15. Good Night
2023.11.15.
Contrary to her desire to keep as much distance from him as possible, she found herself cornered. Not a single step backward was possible.
Behind her, the door was blocked; in front of her, a man blocked that very door.
A small decision solidified in her mind. She didn’t want to use this weakness, but there was no choice.
Helena slowly reached out her hand. She carefully pushed aside the silver strands of Ian’s hair that had fallen over his forehead and placed her hand on the exposed cheek.
He did not brush her hand away. Gaining a little more courage, Helena, just as he had, ran her thumb over his cold skin.
After brushing his cheek a few times, he slowly closed and opened his eyes. Their gazes met at close range.
How long had it been since she had seen herself reflected in someone else’s eyes?
“Do you always look at people like this, or is it just your eyes?”
“…What do you mean?”
Helena let her hand slide down to the back of his neck. The muscles beneath her palm, firm and lean, twitched slightly.
Ignoring the subtle shiver, she pulled him closer. With just a little force, he was easily drawn toward her.
Tilting her head, Helena asked,
“Do you know me?”
Then, in a whisper, she added,
“I don’t know you.”
At that moment, the breath that had warmed her cheek vanished. Ian held his breath for a moment.
Once again, cracks appeared in his face—the expression carrying emotions she had turned away from countless times.
This time, instead of avoiding him, Helena drew him even closer. He looked slightly dazed, as if caught off guard.
‘He doesn’t look like the kind of man who would be flustered by a simple touch like this. Is this an act too?’
Regardless, this was her only chance.
Helena raised her knee with all her strength, intending to use force if necessary to leave this place.
“You caught me off guard. I shouldn’t have forgotten that you still charm people just as effortlessly as ever.”
Her knee, lifted with momentum, halted just short of his chin.
“Let go of this.”
“Your stubbornness hasn’t changed. I should have brought a trap for catching cats.”
“I said let go.”
“You know that won’t work, don’t you?”
Ian, not touching the door, pressed firmly on the upper part of her knee.
And as if that weren’t enough, he slid his thick thigh between hers, controlling all movement. Their bodies pressed closer.
“A storm is coming soon. All the other inns have already closed their doors.”
His slow voice brushed her ear. Helena struggled with all her strength, but she couldn’t escape his hold.
Even when pushing with all her might, his solid chest did not budge an inch. It felt like facing a massive rock rather than a man.
It was hard to believe this was the same man who had been drawn so easily by her touch just moments ago.
In contrast, Ian remained calm despite all of Helena’s efforts. Naturally, he brushed her forehead with his hand, his expression growing even sterner.
“You still haven’t cooled down. If you go out like this, you’ll collapse again.”
Helena scoffed inwardly.
What use was pretending to worry? It only meant she had to do what he said. Slowly, irritation she had tried to suppress began to rise.
She hated being completely read, from start to finish. She was no stray cat to be tamed.
Her only defense, even if flimsy, was to put up a sharp attitude.
“Good. I can continue what someone prevented me from finishing earlier.”
Helena glared at him as fiercely as she could. He was constantly saying words that made her want to flinch, but even saints must have limits.
Even feeling this pathetic herself, it was still insufficient to stop him. Ian penetrated her defenses with ease.
“Too bad. Someone will still stop me from finishing what I couldn’t do earlier.”
Ian stepped back slightly.
Helena briefly relaxed at the new space, only to hear something crack and twist below.
When Ian removed his right hand, a mangled golden object was revealed. It had been a doorknob that should have remained intact.
A chill ran down Helena’s spine. Something was seriously wrong. She felt as if she had stepped into a quagmire from which there was no return.
“Now we’re both trapped. There’s no way out, so we’d better try to sleep.”
The person who trapped them spoke.
Helena opened her mouth to protest, but a large hand gripped her waist. Like a sack of potatoes, he lifted her onto his shoulders and approached the bed.
Helena screamed for him to put her down and pounded his back, but it was her own fist that hurt. Ian ignored her entirely and tossed her onto the bed.
“Ugh!”
The impact left Helena dazed for a moment. In the meantime, Ian even took the care to pull a blanket over her.
“What are you trying to do?”
Helena immediately sat up, furious.
He ignored her shouts as if it were the most natural thing and collapsed onto the floor, saying nothing.
Helena stared into the darkness. The shadows of the furniture made it hard to read his expression.
Suddenly, rain began to pour outside, filling the space with its steady rhythm.
The occasional gust made the window frame creak. Silence followed for a while.
With no choice, Helena burrowed under the blanket, curling up and waiting for the sharp thunderclaps to pass.
A moment later, the floorboards creaked. He had turned his back to lie down.
Helena turned to face the window and lay on her side. Their backs were to each other as they closed their eyes.
In the humid room, Ian quietly marked the end of the day.
“Good night.”
Click. Click.
Natasha sat on the bed, opening and closing a silver dagger repeatedly. The surface, embossed with skulls and grim reapers, gleamed softly in the moonlight.
It was a weapon too cruel to be held delicately in her fingers, intended for even more merciless purposes, yet Natasha received it gladly.
A gift from someone she loved—how could a woman in love refuse it?
Since then, whenever she had a worry, she would touch the dagger for reassurance.
‘This is new for me.’
Yet even after nearly an hour of rubbing the dagger until her fingertips reddened, the worry would not fade.
Natasha loosened her lips, flicking her thumb. The blade, pressed partly upward, slid back into the sheath.
The click echoed unusually loudly in the empty space without Eugene.
It had been fifteen days since he last sought her.
‘The effect can’t have worn off already.’
Natasha scratched her chin with the blunt end of the dagger, lost in thought.
‘Has someone provoked him?’
Or perhaps Helena’s absence had some influence. Even in this state, they had been a couple for five years.
Whether love or hatred, emotions accumulated over years could not simply be erased.
‘That would be destruction. That woman… chose it herself.’
Drawing an image of Helena, perhaps broken by now, Natasha steeled herself.
Even if Eugene had a trace of lingering attachment, she must not act rashly.
A fire once ignited would not easily die out. Her role was to continue playing the obedient, beautiful doll.
Only one concern remained…
‘Given her personality, she should have lasted several more years.’
Helena’s surrender had been surprisingly swift. Compared to the period Natasha had been working to captivate Eugene, Helena seemed to have folded her hand early.
‘Or is she so clear-headed she knew it was futile?’
Impossible.
At least in Natasha’s understanding, Helena was persistently stubborn and exceptional. She would not give up without a fight.
‘Anyway, better late than never. I should move soon and get the key—it’ll give me peace of mind.’
Natasha set the dagger down on the bedside table. Raising her head, she saw the full moon glowing through the window.
Fixing her gaze on the radiant light, she whispered as if making a wish,
“Welcome, Grand Duke. We have much to do.”
The light was blinding. Helena fumbled for something to shield her eyes, then recalled last night.
‘That man…’
Slowly, she raised herself against the headboard and looked down. He lay on the floor in the same position as before sleeping.
She turned her head again. Sunlight poured through the folded curtain.
‘…He really didn’t die.’
The weather was so clear it seemed as if last night’s storm had been a dream. Helena left the bed and opened the window.
The smell of freshly baked bread reached her first. Then she heard the wheels of a cart carrying dried fruit.
People were bustling through the streets, filling them gradually. Life’s presence was everywhere.
Everything felt strange. Things that should have ended yesterday had not.
Today had inevitably arrived. Somehow, she was alive. It felt like peeking at the forbidden epilogue of a story that had already concluded.
Even breathing felt foreign. The post-storm air was refreshingly pure.
Helena leaned on the windowsill, inhaling deeply.
The warm yellow sunlight lingered in her vision, and a gentle breeze teased her hair and face.
The ordinary clamor of ordinary lives played like background music.
‘What must it feel like for people to wake up each morning?’
What kind of mood was necessary to live each day?
How could anyone endure a week, a month, a year, a lifetime so ordinarily?
‘I still don’t know.’
Her thoughts scattered with a gust of cool air. Autumn was just beginning, and the wind was crisp.
As she opened her eyes, deciding to close the window, she sensed someone behind her.
“Even on the second floor, I doubt you’d survive jumping down.”
His voice was slightly hoarse, as if he had just woken.
Yet that dryness and drowsiness did nothing to mask the warning in his tone.
Helena still faced away. Soon, two footsteps approached her.
