Let The Wind Whispers My Farewell

I felt no comfort from Victor's words. Only a suffocating tightness in my chest, nausea rising in my throat.

Abigail, dressed in a puffy short skirt, approached with an apologetic look, offering me a cup of ginger jujube tea.

“Sis, I cried all night over this. You’re my idol—how could I ever play with your life like that? Please forgive me, okay? As for the mystery box…”

She effortlessly changed the subject, slipping a stack of photo cards into my bag.

“People online are saying the woman in the photos is you, but I don’t believe it. After all, my brother has never been into… things like that.”

She clung to Victor’s arm, looking up at him with a sweet, pleading expression.

“Brother, you have to do something. We can’t let outsiders ruin Faith’s reputation. I even spent all my allowance buying a hundred of them!”

Victor gently patted her head, his touch unbearably tender.

“I already gave you my secondary card. Just use that whenever you need money.”

One of the guys who had just been making dirty jokes about me chimed in with a teasing laugh.

“Abby, don’t cry, beautiful. You know it breaks your brother’s heart.”

Victor’s face darkened instantly. He shrugged off his coat and draped it over Abigail’s shoulders.

“Watch your mouth. She’s not someone you can even think about.” Then he turned to me. “Faith, wait here. I’m taking Abby to get changed into something warmer.”

I stood there in the cold for a long time. I used to believe that love could be measured by what someone was willing to give.

Victor had a terrible temper and rarely showed me any real care. Yet, he spent millions setting up an agency for me, gave me the title of his girlfriend and kept me by his side every night.

I thought that meant he loved me. So I gave him everything—my youth, my devotion—without hesitation.

But I was wrong. A person’s "sacrifices" have to be measured against what they actually have to lose.

Victor had more money than he could ever spend, more time than he knew what to do with and more women than he could ever get bored of. To him, I was nothing more than a toy he had paid for—one that wasn’t allowed to resist, only obey.

I left the estate. Suddenly, heat surged through my body. My limbs went weak. The world spun around me as I gripped my head, trying to stay conscious. The teacup slipped from my fingers and shattered on the floor.

"You idiot! It wasn’t enough to seduce my brother—you actually thought you could marry him? Keep dreaming!"

"Should’ve just thrown you off from ten meters up! Dying in your own farewell performance—that would’ve been poetic!"

A sharp pain shot through my scalp.

Abigail let out a delighted laugh, her polished little boot grinding down on my hair. She patted my face again and again, like she was playing with a doll.

Behind her stood a man, his lips stretched into a disturbing grin.

The moment I recognized his face, my blood turned to ice. My ears rang. The metallic taste of blood filled my throat.

I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to beg. "You can have Victor. Take everything. Just let me go, please."

The stack of photo cards Abigail had slipped into my bag scattered across the floor.

The man’s eyes gleamed with sick excitement. He licked his lips, swallowing hard as he took a step closer. A violent tremor ran through my body.

Abigail, meanwhile, was doubled over in laughter. "I heard dancers are basically just high-class escorts—same deal, just pricier than the red-light district! You love your fans so much, right? What's a little fan service?"

The man pulled out a piece of lingerie and held it up against me, chuckling as he sized me up.

I curled into myself, trying to shrink away. Something filthy was shoved into my mouth. I knew exactly what it was.

With every ounce of strength I had left, I bit down. The man let out a shriek, kicking me hard in the stomach.

Pain caught me in its palm as my head snapped back, slamming against the steps. Warm blood trickled down my pale face.

Abigail suddenly dropped to the ground in the most dramatic way, clawing at her own dress. She clutched at her chest as she sobbed.