...
Faye Owen strained to keep her voice calm, yet was unable to conceal the tremor deep in her tone, as if a palpitation had seeped through from the depths of her soul.
She lifted her neck slightly, valiantly trying to appear more proud.
Yves King collapsed onto the sofa with a sense of defeat, fiercely smoking cigarettes, a corner of his mouth curling into an indescribable bitter smile. He didn't dare to meet Faye Owen's gaze, for he feared—he feared beneath that seemingly tough exterior, there lay a heart, soft and fragile.
He was afraid to see, the sorrow that came from her heart.
"Hmm," came a barely audible reply after a suffocating silence.
Hmm, hmm.
Yves King's voice echoed persistently in her mind, rising and falling like the tide, ceaseless. Then came another silence that felt as if the world was about to collapse.
