A Crippled Bride's Revenge

The high-speed train rushed through the rolling green hills, and I stared at my phone screen, my fingers absentmindedly scrolling through the feed. A flashy trending post popped up—"So what if you come from nothing? Live your life like a female-centric protagonist by relying on yourself." The moment I clicked on it, my breath suddenly caught. The poster's avatar was the face I had engraved deep into my soul. Whitney White—the woman who stole my ex-fiance Daniel Lewis and personally tore my life apart. The post was full of her "inspirational" stories, every line dripping with the implication that she'd achieved everything through her own smarts. My phone vibrated—it was a call from the photography studio boss. "Linda, urgent job. A big client specifically wants you to shoot a maternity photoshoot, and the pay's doubled." As soon as I told him I was out of town, his voice went serious: "They're offering triple pay. I sent you the address—be there in half an hour." After hanging up, I stared at the address labeled 'Cloudtop Villa,' my heart tightening as if gripped by a fist. That was Daniel's villa—I'd personally chosen every piece of furniture in it. When I opened the door, Whitney was sprawled on the sofa, munching on strawberries, her baby bump obvious. She looked up at me, a mocking smile playing at the corner of her mouth. "Well, if it isn't Photographer Smith. What's this, taking maternity photos now?" I gripped the camera strap tightly, trying to keep my voice steady. "Ms. White, I'm here to work." "Work, huh?" She rose slowly and deliberately bumped into my left leg. "Careful walking—don't break your prosthetic. Those aren't easy to replace." I staggered, steadying myself on the nearby tea table to stay upright. A familiar dull ache spread through my left prosthetic leg, stabbing into my bones like needles. "Hold the pose, the natural light needs to hit the baby bump." I avoided her gaze and fiddled with the camera settings. "What's the hurry?" Whitney suddenly raised her voice and slammed a plate of strawberries onto the floor. "The floor's filthy—how am I supposed to take pictures? Linda, go clean it up." I snapped my head up, locking eyes with her defiantly. "Ms. White, I'm the photographer, not the janitor." "Oh?" She raised an eyebrow. "Don't want your triple pay anymore? Or are you so broke now that even bending over to mop feels beneath you?" Footsteps came down the stairs. Daniel, dressed in a suit, frowned as he took in the mess on the floor. "Whitney, cut it out." His eyes met mine, carrying a trace of something complicated. "I'm not messing around." Whitney, looking hurt, grabbed his arm. "I just wanted Ms. Smith to do me a small favor, and she's acting all high and mighty." Daniel turned to me and pulled a wad of cash from his wallet, dropping it on the table. "Linda, this is extra for your trouble. Don't let what happened today get to you." Staring at that crisp stack of bills, all I felt was a harsh sting in my eyes. "Mr. Lewis, I only charge for my photography work." "Linda, don't be ungrateful!" Whitney snapped, "If you weren't so useless back then and had kept Daniel, you wouldn't be in this mess now!" "I'm useless?" I laughed, but tears nearly spilled, "Did you slip something into my pregnancy meds, or did you shove me down the stairs on purpose?" Whitney White's face instantly went pale, and she dove behind Daniel Lewis. "That's nonsense! You miscarried because of your own carelessness, it's got nothing to do with me!" Daniel's face darkened. "Linda, let's not talk about the past anymore." "The past?" I took a step forward; my prosthetic limb made a faint noise on the floor. "The child I lost, the leg I lost—those are my pasts. How could I not bring them up?" Whitney suddenly lunged at me, raising her hand to hit me. I instinctively turned my head to dodge; she lost her balance, fell onto the sofa, and then started crying. "Daniel! She pushed me! If anything happens to my baby, I'm not letting her off!" Daniel steadied Whitney, his gaze icy as he looked at me. "You go out first. Wait for my call before coming back to shoot." "No need." I put down the camera. "I can't take this job." As I reached the door, Whitney White's voice came through, dripping with the arrogance of a winner. "Linda, Daniel and I's wedding is next month. I'll send you an invitation—you better come."