My Boyfriend Broke My Legs Just to Help Other Girl Win the Crown

She wiped her tears, her voice trembling as she spoke, “I’m sorry, Zayn. It’s my fault—I’m not skilled enough and I’ve let you down.”

Before my eyes, she placed one foot on the railing, teetering on the edge. Zayn’s voice shifted from indifference to panic.

“Melinda! Don’t do anything stupid!” he shouted, his tone filled with desperation.

“Don’t worry,” he continued, trying to calm her. “I’ll fix everything. I’ll handle it all for you.”

Then, with deliberate cruelty, he turned his phone’s camera toward me. Two bodyguards pinned me down, their grip unrelenting. I thrashed in vain, my voice breaking as I cried out in terror. Zayn strode toward me, each step heavier than the last.

“Zayn!” I screamed. “Dancing is my life—it’s everything I’ve worked for! It’s the dream my grandmother believed in. If you break my leg, I’ll never be able to dance again!”

Tears welled up in his eyes, but his face remained cold and resolute.

“Xandra, don’t be afraid,” he whispered. “It’ll only hurt for a moment.”

Then, as if to justify the unforgivable, he added, “Forgive me. Even if you can’t dance anymore, you’ll still have me. But if Melinda loses, she’ll have nothing…”

Ignoring my desperate pleas, he raised the club high. And then—

CRACK.

“AHHH!”

My scream echoed through the empty backstage, raw and filled with agony. Bone-deep pain engulfed me, consuming every fiber of my being. I collapsed to the ground, helpless and trembling, as my bloodied leg twisted unnaturally beneath me.

I looked down at the shattered remnants of my left leg, my heart sinking into despair. Years of sacrifice, pride and unwavering faith—all of it crumbled in an instant. My dream of becoming a dancer was gone. Completely and irreparably shattered.

As I lay there, sobbing and broken, Zayn hung up the video call and knelt beside me. He pulled me into his arms, his touch tender yet hollow. “Xandra,” he murmured, his voice heavy with guilt, “don’t hate me. Melinda saved my mother’s life—I couldn’t just stand by and let something happen to her.”

He cupped my face, his expression torn, “Don’t worry,” he said softly. “I’ll take responsibility for you for the rest of your life.”

Hatred surged through me like wildfire. Without thinking, I slapped him across the face. Hard, “Responsibility? What will you take responsibility for?” I spat, my voice shaking with rage.

My parents died when I was just a child, leaving me to be raised by my grandmother. She and I had been each other’s whole world. To afford my dance lessons, she worked tirelessly—cleaning tables at a restaurant by day and scavenging cardboard and bottles at night.

I still remember that stormy night, years ago, when she was hit by a motorcycle while trying to retrieve a few bottles blown away by the wind. She came home drenched, blood dripping from her lips, yet she still smiled as if nothing had happened.

That night, I hugged her and sobbed, begging her to let me quit dancing. I couldn’t bear to see her suffer anymore.

But she only stroked my hair with her frail, trembling hand, “Don’t cry, my darling,” she whispered. “Grandma isn’t in pain. When I was young, I loved to dance, too. But in my time, girls like me had no chance to shine. You’re my hope, my pride. It’s my greatest joy to see you bloom on the stage.”

Her words became my strength. Every step I took was for her—for the love she poured into me, for the dream she never had the chance to chase. I endured pain, tears and heartache, but I never stopped dancing.

And now, Zayn Erickson had destroyed it all. His empty promise of “responsibility” was nothing but a cruel joke—a weak excuse to clear the path for Melinda.

I laughed bitterly through my tears, “Responsible? You call this responsibility?”

Zayn’s devotion to Melinda was absurd. The Qualls Family had been close friends of the Erickson Family for decades. Melinda and Zayn had grown up as childhood playmates.

When they were twelve, a gas leak occurred during a family trip at a rented B&B. Melinda had risked her life to pull Zayn’s mother out of the building, saving her from certain death. But the tragedy cost Melinda her own mother, who perished in the explosion.

From that day forward, the Erickson Family treated Melinda like one of their own. When her father remarried, bringing an abusive stepmother into her life, the Erickson Family took her in completely. She became their daughter in all but name and they granted her every wish.

There was even a time when the Erickson Family pressured Zayn to marry her. But he refused, saying he only saw her as a sister and that I was the only woman he loved.

Yet, time and time again, for the sake of this woman he supposedly didn’t love, he hurt me—the one he claimed to cherish. The irony was unbearable.

I had questioned their relationship before, but every time I tried to voice my concerns, it only enraged him.