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!”
