He Broke My Wings, Now He Begs on His Knees
1k Views · Ongoing · August
In the dim VIP massage room, I dragged my crippled right leg. Once a prima ballerina, I was now reduced to massaging clients just to survive.
Until I realized the man lying on the table was my so-called "penniless" boyfriend.
Right now, he was laughing and bragging to a friend. He had paid a top surgeon $300,000 to intentionally sever my Achilles tendon. As long as I remained a cripple, the national ballet championship would safely belong to his mistress.
For two whole years, he faked bankruptcy and crushing debt.
I gave up on my medical treatments and my ballet dreams, working two grueling jobs day and night just to support him.
But all of my suffering... was just to clear the obstacles for his lover.
My hands froze mid-air.
He had no idea that the disabled masseuse standing behind him in a mask was me.
That very night, I packed my only bag and boarded a red-eye flight out of the country.
Two years later. The International Ballet Finals.
The blinding spotlight hit the stage. I stepped out in my Black Swan tutu, letting the horrific surgical scars on my right leg be exposed to an audience of thousands.
As the heavy bass dropped, I leaped with absolute power, executed a flawless rapid pirouette, and landed perfectly.
In the VIP front row, my ex-boyfriend—who had long dropped his fake poverty to inherit his family’s billionaire empire—stumbled, knocking over his chair in absolute shock.
The moment the competition ended, he tore through the security line like a madman.
He fell to his knees at the edge of the stage. With bloodshot eyes, he reached out with a trembling hand, trying to touch my ankle.
"I'm so sorry... please, come home with me..."
Until I realized the man lying on the table was my so-called "penniless" boyfriend.
Right now, he was laughing and bragging to a friend. He had paid a top surgeon $300,000 to intentionally sever my Achilles tendon. As long as I remained a cripple, the national ballet championship would safely belong to his mistress.
For two whole years, he faked bankruptcy and crushing debt.
I gave up on my medical treatments and my ballet dreams, working two grueling jobs day and night just to support him.
But all of my suffering... was just to clear the obstacles for his lover.
My hands froze mid-air.
He had no idea that the disabled masseuse standing behind him in a mask was me.
That very night, I packed my only bag and boarded a red-eye flight out of the country.
Two years later. The International Ballet Finals.
The blinding spotlight hit the stage. I stepped out in my Black Swan tutu, letting the horrific surgical scars on my right leg be exposed to an audience of thousands.
As the heavy bass dropped, I leaped with absolute power, executed a flawless rapid pirouette, and landed perfectly.
In the VIP front row, my ex-boyfriend—who had long dropped his fake poverty to inherit his family’s billionaire empire—stumbled, knocking over his chair in absolute shock.
The moment the competition ended, he tore through the security line like a madman.
He fell to his knees at the edge of the stage. With bloodshot eyes, he reached out with a trembling hand, trying to touch my ankle.
"I'm so sorry... please, come home with me..."


















































