A Song Exposed His Betrayal

The phone was on speaker. I listened in a daze as my boyfriend Charlie Bond's voice filled the air.

The woman, Denise Gordon, spoke with a hint of guilt in her tone. "How was I supposed to know? It's your fault for not being clear!"

Charlie let out a soft chuckle. "Right, right. It's all my fault. My little princess, can you tell me where you are now? I'll come pick you up."

Denise rattled off an address, and Charlie's voice instantly sharpened with worry. "It's not safe out there at night. I'm on my way."

A cold dread washed over me.

Denise had only stormed out in a fit of anger, yet Charlie was already worried about her safety.

But for thousands of nights, I had been carrying my crude equipment alone, dragging my ruined leg through the streets to busk. I hadn't dared to stop, even when I was burning up with a fever.

I had been forced to leave by police officers, harassed by thugs, and sung until my throat bled, all for a handful of spare change.

Back then, Charlie would hold me tight and blame himself for not being able to provide for me.

It turned out that he just didn't love me enough.

When the call cut out, Denise looked at me with an awkward expression. "Sorry about that. I was just acting on impulse. I didn't realize that was the situation. You don't have a boyfriend, do you? Otherwise, there's no way he'd let you out this late."

Before I could answer, she sighed to herself. "Honestly, I kind of envy you. You might be disabled, but at least you don't have to deal with the misery of relationships.

"Getting married early isn't all it's cracked up to be. Like, my husband is so clingy. He insists on coming with me to my monthly checkups. I have zero freedom!"

Ever since I lost my leg, the chronic pain had been agonizing, forcing me to go to the hospital every six months for a checkup.

Charlie used to come with me occasionally, but most of the time he was out delivering food, racing across the city for a few extra dollars.

Before I could speak, a horn sounded beside me.

Denise's face lit up. "You got here so fast!"

Charlie stepped out of a Maybach and affectionately ruffled her hair. "Well, I couldn't risk you running off again, could I?"

Denise gave a playful pout and turned to get into the passenger seat.

Then, as if remembering something, she hurried back to me and scanned my QR code to send another 50 thousand dollars.

She gave me a patronizing smile. "Don't sweat it. My husband is the CEO of Bond Group. This is pocket change to him. Thanks for keeping me company. Get home safe."

My mind went completely blank. I looked up and stared at Charlie in sheer disbelief.

Seven years ago, he went bankrupt, plummeting from a high-flying CEO to a broken man eating instant noodles in a basement apartment.

He worked construction by day and delivered food by night.

To ease his burden, I took my prosthetic leg to the streets to sing, eventually damaging my vocal cords so badly I could barely speak.

Yet, he had rebuilt his empire long ago.

Following Denise's action, Charlie finally looked at me. Surprise flickered across his face, but he quickly looked away and leaned over to gently buckle Denise's seatbelt.

"Let's go home."

He shot me a warning glare before stepping on the gas.

Instinctively, I tried to chase the car, but my rusted prosthetic caught on the pavement, sending me crashing to the ground.

A text from Charlie buzzed on my phone. "I'll explain later. Denise is innocent."

My prosthetic leg was wedged tight in a crack in the sidewalk, refusing to budge.

Just as tears of frustration began to blur my vision, a hand reached into my field of view.

It was Charlie.