Without waiting for my answer, he snapped his fingers. Several men grabbed me, forcing me to the ground. I thrashed weakly, but I was no match for them. A bottle of liquor was thrust into my mouth, the bitter liquid spilling down my throat. The burn of the alcohol was like fire, scorching my insides and igniting my nausea. My stomach twisted violently, and I gagged as the men continued to pour.
When I couldn’t hold it any longer, I vomited, the contents of my stomach spilling onto the floor in a messy, humiliating heap.
“Disgusting! Watch where you aim, trash!” someone shouted, leaping back to avoid the mess.
“God, what kind of person does this to themselves just to crash a party?” another chimed in.
“Frank Carmichael, you’re pathetic! A disgrace to the piano world!”
The laughter and derision echoed around me, drowning out any shred of dignity I had left. Before I could even catch my breath, the bodyguard grabbed me by the collar and flung me backward.
My body collided with the champagne tower behind me, sending glass cascading to the floor in a symphony of shattering. Jagged shards pierced my skin, and the pain was blinding.
"Agh!" I crumpled to the floor, groaning in agony.