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.”

In the past, Steven’s taunts would’ve ignited a fire in me. I would’ve fought back, argued, and refused to back down. But now, standing there surrounded by disdain and ridicule, I felt nothing but exhaustion.

I glanced at Margot, and her smirk cut deeper than any insult.

My voice was calm, almost eerily so. “Margot, I came here like you asked. I endured everything you planned. I'll go to the hospital now.”

Her frown deepened, but before she could respond, I turned away and started walking toward the exit.

I didn’t make it far.

A strong grip clamped down on my wrist, yanking me back. I stumbled slightly, glaring at the man holding me, who was another of Margot's hired men.

“You haven’t apologized to Steven yet. Where do you think you’re going?” he sneered.

“Let go,” I said coldly, yanking my hand free and turning to leave.

But before I could take another step, a sharp kick landed on my back, sending me sprawling to the floor. Pain shot through my ribs as I gasped for breath.

The man towered over me. “Take a good look at yourself. Do you still think you have a shot with the World Piano Tour Ensemble? Newsflash, buddy—you were kicked off the international committee a long time ago.”

His words hit me like a bolt of lightning.

My head snapped up, my eyes wide with disbelief. “What… what did you say?”

I turned to Margot, searching her face for answers.

She didn’t flinch. Her icy gaze met mine as she confirmed it without hesitation.

“You’ve been removed,” she said matter-of-factly. “That’s the price you pay for refusing to admit your mistakes.”

“Mistakes?” I shouted, my composure finally breaking. “Margot, I lost everything because of you! My career, my reputation, my life— you destroyed all of it for Steven. And you’re asking me to admit I’m wrong? Tell me, who’s really in the wrong here?”

Her expression hardened, her eyes narrowing in irritation at my outburst.

“You secretly recorded me and Steven. How is that not wrong?” she snapped, her tone sharp and condescending.

Steven, ever the opportunist, slid an arm around her waist, his signature smirk plastered across his face.

“Hey, Carmichael, why don’t I take you to the performance later?” he teased. “Maybe some eccentric foreigners will take a liking to you. Who knows? You might finally find a way to make some money.”

I stared at him, unblinking, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing me react.

“Steven, Frank doesn’t seem to get jokes.” Margot softly reassured him, but when she turned to look at me, her face was full of ridicule. “Isn’t it something to be happy about if someone takes an interest in you? You didn’t know how to cherish chances in the past, and now you don’t even recognize one when it’s handed to you.”

Her words hit me like a punch to the gut, leaving an empty, aching void in my chest. She had mastered the art of weaponizing her words, each one sharper and more devastating than the last.

For a fleeting moment, I thought of the Margot I used to know. She was the one who once begged me to give up music because she couldn’t stand to see me sacrifice everything for her. The Margot who had promised we’d tackle every challenge side by side.

But that version of her no longer existed.

When she first entered the entertainment world, she had nothing—no connections or fame. She was stuck playing extras, barely scraping by. I felt bad for her, so I worked behind the scenes, convincing directors to give her a shot. I even endured humiliation for her.

One time, a director tried to drug me to 'seal the deal.'

But back then, none of it mattered. I believed in her, in us.

That belief seems like a cruel joke now.

Luckily, Margot had shown up with the police just in time to save me that day. I still remember how she clung to me afterward, sobbing uncontrollably.

“Frank, I’ll quit acting,” she had cried. “I can’t let you suffer like this, especially not at the hands of some disgusting men…”

Back then, she really did love me with everything she had. We leaned on each other, weathering every storm together.

But now?

Now, she was the one suggesting I seduce foreign businessmen like it was nothing.

It was laughable—absurd.

I felt a burning sting behind my eyes and let out a bitter, hollow laugh, lowering my head to hide the hurt.

“You’re right,” I said, forcing the words out. “I should make the most of this opportunity.”

With that, I swallowed my pride and humiliation, stepping toward the circle of foreign executives.

Before I could reach them, Steven’s sharp voice cut through the air behind me. “Carmichael's left hand is perfectly fine, isn’t it?”

Margot added her own soft, venomous laugh. “Oh, he’s lying. Don’t listen to him.”

The mocking laughter around me grew louder, sharper, cutting deeper than any insult could.

I froze in place, the jeers piercing through me like needles, sending a chill down my spine. I barely had time to process it before a few of the foreigners waved me away in clear disgust, dismissing me without a word.

What stung the most wasn’t their rejection—it was the fact that some of them were fans who had once praised my skills and admired me as one of the best pianists in the world.

Once, my techniques earned me international acclaim. I had hoped that maybe, just maybe, I could fight for a chance here—to prove myself, to salvage even a shred of what I had lost.

But I never expected they wouldn’t even let me speak. Instead, they turned their attention to Steven, laughing along with him, openly mocking me without restraint.

I forced a faint, brittle smile and scanned the room, still desperately searching for a way—any way—to create an opening for myself.