When my day began like any other, the last thing I expected was for it to end with my blood soaking a crying child and a glowing gem.

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Earlier that Day

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"BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!"

The painfully familiar sound of my phone's alarm failed to get me out of bed the first seven times I pressed snooze, but I awoke sluggishly when the eighth was followed by the screams and pounding of my 72-year-old neighbour above.

"Stop that fucking racket, Ambroise. I have had enough of you setting hundreds of alarms and waking me up this early every day!!" She yelled whilst pounding the floor with a broom. "Don't make me bring down the Schoola and show you some fucking manners!!"

The infamous Schoola of course is an acronym for her broom of choice, aptly named - Spring Cleaning Honed On Obliterating Lazy Ambroise-

"Sorry, Daphne, I had another late night at the restaurant when closing; I'll make it up to you tonight with that risotto you love so much." I answered in response, stretching to get rid of the knot in my back and the chronic ache in my left knee, face and hands. In reality, I had stayed up to binge the third season of The boys, torturing myself to watch the show that would've made my career and falling in love with the character my old mentor Jensen Ackles was playing.

"Fine, but you have to stop that dreadful alarm." She spoke back in an annoyed but appeased tone.

As I jumped up to prepare for my 6:00 am start, which was now a 10 am rush, my leg gave out, making me fall. I quickly caught myself, grazing my head on the bedside and gritting my teeth at the familiar sharp pain spiking in my hands.

'Damn it. They don't lie when they say a blow to the knee stops your adventures. Though, they should include the whole fucking body in that saying. A few years ago and my days would've been a breeze without a fall in sight, now I fall with even the smallest sudden movement and can barely hold a bottle.'

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Bitterly picking myself up, I carefully made my way to the mirror leaning against the wall of my modest London apartment. Fortunately, the only damage seen was to my ego. I had long grown accustomed to hiding from the shell of the man I used to be. What was once a handsome, 6ft, muscular, mixed-raced man with emerald green eyes and a posture straighter than a ruler had devolved into a thin husk with scars all along his face and body. The eyes that were once vibrant, now dull and full of pain.

' I have changed so much in only four years; who knew that Ambroise Lefort would let himself fall to such a low level.'

Four years ago, I was an up-and-coming actor and self-proclaimed chef prodigy at the budding age of 26. Now I was a 30-year-old nobody who was stared at in public like a monster and required hours to make the simplest dish. My idealistic past self only saw a bright future and a path that would have led directly to being an A-list celebrity and an owner of a Michelin-star restaurant. All of that fell apart when I went against the industry. I was unwilling to play the game of kissing ass and letting nepotism win. I was too arrogant in my abilities and didn't feel the need for any backing in what was just the world of playing pretend.

But the life of stars and fame isn't as bright as it seems; pretend is real when money and power are involved. A few weeks after bagging a significant Tv role from a nepo baby on the then-upcoming "The boys" tv show, I was grabbed by masked men and beaten in a side alley. I only remember hearing one whisper in my ear, " You should've just played the game, kid." before the pain made me black out. They left me lying in a pool of blood, having shattered both my body and my dreams. I was lucky to survive, if living scarred and in pain even counts as survival. My colleagues, friends and mentor all tried to support me, but I wasn't going to place them in possible danger or take their pity. The funny thing is the nepo baby didn't even get the role in the end. No one was ever caught, and I'm sure money had a part to play in that.

"BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!"

My alarm once again went off, waking me from my daydream.

'Shit, there's nothing I can do about the past, and I need to leave as I'm nearly 3 hours late. I'm probably going to get fired.'

I wobbled as quickly as possible to grab my phone and get dressed, ignoring the messages and missed calls of people in my past. Once ready, I left the apartment building and made my way to the restaurant down the road.

Opening the door of what I had come to see as my personal hell, I was greeted with the cartoonish red face of the owner, Robert. "You have some fucking guts, coming here at noon. You are over three hours late, I should fire your ass on the spot!!" he screamed, spitting on my face in the process. "You are lucky that I even let you help Carlos in the kitchen with those useless hands of yours".

Feeling a need to stand up for myself just once, I snapped back at him. " Look, Robert, the only reason this restaurant is even open is that I help you with every single detail, from the menu to the accounts. You couldn't do half the shit alone, and I'm sick of working my ass off just so this third-rate restaurant can get the few customers it does".

His face reached a level of red I never imagined humanely possible, with what seemed almost like steam coming out of his ears, appalled I even dared to speak back. "Get out and don't bring your mutilated, self-righteous face into my restaurant again, you arrogant prick," Robert squawked at me with absolute fury.

I didn't bother to say anything in response and just left, not caring where I ended up.

'He will be begging me to come back by the end of the week.'

Though nothing he could say would make me come back, I was sick of how I was being treated and just wanted the world to finally give me a win.