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.

After what felt like an eternity of humiliation, I finally found someone who agreed to hear me out, but only under one condition.

“You have to eat this slice of mango cake,” the person said smugly, placing the dessert in front of me.

“I’m allergic to mangoes,” I explained, keeping my voice calm despite the knot tightening in my chest. “I can’t eat it.”

Their expression instantly darkened. Without a moment’s hesitation, they slammed the cake onto my head, the sticky frosting smearing across my face and dripping into my eyes. The laughter that erupted around me was deafening, ringing in my ears as though the entire room had become a cruel circus.

Margot walked up to me before I could even process what had just happened. Her face was a mixture of disdain and annoyance as she handed me a towel as if she were doing me some kind of favor.

“Frank,” she said in exasperation, “why do you keep doing this to yourself? Why humiliate yourself like this?”

Before I could answer, Steven chimed in, his voice dripping with faux compassion.

“Margot, let it go. Forget about making him apologize. Just let him leave already. He looks pathetic enough as it is.”

Margot turned to him, her lips curling into a pleased smile.

“You’re so considerate, Steven,” she said, her voice soft and admiring. Then, she turned back to me, her expression hardening.

“Alright, Frank,” she said flatly. “You can—”

“No!” a loud voice interrupted. The crowd parted slightly as one of Steven’s fans stepped forward, pointing a finger at me. I recognized him immediately—another loyal supporter of Steven who had no qualms about making my life hell.

He addressed Margot directly, his tone loud enough to ensure everyone in the room could hear him. “Margot, this guy just rejected Mr. Roberts's kind offer right in front of you. Isn’t that, like, a slap in your face?”

A murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd.

Another voice added, “He needs to be taught a lesson. He needs to understand that this party isn’t for just anyone.”

Margot’s gaze lingered on me for a long moment. Her lips twitched slightly before she raised a hand, signaling her bodyguards. A moment later, they wheeled out a massive three-tiered cake and placed it in front of me.

“Frank,” she said, her tone cold and detached, “eat the whole thing, and I’ll make sure they listen to what you have to say.”

The crowd erupted into laughter and cheers.

“Yeah, eat it all!” someone shouted mockingly.

I stared at the cake, my chest tightening.

Then, I looked up at Margot, my voice barely more than a whisper. “You know I’m allergic to mangoes.”

Her eyes met mine, but they were empty—void of any emotion, any compassion.

“And?” she said with a shrug. “If you can’t eat it, I’ll have someone feed it to you.”

Her words hit me like a blow to the chest. My throat tightened, and I struggled to breathe as despair settled over me like a suffocating fog. She had once been my salvation, the one who lifted me out of darkness, but now… now, she was the one dragging me deeper into it.

“I told you—I’m allergic to mangoes!” I repeated, my voice cracking. Every word felt like a plea, but I knew it would fall on deaf ears.

Margot’s expression twisted in frustration, and she snapped, “So what? If you won’t eat it yourself, I’ll make sure someone does it for you.”

Her cruelty stunned me into silence. The woman who had once cried at the sight of my pain now stood before me, cold and unrecognizable. The love we had shared was long gone, reduced to ashes under the weight of her selfishness.

I felt something inside me break.

With shaking hands, I grabbed a slice of the cake and forced myself to take a bite. The overwhelming sweetness coated my tongue, but the bitter taste of humiliation was far stronger. My throat burned as I swallowed, the rashes already starting to creep up my arms. My skin itched like fire, and I felt my airway beginning to tighten.

Margot’s eyes flickered with something—hesitation, maybe even regret—but the moment was fleeting. She quickly masked it with cold indifference, stepping back as the crowd egged me on.

“Don’t waste it!” Steven shouted, his voice cutting through the noise like a blade.

At his words, any trace of humanity in Margot’s expression vanished entirely. She gestured for her bodyguard, who grabbed a massive chunk of cake and shoved it toward my face.

The frosting smeared across my mouth and nose, and I couldn’t hold back any longer. My stomach twisted violently, and I vomited onto the floor, coughing so hard that tears streamed down my face.

The crowd erupted into laughter, their voices merging into a cruel cacophony.

“How pathetic!” someone jeered.

“Carmichael, you’re such a joke!” another added.

The bodyguard grabbed another piece of cake, but before he could shove it into my mouth, Margot slapped him across the face.

“Do you want to kill him?” she snapped.

She took a step forward as if to help me, but Steven was quicker.

Wrapping an arm around her waist, he pulled her back with a sly grin.

“Steven, don’t get your hands dirty. Let me help him instead.” Margot cunningly smiled.

Right then, Steven crouched down beside me, grabbing my arm and yanking me to my feet. His fingers dug into my injured left hand, and I couldn’t suppress a cry of pain. He smiled at my reaction, his eyes glinting with sadistic pleasure.

“There’s only one piano here tonight,” he said, his voice dripping with mock sincerity. “Carmichael, you don’t mind waiting your turn, right?”

I gritted my teeth through the pain, shaking off Steven’s hand as anger flared up inside me.

“Steven, does humiliating me in front of Steve make you feel proud?” I snapped. “You deliberately pressed on my injured left hand—what’s wrong? Are you that scared I’ll outshine you?”

This time, I didn’t care about Margot’s reaction. I had reached my breaking point. For once, I stood my ground and let all the pent-up frustration spill out.

Steven’s expression darkened instantly. His eyes darted to Margot as he put on his usual pitiful act. “Margot, I was just trying to help Frank, but he doesn’t appreciate it. Now he’s accusing me…”

Margot’s cold, indifferent gaze turned to me, her voice laced with disdain.

“Frank, stop making excuses,” she said icily. “You need to play with your left hand—no more theatrics. Steven is helping you out of kindness, and you should be grateful instead of acting like you’re too good for this. Because, honestly? You’re not anymore.”

Her words cut through me like a blade, extinguishing the last shred of affection I had for her. My chest tightened, and my eyes stung with unshed tears.

“Margot,” I said, my voice trembling but steady enough to convey my bitterness, “have you ever genuinely cared about me? Or was I just here today to make Steven look better?”

I could feel the weight of every suppressed emotion rising to the surface. My voice grew louder, steadier. “I’m done. I can’t keep watching the two of you flaunt your ‘love’ in front of me.”

With that, I yanked off the tie she had tied for me earlier and threw it at her feet.

Before anyone could react, I strode up to the stage. My heart pounded as I plugged in a USB drive and hit play. A video montage began to play on the screen, flashing memories of the two years Margot and I had spent together.

“Margot,” I announced, my voice echoing across the room, “even if you want to erase me from your life, you can’t erase the fact that we were together for two years.

“Consider this my final goodbye—I’m officially breaking up with you. From now on, we’re done. You and Steven stay out of my sight. You both make me sick.”

The crowd froze, murmurs spreading like wildfire.

Someone finally dared to ask, “Miss Kent, is it true? Did you date him for two years?”

Margot’s face drained of color. She stormed up to me, her expression twisted with rage and slapped me hard across the face.

“You picked the wrong place to pull this stunt,” she sneered, her tone full of venom.

To her, my actions were nothing more than a childish outburst of jealousy—a pathetic attempt to cling to something that no longer existed. Her slap wasn’t just physical. It was full of contempt, a reminder of how little she thought of me.

I lowered my head, swallowing my pride, as she continued her verbal assault.

“Frank, are you done embarrassing yourself yet?” she spat. “You’re pathetic!”

I felt the fight drain out of me entirely. It wasn’t just her words—it was the years of pain, humiliation, and betrayal finally catching up to me. I was exhausted. This twisted relationship had decayed beyond repair.

Taking a deep breath, I turned to leave.

But, of course, Margot wasn’t done.

“Frank,” she called after me, her voice sharp and biting. “You better think this through. Without me, you have nothing. No one will dare to help you.”

I turned back to face her, and for the first time, I saw my reflection in her eyes—a haggard, broken shell of a man who had endured far more than he should have.

The realization hit me like a punch to the gut. The world spun around me, and it felt like I was plunging into an endless abyss, the same kind of soul-crushing pain I had felt when my parents died.

But back then, Margot had pulled me out of that darkness.

Now, she was the one shoving me back in.

I clenched my teeth, steadying myself with my injured left hand. A wave of searing pain shot through me as blood dripped onto the floor, vivid and jarring against the polished surface.

“Hey, Steven, the baker said this cake is pineapple, not mango,” someone remarked casually nearby.

My stomach twisted. Earlier, when I tasted the cake, the strong scent of mango had been unmistakable. And Margot had been standing right in front of me, watching me eat it.

Yet, she had believed Steven’s lie and, worse, punished me for calling it out.

Grinding the sharp heel of her stiletto into my injured fingers, she hissed, “Frank, what’s the point of lying? Stop slandering Steven. How does this help you? Apologize to us right now!”

Her voice was sharp, cutting through me like needles. My head buzzed, and the allergic reaction worsened by the second. The room blurred into indistinct shadows, and the chaotic noise around me faded into an eerie hum.

I yanked my hand free from under her heel, desperate to get away. I didn’t care if I had to crawl.

I just needed to escape this nightmare.

But Margot wasn’t finished with me. She barked orders at her bodyguards, who quickly blocked my path and dragged me back to her.