My Ex Broke My Leg, Three Years Later I Returned

Elaine's POV

Amara leaned against Dylan's shoulder, flashing me a smug, triumphant grin.

"Dylan, thank goodness for you," she cooed, her voice dripping with sweetness.

I held my breath as I watched them.

Once they finally left, I was finally able to take a moment to breathe.

However, before I could enjoy a moment of peace, the voices around me grew louder and sharper.

"A dancer missing a leg—what's the difference between her and trash? And she still thinks she's somebody now."

"Honestly, Dylan went too easy on her. He should've broken her other leg three years ago. That way, she wouldn't be out here embarrassing herself like this."

A slick-haired trust fund brat chuckled, pulling out his phone.

"Hey, remember that news clip from three years back?"

He grinned as he scrolled through his phone.

"I still have it saved. The way she was surrounded by reporters, leaning on a crutch—she looked pathetic!"

The crowd around him surged, eager to witness the spectacle.

"Let me see. How did the untouchable ballet queen end up a street rat?"

From his phone, the shrill questions of reporters rang out.

My desperate, trembling voice from that moment filled the air, trying to explain and trying to survive the onslaught.

On the screen, I looked pale, clutching a crutch, overwhelmed by a sea of flashing cameras and microphones. I resembled a stray dog cornered, stripped of every ounce of dignity.

Blood roared in my ears.

Without thinking, I sprang to my feet, grabbed the phone from his hand, and slammed it against the marble floor.

The screen shattered on impact.

Still unsatisfied, I ground my heel into the broken pieces, twisting until nothing remained but shattered glass and twisted metal.

I looked up, scanning the room with a glare so sharp it could cut.

My voice came out low, deadly. "If you don't shut up, the next thing to rot will be your mouths."

The event hall went silent.

No one moved. No one dared.

Maybe they didn't fear a cripple. But they feared a madwoman—a madwoman who had just defied Dylan to his face, unflinching and violent.

Even Dylan's bodyguards, stationed to keep me in check, hesitated.

They hung back, unwilling to come any closer, reluctant to test me.

...

Dylan and Amara were already on their way to the hospital, sitting in the luxury car arranged by the banquet organizers. What they didn't know was that I had hidden cameras inside the vehicle, recording everything, and capturing every word and glance.

Amara, her cheeks streaked with fake tears, leaned in close to Dylan, playing the damsel in distress.

"Dylan, I think Elaine just can't let go of you, and that's why she's acting so crazy. She's always been selfish, jealous, and unable to stand it whenever you show me care. I worried from the very start that if you stayed with her, she'd end up hurting you."

Dylan stroked her hair, murmuring in a soothing voice. "Don't worry. I've already seen her true face."

Then, he sneered, his words cutting through the tension, his voice clearly carried through the hidden mic straight to my ears.

"I shouldn't have been soft-hearted back then. I should've broken her other leg, too. That way, she'd never stand again."

I froze.

Memories flooded back in a rush.

The time he locked me in that villa, stripping me of my chance to study abroad, forcing me to give up the career I loved so that he could keep me chained to him.

The day I was kicked out of the Hartman estate.

When my father, after pulling away from his top-secret project, stood before me.

He said, "We'll always be here to support you, my dear."

Remembering my father's words, my grip tightened around my phone.

Calmly, I dialed a number. "The plan can begin now."

Almost instantly, I heard the screech of tires. The car carrying Dylan and Amara skidded to a stop right in front of me.

Then at that moment, the doors burst open.

Several bodyguards rushed out, yanking Dylan and Amara from their seats before they could react.

"Who the hell are you? Let me go!" Dylan thrashed violently, but the men held him firm.

"What's going on?" Amara screamed, her voice cracking with panic. "Dylan, help me!"

I stepped forward, my pace unhurried, my expression calm.

Then, I stopped in front of them, meeting their eyes.

Dylan's eyes locked on me, and I saw his jaw tighten. He cursed under his breath.

"Elaine! What the hell are you doing now?" His voice dripped with irritation, clearly thinking I was making a scene to grab his attention.

"What is it? Have you made enough of a scene?" he sneered. "Or are you hoping to crawl back and beg me to take you as my wife again?"

I didn't dignify him with a response. Instead, I threw a document right at his face.

The papers were scattered across the floor like confetti.

I looked down at him, disheveled and pitiable, speaking slowly to ensure each word was clear.

"Dylan, I should've mentioned something earlier. This banquet? It's my father's celebration, and it was designed as a trap for you."

I let that sink in before I added, "This document? It's the gift I've been preparing for you for the last three years. Your trip to hell starts now."