ondon, there was the final, brutal act of my own humiliation. The story wasn't as simple a

seat. After the executive, Mr. Graves, pushed the money across the table, the door to the office opened. Mark swagg

descension. "Look what we have here. Alex Miller, the musi

tempt, sent a jolt through me. The pieces clicked into place instantly, even

voice barely a whisp

I knew. "What's going on, Alex, is that you're finally getting what you

stunned. "That was two

You and your sob story about your dead musician fa

f anger and disbelief. "You made her pretend to be sick? You made me s

oe. "And it was brilliant. Watching you squirm, so des

you really think someone like me would end up with a broke, wannabe musician living in a tiny a

my lungs. I looked from her smug face to Mark's sneering on

I said to Mr. Graves, my

ustling sound. "The deal is do

oney," I snarled, t

playing sports instead of an instrument. "You're not getting it bac

er injustice of it all boiled over. I wasn't thinking. I was pure, raw

slammed me against the wall. My head hit the soundproofing foam with a dull thud. He shoved m

sound of pure agony. I looked down and saw my arm bent at

rm, the world dissolving into a haze of pai

great artist, crying on the floor. Make sure you're

h his phone. The cold, black lens felt like an ey

disgust, as if I were a piece of trash. "Let's go, Mark. I don

m broken, my heart shattered, and the only legacy of my family in the hands of a man who saw it as a commodity

old emptiness that was spreading through my chest. I tried to push

uld not let them win. I grit my teeth, the taste of blood in my mouth. "You... you will regret this," I whispered

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