Until that day, I thought I missed her. I thought a part of me still wanted her. But when I checked the villa’s surveillance footage, any lingering feelings I had evaporated.

There he was—Steven Jackson. He had her in his arms, holding her tightly and kissing her like he owned her. She leaned into him without hesitation, her hands tangled in his hair.

At that moment, I finally understood: I had never truly been in her heart.

The next day, Margot came home like nothing had happened. She walked into the living room, a light gray scarf in her hands. Gently, she wrapped it around my neck and smiled, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.

“I knitted this myself,” she said softly. “Do you like it?”

I froze for a moment, then took a step back, shrugging off the scarf like it was suffocating me.

“Steven didn’t want it, so you thought I would?” My voice was cold, detached.

Her smile faltered, and for the first time, she looked unsure. “How did you—”

I cut her off by showing her my phone.

On the screen was a text Steven had sent me that morning:

[Margot gave me some stupid handmade scarf. Bragged about it like it was the best thing in the world. I told her to keep that crap away from me.]

Margot’s face paled for a split second, but she recovered quickly, trying to close the distance between us. Suddenly, she wrapped her arms around my neck, leaning in close. Her lips moved toward mine, slow and deliberate.

I turned my head at the last second, and her lips landed awkwardly on my cheek. The warmth lingered for a moment before I wiped it away with the back of my hand—deliberately, in full view of her.

Her expression hardened.

“Frank! What the hell is your problem? Am I some kind of plague or something?” she snapped. “Stop picking fights over nothing. You’re so—ugh—annoying.”

I stared at her, bitterness twisting my face. My voice was low, but it carried every ounce of my frustration and pain.

“Nothing? You ruined my career. You ruined my life.” My hands clenched into fists. “I can’t even look at my phone without seeing people tearing me apart. I can’t go outside without hearing strangers curse my name.”

I took a shaky breath, my voice breaking. “Margot, is this what you call nothing?”

For a moment, she just stared at me, her lips pressed into a thin line. I rarely spoke to her like this. In the two years we’d been together, I’d always been the one to apologize first after a fight. Every single time.

Afterward, she’d always hold me close, her eyes softening as she whispered,

“Frank, you’re mine. Do you understand? In this lifetime, you can only stay by my side. Only I will tolerate and care for you. Everyone else will just hurt and betray you.”

The irony of those words hit me now like a freight train. The person who promised to protect me had become the one who hurt me the most.

When my father cheated and my mother fell into a depression that eventually took her life, I became everyone’s favorite punching bag. The bullying was relentless. And then, like some kind of savior, Margot had appeared.

She had shown up at my house in the pouring rain, burning up with a 104-degree fever, just to tell everyone harassing me that I wasn’t alone. That I had someone.

She had taken me abroad for therapy, putting her fledgling acting career on hold to help me heal. Back then, I thought she was my salvation. I thought she truly cared.

But the woman standing in front of me now? She was nothing like the girl who once held my hand and swore to stay by my side.

I sighed, the fight draining out of me. “Margot, let’s just end this. Let’s break up. You never wanted to go public with our relationship, anyway.”

Her frown deepened, and her voice sharpened. “Frank, stop being ridiculous. You used to grovel and beg on your knees for me. Where’s all this sudden bravado coming from?”

Right then, a resounding noise came from the table as I slammed my fist, the sound echoing through the room. My patience snapped.

“Have you said enough?” I growled.

But Margot didn’t back down. Instead, she smirked, her tone turning venomous. “Am I wrong? Back when your father’s affair went public, how many times did you get down on your knees to beg people to stop spreading rumors?”

Her words cut like a knife. “When your mother committed suicide, you—”

“Enough!” I roared, grabbing a glass from the table and smashing it at her feet. The shards scattered like tiny stars.

“Get. Out,” I snarled.

Margot froze, her face pale as a sheet. She had never seen me like this before. But even now, she refused to back down completely. With a stubborn huff, she bent down, picked up the scarf from the broken glass, and glared at me.

“Frank, I’ll wait for you to come begging me to come back,” she said coldly before storming out.

...

Three days later, I got a notification from the villa’s security system. When I opened the feed, my stomach dropped.

Steven was there, standing in my living room with a group of men. His smug voice rang out through the speakers.

“Alright, tear down that door. Toss out all the useless junk. And seal off the innermost bedroom with cement.”

I froze. The 'useless junk' he was talking about?

That was my stuff.

My piano. My life.

And the bedroom he wanted to seal off?

It was my bedroom.

Suddenly, Margot’s voice came through the feed. “Yeah, do what he says. Get rid of all those eyesores.”

Panic surged through me. I bolted to the car and sped toward the villa. By the time I arrived, it was chaos. Steven’s men pinned me down the moment I walked in.

I struggled against their hold, but they were too strong. One of them grabbed my almost-healed left hand and twisted it.

The sharp, blinding pain shot through me, and my vision blurred. Everything went dark.

“Hey, Carmichael, you’re nothing but Margot’s discarded trash,” Steven sneered, his voice dripping with mockery as it echoed in my ears.

I clenched my jaw so tightly I could feel the sharp pain radiating up my gums. I bit my lip hard enough to draw blood, the metallic taste pooling in my mouth. As much as I wanted to brush off his words, I couldn’t. He wasn’t entirely wrong. At that moment, I did feel like trash—something Margot had used and tossed aside without a second thought.

Once Steven and his gang finally left, I sank to the ground, clutching the broken remnants of my life they’d thrown out. My injured left hand throbbed in agony, but I forced myself to gather what little I could salvage. I staggered out of the villa, leaving behind the place Margot and I had called home for two years.

I returned to my piano studio, my head spinning with defeat. My mind was made up—I would delete all my social media accounts, sell the studio, and leave the country. Maybe somewhere far away, I could heal. Or at least hide from the mess my life had become.

As I sat down at my desk to begin the process, something caught my eye: a private message buried deep in my inbox, dated three months ago.

It was a formal invitation to join their prestigious tour from the World Piano Tour Ensemble.

I froze, my heart skipping a beat. I’d forgotten all about this. At the time, Margot had insisted I put everything aside to compose the piano solo for her new film. I’d shelved the message without a second thought.

Now, with nothing left to lose, I mustered every ounce of courage I had and typed a reply, expressing my willingness to join. Every second after hitting “send” was torture. My scandal was still trending, and the fear that they’d reject me outright gnawed at my insides.

The silence became unbearable. My hands trembled as I recorded a desperate voice message and sent it.

“I was immature before,” I began, my voice cracking. “But I hope your ensemble can give me another chance. The rumors online aren’t true. I wasn’t the one who interfered in someone else’s relationship—it was the other way around…”

Before I could finish explaining, a short voice message popped up in response.

“I know. I believe you.”

The voice was soft and gentle, with an air of familiarity that stopped me in my tracks. I sat there frozen, replaying it repeatedly, trying to place where I’d heard it before. Just as I was about to give up, another message arrived:

“You’re not alone. Wait for me—I’ll come get you.”

The words hit me like a warm hug, wrapping around my battered heart. That night, I listened to those two voice messages on repeat, letting the kindness in that voice lull me into my first peaceful sleep in weeks.

...

The next morning, I woke up with a renewed sense of purpose. I reached out to a real estate agent to put the piano studio up for sale.

The damage caused by the online scandal was beyond repair. Parents were pulling their kids from lessons, demanding refunds. It was clear the studio was a sinking ship, and I was ready to let it go.

Margot had bought the studio for me back when she still cared—or at least when she wanted to appear like she cared. Now, I just wanted to give it all back to her. Every penny she’d spent on me over the years was converted into cash, carefully collected, and deposited onto a single bank card. I wanted no part of her lingering in my life. No debts. No ties. A clean break.

But as I packed up the studio, old memories crept in, uninvited. I couldn’t shake the thought of how Margot had once been my salvation. Back when my parents’ tragic deaths had turned me into the town’s favorite punching bag, she’d been the only one to stand by me.

I could still remember the way she marched into my life like a warrior, standing up for me when no one else would. She brought in the Kent family to help clear my father’s name, defying her own family in the process. For a while, she was my light, my hope.

But the woman she was back then was gone, replaced by someone I didn’t recognize anymore. Now, all I wanted was to move on and become strangers—familiar strangers, nothing more.

The day I moved into my new place, Margot somehow managed to slip past the paparazzi and find me. She strolled in, looking as self-assured as ever, arms crossed and a smug smile playing on her lips.

“So, after hiding out all this time, you’ve finally come to your senses, huh?” Her voice was practically dripping with superiority. “Let me guess—you’ve decided to apologize?”

I stared at her blankly, then gave her the barest of nods. “Yeah, I’ve thought things through.”

The confirmation seemed to delight her. Her grin widened, the self-satisfaction practically oozing from her.

“I knew it,” she gloated. “In the end, you’d come crawling back. If you’d just apologized earlier, I wouldn’t have let Steven mess with your stuff.”

She cocked her head, pretending to pity me. “You’re so stubborn, Frank. Look at what you’ve done to yourself. Look at how pathetic you are.”

Her words were like acid, but this time, they didn’t burn the way they used to. I simply gave her a faint smile, my voice steady and calm.

“You’re right. I’ve been stubborn. That’s why I’m finally cutting you out of my life—for good.”

Margot was relentless, ranting at me like a broken record. Her words buzzed in my ears, but I kept my head down, silently fiddling with my phone.

Noticing something was off, she frowned and barked, “What are you doing?”

I lifted my phone, letting her see the post I was seconds away from publishing.

My voice was calm and steady. “I’m making our relationship public.”

Her jaw dropped. “Are you out of your damn mind?!” She lunged forward, trying to snatch my phone, but I quickly stepped back.

When she couldn’t get it, her face contorted with rage. “Frank, you’ve been wearing this ‘green hat’ for so long you might as well own it. Why ruin the image we’ve worked so hard to build?”

I raised an eyebrow. “‘We’? Are you serious?”

But she wasn’t done. “You had it good, Frank. If you’d just kept your head down and behaved like Steven—obedient, loyal, appreciative—none of this would’ve happened. I fed you. I clothed you. And this is how you repay me?”

Her words hit me like ice water. For a moment, I couldn’t process what I was hearing. This wasn’t the Margot I thought I knew.

She was unrecognizable. This wasn’t the woman who once stood for love and integrity. The Margot I had fallen for had been a firebrand, someone who raged against injustice. I still vividly remember her smashing a birthday gift from her mother when she discovered her mother had cheated on her father.

She shouted at the top of her lungs, “People who trample on love don’t deserve happiness!”

Back then, I had admired her so much that I fell for her without hesitation. But now? Now, that memory felt like a cruel joke.

I took a steadying breath. “After I clear the air about our relationship, we’re done. I’m not carrying this burden anymore.”

My thumb hovered over the 'Post' button.

Margot’s eyes widened in panic.

“No! You can’t!” she shrieked.

She lunged forward, this time snatching the phone from my hand.

Before I could stop her, she deleted the post and, in one fluid motion, dunked my phone into a glass of water. I watched the screen flicker and die.

“Are you happy now?” I asked through gritted teeth.

She crossed her arms. “You want to break up? Fine. But what about all the time, effort, and money I’ve spent on you? Are you just going to walk away and leave me empty-handed?”

Her entitlement made me laugh—not out of humor, but in sheer disbelief.

“You’ve spent on me?” I shot back. “Margot, I took you from a nobody to the Best Actress. Or have you conveniently forgotten about that?”

Her confident demeanor faltered for a second before she scoffed. “That was all my hard work. What does that have to do with you?”

“Fine,” I said, my voice steady. I reached for a box and a small bank card and placed them on the table in front of her.

“These are everything you gave me. I haven’t touched a thing. The money you spent on me? I sold what I could and returned it all here. Down to the penny.”

I straightened up, looking her dead in the eye. “We’re even, Margot. You owe me nothing. I owe you nothing.”

For the first time, Margot didn’t have a sharp comeback. Her eyes flickered with something—maybe regret, maybe anger—but she quickly masked it with a forced smile.

“You’re going to throw it all away,” she said with a sigh, almost like she pitied me. “I was even planning to introduce you to Alfred Schumann, the renowned pianist. But now? Well, you’ve made things difficult for yourself.”

She leaned back, arms crossed, waiting for me to beg.

But I didn’t. Instead, I shrugged and said, “We’ve broken up. There’s nothing difficult about it. Take Steven instead.”

Her smug expression faltered. The composure she prided herself on cracked, but she quickly changed tactics.

Margot leaned closer and coyly said, “Frank, come to the party with me. Alfred will be there. I’ve already smoothed things over for you, and I’ll publicly clear up everything about our relationship after. I’ll agree to the breakup—on good terms.”

I studied her face, trying to gauge if she was being sincere. But she clung to my arm, whining and pleading with me until I reluctantly nodded.

“Fine,” I said. “One last time. Let’s end this civilly.”

...

The day of the party arrived, and true to her unpredictable nature, Margot called to say she couldn’t pick me up.

When I arrived, I barely had a chance to step out of the car before a mob swarmed me.

A barrage of insults hit me like a tidal wave.

“Who let this piece of trash in here? Frank Carmichael, the fraud! How dare you call yourself a pianist? Cheater! You’re a disgrace to the art!"

"Get lost! People like you—cheating, sneaky little rats—aren’t welcome here!”