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

"Xandra! Didn’t I tell you already? Melinda was stopped by a drunkard and is in danger!"

Zayn’s voice was filled with self-righteous anger.

"You’re a woman too. Don’t you understand how scared she must be in a situation like this? And yet, to take care of your emotions, she’s trying not to trouble me! Why can’t you be kinder to her?"

His words struck me like shards of glass, sharp and cruel. My chest burned with a thousand tangled emotions—anger, betrayal, heartbreak. I didn’t know whether to cry or laugh.

As Zayn continued to rant, utterly oblivious to my pain, I forced myself to move. Ignoring the searing agony in my broken leg, I crawled toward him. Every inch forward felt like an eternity, but I didn’t stop. Finally, I reached his side and yanked his bag open.

Inside, I found what I was looking for—my phone. He had confiscated it, locking it away so I couldn’t call for help, all to ensure he could rush to her aid without my interference.

How absurd.

This man, the one who claimed to love me, had left me stranded in unbearable 50-60 degree heat with no way to escape. If I hadn’t smashed the car window with a desperate burst of strength, I’d have been a lifeless, shriveled corpse by now. But even then, he had taken the phone back.

Perhaps he feared I’d call the police, feared I’d expose the truth of his actions. So he locked me in a utility room before leaving.

"Be good and stay here," he said casually, as if he were locking away a troublesome child rather than a wounded, bleeding woman.

Then he turned and walked away, leaving me behind without a second glance.

A cold wind swept through the room, cutting through my thin camisole and chilling me to the bone. The air conditioning in the utility room was kept at freezing temperatures—below ten degrees—to prevent the expensive dance shoes stored there from getting moldy.

But I wasn’t a pair of shoes. I pounded on the glass with all the strength I had left, my cries hoarse and desperate, "Zayn! I won’t call the police, I promise! Just let me out, please! It’s so cold in here—I’ll freeze to death!"

But there was no response. Only the hollow echo of my own voice. Time blurred. The biting cold seeped into my bones, turning my hands and feet numb. My voice faded into silence. I curled into myself, trying in vain to hold onto whatever warmth I had left. It didn’t work.

Soon, I couldn’t feel the cold anymore. A strange warmth crept over me, gentle and deceiving. I knew this was the beginning of hypothermia, the body’s final trick before succumbing to the cold.

I couldn’t fight it. My strength was gone and all I could do was lie there, staring at the darkened ceiling, feeling the fragile thread of my life slipping away. My eyes fluttered shut. And then, nothing.

***

When I opened my eyes again, the sharp scent of antiseptic filled my nose. The harsh white lights of a hospital room flickered overhead.

"You’re awake."

A man in a white coat stood beside me, his features calm yet kind. He held out a glass of water with slender, steady hands.

"How did you end up locked in a utility room like that? Were you kidnapped or coerced?" he asked, his voice soft but serious. "Don’t be afraid. If you need help, I can call the police for you."

I opened my mouth to respond, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, tears streamed down my face. For the first time in what felt like forever, I was alive. I had escaped death—escaped him.

The doctor, noticing my distress, didn’t push further. He knelt slightly to meet my eyes and explained patiently, "I was accompanying my sister to the dance competition. She left something backstage and when I went to retrieve it, I noticed blood on the ground. I followed the trail all the way to the utility room."

"It’s a good thing I wasn’t too late," he added with a faint smile. "Otherwise, you’d have turned into a popsicle by now."

He hesitated for a moment, studying me with a mix of regret and pity.

"I know who you are," he said finally. "The rare talent in the dance world—someone destined to shine." His voice softened even further. "But I have to tell you… your leg… you won’t be able to dance again."

The words hit me harder than any physical blow. My chest heaved as sobs wracked my body. I buried my head in my arms, shaking uncontrollably.

The doctor—he introduced himself as Adam Grant—stood nearby, clearly uncertain of how to console me. Finally, he handed me another report.

"Ms. Neall," he said gently, "there’s something else. You’re… pregnant."

"What?"

I stared at the report in disbelief, reading and rereading the words over and over again. My heart twisted and turned, a storm of emotions crashing over me.

I placed my hand on my stomach, feeling the faint stirrings of a life I hadn’t known was there.

Tears streamed down my face again, but this time, I didn’t know if they were for sorrow, fear, or the tiniest flicker of hope.

Ten minutes. That’s all it took for me to make a decision. Bringing a child into a world devoid of love—into a family like this—would only cause more pain. Not just for the child, but for me as well.

Tears slid down my cheeks as my heart felt like it was being torn into jagged pieces. Taking a deep breath, I forced myself to look up at Adam, his steady presence somehow anchoring me in the storm of my emotions.

"Doctor," I began, my voice trembling but resolute. "Please schedule me for an abortion. Thank you."

For a moment, Adam froze, as if caught off guard by my words. Then he gave a quiet nod, his usual calm demeanor returning.

I leaned back against the hospital bed, the sharp ache in my chest intensifying with every breath I took. When Adam kindly offered to contact the police on my behalf, I shook my head.

The Erickson Family was powerful—one of the most influential families in the city. Adam, despite his good intentions, would only bring trouble upon himself if he got involved. Moreover, if I couldn’t destroy them with one decisive blow, acting prematurely would only alert them to my plans.

Instead, he handed me a phone. I logged into my social account, needing to see the world outside this suffocating room.

The moment I opened the app, a new update from Melinda appeared at the top of my feed. She was lying on a hospital bed, her face glowing with health, while Zayn stood beside her, carefully feeding her porridge.

The caption read.

[Thank you to the most important person in my life. No matter what happens, you’ll always be by my side.]

And below, Zayn’s reply.

[Silly girl, you’re the most important person in my life too. I’ll protect you forever.]