Cry about it

You hide your face in your hands, full of despair.

The white shirt you wear is completely drenched.
It sticks to your body, revealing a black lace bra and smooth, slightly exercised tummy.

Shedding tears, you notice a tall man with an umbrella coming up to you.
Elegant, middle-aged, he looks at you with concern.

"I saw how they treated you, bloody bastards. Can I help you somehow, young lady?" - he asked calmly.
You shake your head, staring blankly at his shoes.

"At least accept my umbrella, if there is nothing else I can do. Otherwise you will catch a cold."
You look at him with both surprise and gratitude.
"Tha - thank you" - you whisper softly.

There is a moment of awkward silence. The man reaches into the pocket of his tailcoat, searching its contents.
After a while, he takes out a crumpled business card and hands it to you.

"If you ever visit the Flower District, please come to my office. I'll be more than happy to offer my help."

The business card reads: General Office of the Ethics Committee.

"See you soon, young lady."

The gentleman walks away briskly.

You feel a little bit better.