Chapter 4
888words
I sat on the sofa, body curled up, like a vine struggling in the darkness.
The past five years have been like an absurd dream. Now, the dream is over, leaving behind only a cold mess.
I once thought Francis Foster would be my salvation.
Let's go back to five years ago, the darkest moment of my life.
My brother, a worthless gambling addict, had accumulated astronomical high-interest debts.
They smashed our windows and wrote on the wall with bright red paint: "Pay your debts, blood for blood." My mother fell ill from shock. As a poor college freshman on academic leave, I had nothing but my somewhat decent appearance.
That night, in that sketchy club, I barely made a living selling drinks. Filthy desires filled every corner; humanity was twisted and sold cheap there.
That day, an obese customer poured an expensive bottle of champagne over my head. The liquid, mixed with ice cubes, slid down my collar.
I closed my eyes, shivering from cold and fear, while numbly calculating how much commission this bottle of wine could bring me.
It was then that Francis Foster appeared at the doorway of the private room. He was like a suddenly exploding flash grenade, instantly capturing everyone's attention.
He stopped others' taunting without unnecessary words, and with just a casual wave of his hand, those usually arrogant club regulars immediately fell silent.
Foster gripped my chin, forcing me to look up. His gaze was cold and scrutinizing, as if appraising a commodity.
"Come with me, I'll pay your debts."
I agreed.
Because he was truly very wealthy.
The high-interest loans were paid off effortlessly by him. The intimidating debt collectors bowed and scraped before him, and when they saw me standing behind him, they respectfully addressed me for the first time: "Miss Ji."
My father and brother were also dealt with by him through unknown means. Since then, neither my alcoholic father nor my gambling-addicted brother ever appeared before me again.
In that moment, I thought I had encountered a deity.
I was like a vine finding life in desperate circumstances, clinging with all my might to Francis Foster, this great tree.
I had nothing to repay him with except my body. I satisfied all his needs, whether in daylight or darkness. He also enjoyed my service; at least for these five years, I was his most stable and obedient female companion.
He helped me re-enroll in school, allowing me to escape the cold basement and return to the bright campus.
Francis Foster put a lot of thought into "cultivating" me. He hired professional teachers to teach me high society etiquette, took me out to see the world, and introduced me to various people.
According to Foster, I needed to become someone he could "show off" in public.
Besides all that, Francis Foster had a strong possessiveness toward me, even to the point of obsession.
He wouldn't allow me to have too much contact with any other men, and wouldn't let me attend any social gatherings without his permission. He would even get angry just because I exchanged a few more words with male classmates who approached me on campus.
He was frightening when angry, with a cold face and an intimidating presence as he threw me onto the bed, then pressed down on me and bit me hard.
"Why were you talking to him today?"
I could barely breathe from his kisses, yet still had to find the breath to respond to his anger. He knew everything that happened to me at school in detail and wouldn't accept my explanations, just kept tormenting me until I admitted my mistake, until I was crying and begging for mercy.
I often suffered this kind of punishment. Despite being scared at the time, I belatedly found some illusory sweetness in his control over me.
He gets jealous over me, he doesn't allow me to talk to other men, does that mean he actually loves me?
When did my love for him begin? I'm not entirely sure myself. Perhaps it was in the daily intimacy we shared, or perhaps it was at the very beginning, when he held my chin and made me look up at him.
In five years, the seed called love has grown into a flourishing tree, its dense branches and leaves trapping me in place.
Yet tonight, it was uprooted by his own hands.
I look at the gradually whitening sky outside the window, a mocking smile appearing on my face. It turns out, what I thought was love was nothing but a transaction. And I was the most foolish commodity in this transaction.
Francis Foster is getting married, which means I can no longer continue to exist.
Day has broken.
Francis Foster left early. Without eating breakfast, without even giving me a single glance.
He left to meet Miss Stewart, to handle those never-ending "important" matters of his.
I was given the cold shoulder by him. This was his punishment for my "overstepping."
I stood on the balcony, watching his black Maybach drive out of the villa gates. My heart turned to ashes.
I should leave.
