My Actress Girlfriend Helped My Rival Destroy Me

The Grand Pianist Excellence Awards were supposed to be the crowning moment of my career. But instead of celebrating, it turned into my worst nightmare.

The international prize I had poured my heart and soul into, which I had sacrificed countless hours for, wasn’t mine. No, it was handed over to my biggest rival, Steven Jackson, like some gift wrapped in a shiny bow.

Frustrated and furious, I confronted the organizers.

My attempt to demand answers ended badly—very badly. By the time I got home, my left hand was in a cast, fractured from the chaos. All I wanted was to vent to Margot, my girlfriend of two years. Margot, the shining star of the screen, is an award-winning actress everyone adores.

But as I approached the door, I froze in my tracks. Her voice—and his—filtered through the thin walls.

“Are you happy now?” Margot’s tone was light, almost teasing. “Whatever you want, Steven, it’s yours.”

“Of course, I’m happy,” Steven responded smugly. “This proves I matter more to you than that Frank Carmichael.”

I stood there, stunned. My pulse roared in my ears, anger and disbelief coursing through me. Before I knew it, I had my phone out, recording their intimate little exchange.

Later that night, I posted the video online with the caption:

[My first real experience with rigging. Lesson learned.]

And, for good measure, I tagged The Grand Pianist Excellence Awards.

Predictably, the video exploded, going viral almost instantly.

...

Months later, on the night of my engagement to the daughter of a prominent oil tycoon, Margot showed up uninvited.

Tears streaming down her face, she begged me to reconcile with her, to take her back.

I told her to get lost.

——

That same night, she stormed into my apartment, fury written across her face.

“Frank, are you out of your damn mind? Take down that fake video of Steven and me right now!”

I couldn’t help but let out a bitter laugh. “Margot, don’t you think you owe me an explanation first?”

For a moment, she froze, her mask slipping.

Then, as if I was the one inconveniencing her, she replied sharply, “Wait, you were home that day?”

Her annoyance was infuriating. “Yes, I was home. I heard everything.”

Margot sighed dramatically and rolled her eyes. “Steven’s been wanting this award for years. How was I supposed to know you were gunning for it, too? And for the record, take down that video. Say it was AI-generated or something.”

Her audacity was almost laughable.

'Steven’s been wanting this award for years?'

She didn’t even remember what I said but knew every word that man had uttered.

“Fine,” I said through gritted teeth, “but I have one condition. I want you to acknowledge our relationship publicly.”

Her answer was immediate and cold. “That’s not happening.”

“What’s so embarrassing about being with me?” I snapped. My frustration bubbled over.

Margot softened her tone, trying to sound reasonable. “Frank, you know I just won the Best New Actress Award this year. I can’t afford a scandal right now. Steven’s immature! Don’t stoop to his level, okay?”

Her response felt like a slap in the face. After two years of hiding our relationship, after all I’d done for her, she was asking me to protect his reputation.

I raised my cast-covered left hand, my voice trembling with anger. “You want me to stoop to his level? When this—” I gestured to my broken hand “—happened because he took what was mine?”

Margot’s demeanor shifted instantly. Her face hardened. “Frank, you’re a pianist. No one would dare mess with your hands. Don’t lie to me.”

With that, she turned and walked out the door, leaving me standing there, my chest heaving, my eyes stinging with unshed tears. The pain in my hand was nothing compared to the ache in my chest.

A few nights later, a group of thugs broke into my piano room. They didn’t just come to intimidate me—they came to destroy me.

Wielding bats and crowbars, they shattered my piano, the very heart of my career. I tried to shield it, but they pinned me down, holding me helpless. A bat came down hard on my already fractured left hand.

The pain was so overwhelming I nearly blacked out. Through the haze of agony, my phone buzzed.

Trembling, I picked it up with my right hand.

It was Margot.

Her voice, cold and indifferent, cut through the chaos. “I’m here with Steven. Apologize to him—right now—and this ends.”

“Apologize for what?” I rasped, barely able to form words through the pain.

“For violating his privacy, of course. That video you posted—delete it and apologize. There’s no room for negotiation.”

I clenched my teeth, fighting through the searing pain. “I’m not apologizing. I didn’t do anything wrong.”

Her voice was sharp, furious. “Fine. Have it your way.”

She hung up without another word.

...

The next day, while I was being treated at the hospital, she showed up again. But not for me and the cameras.

A crowd of fans surrounded her as she signed autographs, smiling for the paparazzi.

“Frank Carmichael and I are just close friends,” she cooed sweetly. “He’s currently composing a piano solo for my new drama. Please support him!”

I stared at her in disbelief. She glanced at me for the briefest moment, panic flashing across her face. But then she quickly looked away, refusing to meet my eyes.

When the crowd finally dispersed, Margot walked over to me, the faint smell of minty cigarettes trailing behind her. My stomach churned as she approached.