Martin remained exactly where he stood, still and composed in a way that made the shattered dressing table on the floor feel like it belonged to a completely different reality, his gaze lowering briefly to the scattered fragments before returning to her face.
"And what makes you think I called—"
"Because you fucking knew!" Victoria cut in before the sentence could properly form, her voice sharp enough to split the air between them.
And for a brief moment there was nothing in the room except the weight of the silence settling over everything.
Martin blinked once.
"I simply called him to perform," he said at last, as though he was still trying to keep the conversation within boundaries she was no longer interested in respecting.
Victoria's breath caught immediately, and whatever fragile restraint she had been holding on to finally gave way as she stepped forward, her voice rising.
"Why would you fucking do that when you very well knew who he was!?" she demanded, pointing at him now, her hand trembling slightly despite the force behind her words.
"Don't stand there and pretend ignorance. You don't get to act like this was random. If you can investigate my entire life like I don't exist outside your control, if you can dig into my father's abuse, my family's debt, my mother's medical condition, my education, my every struggle, then don't insult my intelligence by pretending you didn't know exactly who he was to me!"
Her voice cracked slightly, but she pushed through it, the words spilling faster now as though holding them back would have physically hurt her more.
"You must have known about my relationship with him. Four years!… Four!!. There is no universe where you bring him into this building, onto that stage, and stand there telling me it was just a performance arrangement without knowing exactly what it would do to me."
She swallowed hard, breathing uneven as her eyes filled again, but the anger refused to soften.
"So I'm asking you again," she said, "why the fuck did you bring him here?"
Martin did not interrupt her.
He watched her the entire time, his expression unchanged, though something in his focus sharpened slightly, as if he was no longer just observing her words but every fracture behind them, the anger, the humiliation, the exhaustion that had been building long before this night ever began.
When he finally spoke with the same calm control that made his presence feel almost unfair.
"It was simply a test."
Victoria's hand lowered slightly, not because the tension left her, but because the words made no immediate sense in the shape of what she was feeling.
"…What?"
"It was a test," Martin repeated, unbothered. "To determine whether you would maintain the confidentiality of our arrangement, and whether I could trust you to remain aligned with what you agreed to."
The silence that followed him was heavier than anything that had been said so far.
Then he continued, as though explaining something purely logical.
He continued, "Beyond that, it also allowed me to observe your reaction under pressure, particularly in a public setting where emotional exposure is more likely. And I must say, I am disappointed in how quickly it escalated."
Something in Victoria's expression changed at that point, not into rage, but into something far more unstable, as though her mind had briefly refused to process the simplicity of what he had just reduced her pain to.
"The people are already talking," Martin added.
"Shut up."
The words came out instantly, raw and unfiltered, and for the first time since she had met him, something subtle flickered across Martin's face — not quite shock — clear indication that he had not anticipated that audacity.
Victoria let out a breath that turned almost into a laugh, except it had no humor in it at all, only disbelief and exhaustion colliding as tears continued to fall without permission, smearing what was left of her makeup.
"I have been through more in less than forty-eight hours than I think I have survived in months," she said, "And I have done nothing but comply with everything you've asked of me. I have not argued. I have not resisted. I have followed every instruction, every expectation, every rule you placed in front of me like I had no choice but to learn how to breathe inside them."
Her fingers dragged through her hair, gripping slightly as if trying to hold herself together physically.
"You cut me off from my family. You pulled me into your world. You placed me in front of people who look at me like I don't belong in the same air they breathe, and now you stand there and tell me I was being tested?"
Her voice cracked again
"No," she shook her head. "No, I will not accept that."
She stepped back slightly, as though the weight of everything was forcing her to create distance just to survive the moment.
"I am not something you experiment on," she continued, her voice trembling but steadying in rhythm. "I am not something you provoke just to study the reaction. I am not your control variable."
Her breathing turned uneven again, but she forced herself to continue.
"You don't get to stand there and say you pulled a trigger on my heart like it was an exercise and expect me to just accept it."
Her hand lifted slightly, pointing toward the door now.
"Leave."
Her eyes gleamed with fresh tears.
"Get out."
The silence that followed pressed heavily against the room, but Victoria didn't flutter, even as her body betrayed her exhaustion, even as tears kept falling without stopping.
And then, with a voice that had completely lost its earlier restraint, she added,
"And just because you think you've wrapped my life up in some contract doesn't mean I don't know how to let myself fall out of it. It doesn't mean I will stand here and allow you to erase me piece by piece."
Her lips trembled, "I will not be used again. Not in public. Not in private. Not ever again!"
And for a moment she looked like she might collapse.
"You said your private life is yours," she whispered, barely audible now, "So stay out of mine."
Martin did not respond.
He looked at her, as though the entire scene was a display of something far more complex than anger alone could explain, and for a long moment he stayed like that.
Then, without a word, he turned toward the door.
He opened it and left.
The door closed softly behind him.
Victoria remained standing alone in the broken room, her breathing uneven, her hands slowly lowering as the adrenaline finally drained out of her body.
She felt cold.
And when the silence became too absolute, she whispered into it,
"What sort of life is this…"