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.
