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.
