My Ex Broke My Leg, Three Years Later I Returned

Elaine's POV

It only took one lie from Amara and Dylan's insane need to control everything for him to crush my leg. The snap of my bones was a sound far worse than the crack I heard when Amara's wrist broke tonight.

I collapsed in a pool of my own blood, the pain almost knocking me out cold. But somehow, I still managed to inch closer to him, begging him to take me to the hospital.

"Dylan, please, my leg…"

At that moment, my sole focus was on saving my leg and preserving my career as a ballet dancer.

But he just stood there, coldly watching me, utterly unmoved by my pain. Then he forced me to kneel and apologize to Amara, threatening to destroy the only thing I had left from my mother: the pair of ballet shoes she had painstakingly hand-made for me while she was gravely ill.

That night, my pride, my entire sense of self, was shattered.

I'll never forget the gut-wrenching pain of my broken leg, nor the ice in his eyes when he threw the divorce papers at me while I lay in that hospital bed.

That gnawing humiliation still clings to me.

It's like a dark stain, rising with a rush of hatred whenever I think of it.

Now, when I look at Dylan, all that's left is pure, unfiltered hatred.

The flames have consumed the love I once had for him.

"Dylan, very soon you'll understand the price you have to pay," I said slowly, watching his face tighten with rage. "Everything you're so proud of? It's all going to be buried because of your own stupidity. The Hartman Group? That's the price for the leg you gave me."

My words hit him like a bolt.

Dylan flinched, the last remnants of his composure slipping away.

Without a second thought, he grabbed my neck, shoving me down hard. My back hit the sharp edge of the table, pain shooting through me, the world around me dimming.

He didn't give me a moment to breathe.

Dylan yanked my hair, snapping my head back, so I had no choice but to look at him.

"Elaine, who the hell do you think you are?" he growled. "You're a cripple, and you still have the nerve to shout at me! I could lift you into the sky or throw you straight into hell! I want your dead mother to see what her proud daughter has become—a pathetic wreck, not even fully human, not even a ghost!"

But he wasn't done.

His grip loosened on my wrist, just slightly, as if testing me, savoring the power.

"Actually," he said, voice suddenly colder, "I've changed my mind. A good toy like you shouldn't be broken so easily. I'll lock you up again, make you wear that ridiculous prosthetic leg, and dance like a dog with broken legs right in front of me. Can you imagine how much fun that would be?"

Memories rushed back like a tidal wave.

I remembered the night my leg was destroyed. Lying in that cold storage room, I begged for a single painkiller, but I never received one.

I recalled how he, under Amara's influence, spread lies about me, labeling me as a jealous and twisted abuser. The entire dance world turned against me, shutting me out and making me a pariah.

In one night, I went from being a ballet star to a filthy outcast.

"Dylan," I said, my voice calm but sharp, "your biggest mistake wasn't breaking my leg. It was leaving me alive. Now the game starts again—and this time, I'm taking what's mine."

I clenched my jaw, thoughts racing. 'Dylan, Amara, everyone who stepped on me, everyone who whispered lies about me—they're all going to pay. And they're going to pay twice as hard.'

Dylan's face darkened, his expression shifting into something more menacing than before.

"Is that so?" he said, his voice laced with venom. "Then, as you wish."

Dylan didn't even look at me.

Instead, he spun toward his bodyguards, barking orders like he owned the place.

"Keep an eye on her," he snapped. "Don't let her run. Don't let her die. I don't want her leaving this hall before the night's over."

Then he turned to Amara, suddenly gentle, as if she were a delicate doll he needed to protect.

"Amara, you scared?" His voice was all warmth and sugar.

He helped her to her feet, eyes glinting with fake concern.

"Don't worry," he cooed. "We'll get you to the hospital. You and the baby are going to be fine."