“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!”

“Frank, take a good look at yourself! Who do you think you are, trying to compete with Steven Jackson for Margot Kent, the Best Actress?"

"Whoa, look at that tie. Even the way you tie it screams Steven. How shameless can you get?”

The taunts hit me like a barrage of bullets. The jeering faces around me blurred together as I stood frozen, trying to process what was happening.

My stomach churned with a mix of humiliation and rage. I fumbled to dial Margot’s number, desperate for answers, but she hung up before I could even get a word out.

I scanned the room for her, my eyes darting from one corner to another, but there was no trace of her.

Then it hit me.

This wasn’t a meeting to talk with Alfred Schumann. This was a setup. A trap. A meticulously orchestrated spectacle meant to humiliate me in front of everyone.

The crowd surged closer, pushing and shoving me with cruel laughter. Their insults stung like sharp jabs, and their mockery was relentless. The sea of bodies made it impossible to keep my footing. I stumbled, eventually falling to my hands and knees on the cold, marble floor.

The pain of it all—the physical bruises and the unbearable shame—was suffocating.

After what felt like an eternity, I managed to crawl out of the mob, only to have my path blocked by a familiar figure.

He stood there, arms crossed, with a smirk that made my blood run cold. “Miss Kent says Mr. Carmichael needs a little courage boost. How about a drink?”

The mocking tone belonged to Margot’s bodyguard, the same man who had shattered my hand once before. His presence alone made my pulse quicken with dread.

Without waiting for my answer, he snapped his fingers. Several men grabbed me, forcing me to the ground. I thrashed weakly, but I was no match for them. A bottle of liquor was thrust into my mouth, the bitter liquid spilling down my throat. The burn of the alcohol was like fire, scorching my insides and igniting my nausea. My stomach twisted violently, and I gagged as the men continued to pour.

When I couldn’t hold it any longer, I vomited, the contents of my stomach spilling onto the floor in a messy, humiliating heap.

“Disgusting! Watch where you aim, trash!” someone shouted, leaping back to avoid the mess.

“God, what kind of person does this to themselves just to crash a party?” another chimed in.

“Frank Carmichael, you’re pathetic! A disgrace to the piano world!”

The laughter and derision echoed around me, drowning out any shred of dignity I had left. Before I could even catch my breath, the bodyguard grabbed me by the collar and flung me backward.

My body collided with the champagne tower behind me, sending glass cascading to the floor in a symphony of shattering. Jagged shards pierced my skin, and the pain was blinding.

"Agh!" I crumpled to the floor, groaning in agony.

“Look at this mess! Do you know how expensive that champagne was?” someone yelled angrily.

“Get up! You don’t belong here!” another voice snapped, dripping with disgust.

I tried to respond, but the searing pain rendered me mute. My mind was hazy, my vision swimming. I could barely move, let alone defend myself.

The next thing I knew, the bodyguard was hauling me up again. His grip was like a vise, and I could feel fresh blood soaking through my torn shirt.

“Miss Kent says if you don’t crawl to her now, she’ll make your life even worse,” he hissed. His tone was low, almost bored, but the weight of his threat was crushing.

Margot wasn’t bluffing. I knew that much. With her connections and influence, she could destroy whatever remnants of my career or life I had left.

My lips curled into a bitter smile as I croaked, “Fine. I’ll go. Just… let me walk on my own.”

But they didn’t let me walk. Instead, the bodyguard looped a rope around my neck like I was some kind of animal and dragged me through the crowd.

The laughter, the pointing, and the whispers of ridicule all blurred together into a cacophony of humiliation. I stumbled behind him, each step heavier than the last.

Finally, we reached Margot. The bodyguard removed the rope, stepping aside as if presenting me to her like a defeated prize.

Margot’s eyes widened slightly when she saw me, disheveled and bleeding.

“You’re hurt?” she asked, feigning concern. The act was laughable.

I let out a dry chuckle, the corners of my mouth curling into a bitter smirk. “Truly deserving of the Best Actress title. That performance? Flawless.”

Margot frowned, her brow furrowing in what appeared to be confusion. “Frank, what are you—”

Before she could finish, Steven stepped forward, cutting her off with his sickeningly polished smile.

“Oh, I heard about it,” he said casually. “Frank was probably harassed by some of my fans. They can get a little… overzealous sometimes.”

I followed his gaze to the couple’s ring glinting on his finger. My stomach churned. It was the same ring design Margot and I had picked out together, the one she had claimed she 'lost.'

Seeing it on Steven’s hand was the final blow.

“They didn’t mean any harm,” Steven continued, his tone dripping with faux innocence. “They were just upset that Frank hasn’t apologized for the trouble he’s caused. You know how passionate fans can be.”

Then, Steven turned to me, his smile widening. “Frank, why don’t you just apologize now? It’ll clear the air for everyone.”