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?”

I gritted my teeth through the pain, shaking off Steven’s hand as anger flared up inside me.

“Steven, does humiliating me in front of Steve make you feel proud?” I snapped. “You deliberately pressed on my injured left hand—what’s wrong? Are you that scared I’ll outshine you?”

This time, I didn’t care about Margot’s reaction. I had reached my breaking point. For once, I stood my ground and let all the pent-up frustration spill out.

Steven’s expression darkened instantly. His eyes darted to Margot as he put on his usual pitiful act. “Margot, I was just trying to help Frank, but he doesn’t appreciate it. Now he’s accusing me…”

Margot’s cold, indifferent gaze turned to me, her voice laced with disdain.

“Frank, stop making excuses,” she said icily. “You need to play with your left hand—no more theatrics. Steven is helping you out of kindness, and you should be grateful instead of acting like you’re too good for this. Because, honestly? You’re not anymore.”

Her words cut through me like a blade, extinguishing the last shred of affection I had for her. My chest tightened, and my eyes stung with unshed tears.

“Margot,” I said, my voice trembling but steady enough to convey my bitterness, “have you ever genuinely cared about me? Or was I just here today to make Steven look better?”

I could feel the weight of every suppressed emotion rising to the surface. My voice grew louder, steadier. “I’m done. I can’t keep watching the two of you flaunt your ‘love’ in front of me.”

With that, I yanked off the tie she had tied for me earlier and threw it at her feet.

Before anyone could react, I strode up to the stage. My heart pounded as I plugged in a USB drive and hit play. A video montage began to play on the screen, flashing memories of the two years Margot and I had spent together.

“Margot,” I announced, my voice echoing across the room, “even if you want to erase me from your life, you can’t erase the fact that we were together for two years.

“Consider this my final goodbye—I’m officially breaking up with you. From now on, we’re done. You and Steven stay out of my sight. You both make me sick.”

The crowd froze, murmurs spreading like wildfire.

Someone finally dared to ask, “Miss Kent, is it true? Did you date him for two years?”

Margot’s face drained of color. She stormed up to me, her expression twisted with rage and slapped me hard across the face.

“You picked the wrong place to pull this stunt,” she sneered, her tone full of venom.

To her, my actions were nothing more than a childish outburst of jealousy—a pathetic attempt to cling to something that no longer existed. Her slap wasn’t just physical. It was full of contempt, a reminder of how little she thought of me.

I lowered my head, swallowing my pride, as she continued her verbal assault.

“Frank, are you done embarrassing yourself yet?” she spat. “You’re pathetic!”

I felt the fight drain out of me entirely. It wasn’t just her words—it was the years of pain, humiliation, and betrayal finally catching up to me. I was exhausted. This twisted relationship had decayed beyond repair.

Taking a deep breath, I turned to leave.

But, of course, Margot wasn’t done.

“Frank,” she called after me, her voice sharp and biting. “You better think this through. Without me, you have nothing. No one will dare to help you.”

I turned back to face her, and for the first time, I saw my reflection in her eyes—a haggard, broken shell of a man who had endured far more than he should have.

The realization hit me like a punch to the gut. The world spun around me, and it felt like I was plunging into an endless abyss, the same kind of soul-crushing pain I had felt when my parents died.

But back then, Margot had pulled me out of that darkness.

Now, she was the one shoving me back in.

I clenched my teeth, steadying myself with my injured left hand. A wave of searing pain shot through me as blood dripped onto the floor, vivid and jarring against the polished surface.

“Hey, Steven, the baker said this cake is pineapple, not mango,” someone remarked casually nearby.

My stomach twisted. Earlier, when I tasted the cake, the strong scent of mango had been unmistakable. And Margot had been standing right in front of me, watching me eat it.

Yet, she had believed Steven’s lie and, worse, punished me for calling it out.

Grinding the sharp heel of her stiletto into my injured fingers, she hissed, “Frank, what’s the point of lying? Stop slandering Steven. How does this help you? Apologize to us right now!”

Her voice was sharp, cutting through me like needles. My head buzzed, and the allergic reaction worsened by the second. The room blurred into indistinct shadows, and the chaotic noise around me faded into an eerie hum.

I yanked my hand free from under her heel, desperate to get away. I didn’t care if I had to crawl.

I just needed to escape this nightmare.

But Margot wasn’t finished with me. She barked orders at her bodyguards, who quickly blocked my path and dragged me back to her.

"It hurts..." I finally let out a cry, the pain overwhelming me.

Margot hesitated briefly before grabbing my injured left hand, her grip tightening.

"Oh, quit playing the victim!" she snapped, her voice laced with disdain. "Even if your left hand is broken, you’ll still have to play something for Steve."

Steven, ever the opportunist, chimed in with a faux concern, "Want me to help clean him up a bit? He’s looking pretty filthy."

Margot shot me a cold glance, her lip curling in disdain. "Don’t bother. No amount of cleaning will fix what’s already dirty on the inside." She paused, her voice dripping with venom. "Let him keep up this little charade. It’ll just show everyone what happens when you try to cross me."

Her words were a punch to the gut, a sharp reminder of her cruelty. She had said something similar the last time we almost broke up.

'Frank, if you dare walk away from me, I’ll make sure you lose everything. Don’t forget—everyone already knows your father was a cheater, and your mother killed herself out of shame. You’ve got nowhere else to go.'

Now, here she was again, dangling the same threats over my head.

Except this time, I wasn’t falling for it. This time, I felt nothing but disgust.

"Don’t touch me!" I shouted, yanking my hand free.

My balance faltered, and I stumbled backward—straight into the cake. I hit the ground hard, frosting and mango filling smeared across my face. The crowd burst into laughter, their jeers cutting through me like a blade.

My chest tightened as the allergic reaction from the mango intensified. My throat felt like it was closing, a vice gripping my airway.

Panicked, I reached out toward Margot, silently begging her to stop them. But her attention was solely on Steven, her eyes fixed on him like I didn’t even exist.

"Frank’s bloody hand might be a little... unsettling for Mr. Schumann. Should we tie it behind his back?" Steven mocked

Margot hesitated for a moment before nodding. "Ugh, fine! Bind his hand. Let him see what defying me gets him."

Steven grinned at her approval and barked out the command. The next thing I knew, my face was shoved back into the cake. Every time I tried to lift my head for air, someone would shove me back down, laughing as I gasped and choked.

It felt like demons were tightening their grip on my throat. The world around me blurred as I struggled to hold on, despair closing in on me.

Then, out of nowhere, a strong hand yanked me upright.

The laughter stopped abruptly.

I heard a soft, commanding voice above me. "That's enough!"

Through my blurred vision, I saw her—a strikingly beautiful woman with sharp eyes and an unshakable presence. She gently wiped the frosting from my face, her movements careful and precise. The overwhelming scent of frosting and mango was replaced by a soft, fresh aroma of gardenias.

"Who the hell just kicked me?" one of the men snarled, rolling up his sleeves.

But before he could make a move, two men in black suits appeared and effortlessly tossed him aside.

"Too noisy," the woman said, her voice soft but with an edge that silenced the room.

She was stunning, her appearance and presence impossible to ignore. Though her expression was serene, the sharpness in her eyes froze everyone in place.

As she draped her coat over my shoulders, her gaze fell on my injured hand. Her brows furrowed.

"Who did this to you?" she asked, her voice low and laced with concern.

I stared at her, stunned and unable to respond.

Before I could say a word, a familiar figure stepped forward. Alfred Schumann—the renowned pianist and someone everyone here revered—bowed his head slightly as he approached her.

"Miss Lexington, is something wrong?" he asked politely, his tone almost reverent.

The room fell into stunned silence.

Alfred Schumann, the world-famous pianist, was acting deferentially toward her.

Even Margot, who had spent so much time trying to network with him, looked bewildered.

She stepped forward cautiously, her voice shaky. "Who... who are you?"