Catherine, reading the room, interjected timely, "Don't mind their harsh words, but as your long-time friends, we're truly concerned about you. We're blunt, but it's nothing personal. Don't take it to heart."
"I'm not upset," Vance replied, pocketing his phone. "Doesn't matter. She won't stray far. Let's go on."
In five years, home was her only refuge. He was not worried because she had nowhere else to go.
Aiden eyed Catherine, muttering, "Catherine is the bigger person here. If you two hadn't split..."
"Don't talk nonsense." Catherine glared. "Keep your mouth shut for one night. Vance is married now. That's inappropriate."
Her gaze turned wistful toward Vance. "I don't want much. Just want to be accepted by you guys and stay by your side. That's enough."
"Silly talk." Aiden thumped his chest loyally. "You're forever our princess, and we will never let anyone bully you. Vance, right?"
Vance swirled his wine, the scene evocative of old times. He'd sit back, watching his crew banter with Catherine, not intervening unless things got out of hand.
Now queried, he smiled faintly. "Of course."
...
Rebecca didn't go home. Instead, she settled into her booked hotel.
All the pent-up grievances and pain were unleashed the moment she closed the door behind her. Aiden's limp-mocking replayed endlessly in her mind, and their laughter haunted her like a curse.
She had known all along their whispers behind her back, but she had never told Vance.
She understood his work's toll, so she avoided conflicts, unwilling to add to his burdens or strain his bonds with his friends.
Now, she saw her folly. He'd never clash with them over her; their friendship trumped everything.
To him, she was nothing more than a debt—a burden that dragged him down. Without her, his life would be so much easier.
"She is a cripple. Who else would want her?"
"Yet she still expects so much from Vance?"
"I'd rather be the crippled one than wed one and face ridicule."
"Other CEOs flaunt elegant partners; Vance? He doesn't even have someone he can take out in public."
...
The gossip and ridicule that Rebecca had heard over the past five years came rushing back like a tidal wave.
She felt like she was being dragged under, drowning in it all. She couldn't breathe, the pain so intense it felt as if her chest and lungs were being torn apart.
Trembling, she accessed a locked album on her phone—something untouched for five years. It contained photos and videos from her school days, documenting her dance practices and shows.



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