Chapter 6
Perhaps she sensed the man wasn’t going to let her go without an answer. At last, she spoke in a faint, fractured voice.
“…Ian… is sensitive to the sound of doors opening.”
“The sound of doors opening?”
His gaze lingered on her swollen, reddened lips. Even under such an unabashed stare, she showed no reaction.
Her eyes remained fixed on the door, drained of all emotion. Then Killian understood.
“…Ah. You were planning to slip out without your husband noticing.”
As if he’d guessed correctly, he loosened his grip on her wrist. Lucia cautiously pushed the hotel room door open.
So that was it. She had left it ajar in advance so she could quietly sneak out while her husband slept. Not because she’d been waiting for him.
The realization was faintly disappointing, but no less interesting.
‘Does she have a plan?’
If she’d gone to the trouble of leaving the door open beforehand, she clearly had somewhere she intended to go.
“Planning to run away?”
She had refused his help, but after waiting this long, Killian decided he might as well see what she intended to do.
He followed after her silent, ghostlike footsteps.
Whether it was because of the long, exhausting s*x, because she’d always been frail, or because she was suffering from something else entirely…
The woman’s gait barely resembled that of someone alive. She moved without a sound, her breathing imperceptible, her pale face utterly devoid of vitality.
Yet despite looking as though she might collapse at any moment, she never hesitated. She knew exactly where she was going.
The hotel rooftop.
Whoosh—
A bitter wind swept across them.
Only after stepping outside did winter truly make itself known. Their breath drifted white through the air as the wind shattered the silence.
‘The rooftop…’
She hadn’t gone to the hotel bar to drown her sorrows. She hadn’t hailed a taxi and fled as far away as she could.
Lighting a cigarette, Killian slowly surveyed the rooftop.
Unlike the lavish interior of the hotel, the roof was cluttered and unfinished, resembling a construction site.
‘Right… There was supposed to be a fireworks show at midnight.’
The brightly illuminated streets below stirred the memory.
The city had been lavishly decorated for the year’s end. In the distance, the giant Ferris wheel at Miracle Land glittered against the night sky, still carrying passengers.
The whole city sparkled. Only the small corner where the two of them stood remained cloaked in darkness and silence.
The woman gazed quietly at the cityscape for a moment. Then, without the slightest hesitation, she walked toward the edge of the roof.
… Come to think of it, she had stepped outside without even putting on a coat.
Secretly. Without her husband’s knowledge.
In that instant, Killian understood exactly what she intended to do. His eyes turned ice-cold.
“This ending is disappointingly dull.”
“…”
“You turned down my offer, only to settle on this?”
Closing the distance in a few long strides, Killian caught up to her. Clicking his tongue, he draped his coat over her shoulders.
The sudden warmth made her flinch. She stood there for a long moment, clutching the unfamiliar sleeves before finally speaking.
“…Am I not allowed to?”
“I don’t know what happened to you. But if that bastard treated you like trash then kill him. Problem solved.”
“…”
“I honestly don’t get it. Why do women always choose to kill themselves instead?”
Crushing out the cigarette he’d barely smoked, Killian stepped up beside Lucia.
A certain woman came to mind. A woman who had endured years of abuse from her husband before taking her own life… leaving her young son behind.
Creak… creak…
Even now, the chilling groan of the wooden ceiling from that day remained burned into his memory.
Years had passed and he’d grown into an adult. Yet he still couldn’t understand the woman who had given birth to him.
‘If there’s a problem, destroy the cause. Why throw away your own life instead? How stupid.’
A man whose first lesson about death had come from his own mother spoke of murder as casually as suggesting the weather.
“So. What’s your story?”
“…”
“Go on. They say it’s easier to confess your secrets to a stranger than to someone close.”
The same man who had just spoken so casually about death now had the smooth smile of a kindly stranger.
The whole situation was absurd. His appearance had never been part of her plans. Neither had his intervention.
Nothing about this role suited him.
And yet strangely enough, just as he’d said, he felt closer to her in this moment than the husband she’d shared a bed with only minutes ago.
For the first time, a brittle, lifeless smile touched the woman’s otherwise expressionless face.
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