Margot’s demeanor shifted instantly. Her face hardened. “Frank, you’re a pianist. No one would dare mess with your hands. Don’t lie to me.”
With that, she turned and walked out the door, leaving me standing there, my chest heaving, my eyes stinging with unshed tears. The pain in my hand was nothing compared to the ache in my chest.
A few nights later, a group of thugs broke into my piano room. They didn’t just come to intimidate me—they came to destroy me.
Wielding bats and crowbars, they shattered my piano, the very heart of my career. I tried to shield it, but they pinned me down, holding me helpless. A bat came down hard on my already fractured left hand.
The pain was so overwhelming I nearly blacked out. Through the haze of agony, my phone buzzed.
Trembling, I picked it up with my right hand.
It was Margot.
Her voice, cold and indifferent, cut through the chaos. “I’m here with Steven. Apologize to him—right now—and this ends.”
“Apologize for what?” I rasped, barely able to form words through the pain.
“For violating his privacy, of course. That video you posted—delete it and apologize. There’s no room for negotiation.”