“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.”
