Part 2Rewind to My Fiancé's Accident, Only to Discover His Love Was a Lie

Ethan set the food down, reached out to touch my face, and his expression shifted.

He took my hand, blowing warm air onto my cold fingers, his eyes full of concern.

"You've been cooped up all day again. Your hands are freezing. Did you not drink the ginger tea I made for you at lunch?"

I could feel his warm breath on my skin, the strength of his hands.

This wasn't a dream.

"Are you… really Ethan?" I asked.

He flicked my forehead playfully and chuckled.

"We were just in bed together this morning. What, half a day apart, and you don't recognize me anymore?"

I didn't respond. My eyes studied his face, his features, every line and curve.

I searched for something—anything—that set him apart from the Ethan I had loved.

But everything was the same, down to the small mole near his temple.

Next Friday… would he meet the same fate?

After a long silence, I murmured, "I can't dance anymore."

My voice was soft, almost as if I wasn't sure who I was saying it to—him or myself.

From the moment I woke up in this timeline, I had felt the weight in my legs, the heaviness with every step. Scars ran down my thighs, long and jagged, a price I'd paid for this second chance.

Dancing was how Ethan and I had met. He'd fallen in love with me while watching my performance.

Every time I saw him in the audience, I thought no one in the world could be happier than me.

But now… I couldn't even stand on tiptoes.

Thinking about it, tears welled up in my eyes.

I glanced at Ethan, hoping he might hold me, reassure me, help me find my footing again.

He wiped my tears with his thumb, his face tightening as if he were worried.

Then, he said gently:

"If you can't dance, don't. Honestly, I never really liked watching you dance anyway. I don't get the appeal. It's boring.

I'd rather we just spend time together, talking in bed. That's more meaningful."

"And besides, I love you for who you are. No matter what, I'll still love you."

Those words landed like nails being hammered into my skull.

I couldn't move.

Ethan said he didn't like watching me dance.

A memory from my previous life flashed in my mind—Ethan watching me perform.

This time, I finally noticed what I hadn't before: the impatience in his eyes, the boredom.

There had never been love. Only disdain. Only pretense.

A phone call interrupted the silence. Ethan said there was an issue with a project at work and that he had to leave.

He kissed my forehead before rushing out the door.

Maybe he saw how broken I was.

Maybe he didn't care.

My gaze drifted to the takeout he'd brought home.

It was shrimp.

I'm allergic to shrimp.

I stared at the box for hours, unable to close my eyes.

At 3 a.m., my phone buzzed with another text from Ethan:

"Baby, I really love you. Let's always be together."

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