I forced a faint, brittle smile and scanned the room, still desperately searching for a way—any way—to create an opening for myself.
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.