasps. The pain was still there, but it began to sound far away, like it belonged to someone else.

I remember thinking, this is it.

This is how everything ends.

The dance. The stage. The dreams. All of it slipping through my blood-stained fingers.

Then—blackness.