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.