They Made Me Run On a Broken Leg. Don Had My Back Chapter 04

They Made Me Run On a Broken Leg. Don Had My Back Chapter 04

I stared at that message. My eyes went completely cold.

I replied with one word.

“Okay.”

The next morning, Ellis Plaza was packed with cars.

A red carpet stretched across the entrance.

Elena’s solo exhibition was grand.

Big names from the art world. Reporters. Investors.

The outer ring of the exhibition hall was a granite-paved outdoor walkway.

One lap. Exactly one kilometer.

Santino wore a white suit, Elena on his arm, giving interviews.

“Mr. Sterling, I heard this exhibition is sponsored by your company, Voyage Tech?”

The female reporter held out her mic.

Santino smiled warmly. Glanced at Elena beside him.

“Elena’s talent deserves to be seen.”

“For her dream, I’m willing to fund it.”

Elena leaned on his shoulder.

The diamond necklace at her throat caught the morning light.

A stir at the edge of the crowd.

Everyone turned.

I walked into the plaza in a washed-out gray tracksuit.

My right leg wrapped in a black compression bandage, limping.

Pale face. Back straight.

Reporters huddled, whispering about who I was.

Santino’s face shifted. Then recovered.

He let go of Elena. Walked up to me.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the press. Let me introduce.”

He raised a megaphone.

“This is Engineer Vance.”

“To celebrate the opening, she’s brought us a special piece of performance art.”

“About redemption.”

“She’ll run ten laps around the outer ring.”

“With her sweat, she’ll bless Elena’s exhibition.”

The guests chuckled. Like watching a show.

Elena walked over in heels. Handed me an opened bottle of water.

Her eyes mocked.

“Sable. Thanks for the effort.”

“But be careful. The ground outside isn’t very even.”

I didn’t take her water. Just looked at Santino.

“Ten laps. One hundred thousand.”

“Santino. Open the transfer channel.”

Santino sneered. Raised the starter pistol.

Crack.

The gunshot broke the morning quiet.

The painkillers were kicking in. Nerves numbed. But the bone’s resistance stayed.

I started running along the granite ground.

One lap.

Two.

Guests stood with drinks under the corridor. Watching.

Elena quietly signaled a bodyguard beside her.

At a corner on the fifth lap, I caught a faint chemical smell.

The ground under my feet turned slick.

Industrial lubricant.

Crack.

My right foot slipped. I fell forward.

The compression bandage scraped hard against the ground.

The pins, just fixed, burst through the skin.

On the second-floor balcony, Elena’s lips curved.

The pain broke through the medication. Shot straight into my brain.

I lay on the ground. Cold sweat everywhere. Vision going black.

As I fell, I saw through the glass wall—the main oil painting in the hall.

It bore Elena’s name. Titled [Pulse of Life].

But those lines were my heart bypass diagram. I drew it three months ago.

Elena copied them straight into her painting.

Using my fallen position, I adjusted the camera on my wrist.

I photographed the painting and the copyright statement on its placard.

“Sable. Can you still get up?”

Santino’s voice from above.

“If you can’t, the remaining fifty thousand is gone.”

I bit my lip.

I dug my hands into the cracks of the pavement.

I pushed myself up, inch by inch.

“Who says I can’t get up?”

Every step, my sole made a sticky wet sound.

Sixth lap.

Seventh.

The smiles on the onlookers’ faces slowly faded.

The plaza went quiet.

Only my heavy breathing.

Santino’s brow tightened.

His fingers clenched around his glass.

On the eighth lap, several black Maybachs pulled up to the plaza entrance.

The front one was custom. Only one in the country.

The door opened. A bodyguard raised a black umbrella.

A man in a dark gray suit stepped out. Cold face.

Don Matteo of the Ferrara family.

Santino’s eyes lit up.

The Ferrara family was the company’s hidden power.

Voyage Tech was preparing for IPO.

They’d been trying to get another round of Ferrara funding.

“Don Matteo! You came in person!”

Santino put on a smile. Pulled Elena forward.

Matteo didn’t look at him.

His gaze cut through the crowd. Landed on the figure on the track.

Matteo’s eyes moved.

Three years ago, he invested in a medical algorithm project codenamed “Dawn.”

The heart bypass algorithm that saved his family elder.

Core signature: Sable Vance.

Matteo recognized me.

I dragged my broken leg past him, three meters away.

I looked up. Met his eyes.

I didn’t stop. Didn’t call for help.

As I passed, I looked into his eyes and silently mouthed a string of characters.

The signature key from the project’s base code.

Matteo’s face changed.

His hand at his side clenched. His eyes went cold.

He understood.

Santino wasn’t a genius. Just a thief.

Matteo turned. Gave Santino a cold glance.

His initial funding was all because of that project.

But they’d bullied the real genius like this.

The tenth lap’s finish line was ahead.

The tracker’s mileage hit ten kilometers.

Black spots grew. The medication wore off. Pain surged like a wave.

I grunted. Fell straight forward.

A large hand caught my back.

Matteo.

He said softly, “I’m late.”

But he came.