After what felt like an eternity of humiliation, I finally found someone who agreed to hear me out, but only under one condition.
“You have to eat this slice of mango cake,” the person said smugly, placing the dessert in front of me.
“I’m allergic to mangoes,” I explained, keeping my voice calm despite the knot tightening in my chest. “I can’t eat it.”
Their expression instantly darkened. Without a moment’s hesitation, they slammed the cake onto my head, the sticky frosting smearing across my face and dripping into my eyes. The laughter that erupted around me was deafening, ringing in my ears as though the entire room had become a cruel circus.
Margot walked up to me before I could even process what had just happened. Her face was a mixture of disdain and annoyance as she handed me a towel as if she were doing me some kind of favor.
“Frank,” she said in exasperation, “why do you keep doing this to yourself? Why humiliate yourself like this?”
Before I could answer, Steven chimed in, his voice dripping with faux compassion.
“Margot, let it go. Forget about making him apologize. Just let him leave already. He looks pathetic enough as it is.”
Margot turned to him, her lips curling into a pleased smile.
“You’re so considerate, Steven,” she said, her voice soft and admiring. Then, she turned back to me, her expression hardening.
“Alright, Frank,” she said flatly. “You can—”
“No!” a loud voice interrupted. The crowd parted slightly as one of Steven’s fans stepped forward, pointing a finger at me. I recognized him immediately—another loyal supporter of Steven who had no qualms about making my life hell.
He addressed Margot directly, his tone loud enough to ensure everyone in the room could hear him. “Margot, this guy just rejected Mr. Roberts's kind offer right in front of you. Isn’t that, like, a slap in your face?”
A murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd.
Another voice added, “He needs to be taught a lesson. He needs to understand that this party isn’t for just anyone.”
Margot’s gaze lingered on me for a long moment. Her lips twitched slightly before she raised a hand, signaling her bodyguards. A moment later, they wheeled out a massive three-tiered cake and placed it in front of me.
“Frank,” she said, her tone cold and detached, “eat the whole thing, and I’ll make sure they listen to what you have to say.”
The crowd erupted into laughter and cheers.
“Yeah, eat it all!” someone shouted mockingly.
I stared at the cake, my chest tightening.
Then, I looked up at Margot, my voice barely more than a whisper. “You know I’m allergic to mangoes.”
Her eyes met mine, but they were empty—void of any emotion, any compassion.
“And?” she said with a shrug. “If you can’t eat it, I’ll have someone feed it to you.”
Her words hit me like a blow to the chest. My throat tightened, and I struggled to breathe as despair settled over me like a suffocating fog. She had once been my salvation, the one who lifted me out of darkness, but now… now, she was the one dragging me deeper into it.
“I told you—I’m allergic to mangoes!” I repeated, my voice cracking. Every word felt like a plea, but I knew it would fall on deaf ears.
Margot’s expression twisted in frustration, and she snapped, “So what? If you won’t eat it yourself, I’ll make sure someone does it for you.”
Her cruelty stunned me into silence. The woman who had once cried at the sight of my pain now stood before me, cold and unrecognizable. The love we had shared was long gone, reduced to ashes under the weight of her selfishness.
I felt something inside me break.
With shaking hands, I grabbed a slice of the cake and forced myself to take a bite. The overwhelming sweetness coated my tongue, but the bitter taste of humiliation was far stronger. My throat burned as I swallowed, the rashes already starting to creep up my arms. My skin itched like fire, and I felt my airway beginning to tighten.
Margot’s eyes flickered with something—hesitation, maybe even regret—but the moment was fleeting. She quickly masked it with cold indifference, stepping back as the crowd egged me on.
“Don’t waste it!” Steven shouted, his voice cutting through the noise like a blade.
At his words, any trace of humanity in Margot’s expression vanished entirely. She gestured for her bodyguard, who grabbed a massive chunk of cake and shoved it toward my face.
The frosting smeared across my mouth and nose, and I couldn’t hold back any longer. My stomach twisted violently, and I vomited onto the floor, coughing so hard that tears streamed down my face.
The crowd erupted into laughter, their voices merging into a cruel cacophony.
“How pathetic!” someone jeered.
“Carmichael, you’re such a joke!” another added.
The bodyguard grabbed another piece of cake, but before he could shove it into my mouth, Margot slapped him across the face.
“Do you want to kill him?” she snapped.
She took a step forward as if to help me, but Steven was quicker.
Wrapping an arm around her waist, he pulled her back with a sly grin.
“Steven, don’t get your hands dirty. Let me help him instead.” Margot cunningly smiled.
Right then, Steven crouched down beside me, grabbing my arm and yanking me to my feet. His fingers dug into my injured left hand, and I couldn’t suppress a cry of pain. He smiled at my reaction, his eyes glinting with sadistic pleasure.
“There’s only one piano here tonight,” he said, his voice dripping with mock sincerity. “Carmichael, you don’t mind waiting your turn, right?”
