Chapter 113.2

Chapter 113.2

A twenty-four-year-old woman had walked away from him with more dignity and elegance than any noble he had ever known. It felt like a declaration: a man like you isn’t worth meeting again. Not even worth getting angry at.

She had left everything he’d given her behind in his apartment, as if none of it had ever meant anything. From beginning to end, the only thing she had wanted was a heart that belonged to each other, nothing else.

Maybe it was already too late.

Anxiety dragged him into insomnia. Every night he lay awake until dawn, then opened dry, aching eyes as another meaningless day began. Even breathing felt unbearable.

Andre looked at Miran with quiet heaviness.

He no longer needed her to smile at him.

Just having her nearby made him feel alive.

“…How did you know I filmed a movie?”

“I went to pick you up at the language academy and ran into your friend Hyunjung. She told me. That’s also how I found out you left for Korea.”

Miran winced and lowered her head. She could guess Andre must have been shocked, hearing not only that she had left without a word but also that she’d acted in a film through someone else’s mouth. But she had never imagined he’d been shaken so badly he couldn’t breathe.

She toyed with the Provence-patterned tablecloth, mumbling an excuse.

“I kept putting off telling you about the movie because you seemed so busy…”

“It’s fine.”

The fact that she’d filmed Nam Seunghyeok’s movie had burned a pitch-black scar into one corner of his heart. But that first wave of betrayal had long since faded.

Whenever he missed her, he replayed the videotape dozens of times. If not for that, things would have been far harder to endure. And the investment had become an excuse to see her again.

“By the way… how do you know the producer?”

The strange conversation they’d had in the elevator that morning flashed through her mind.

No way.

Miran snapped her head toward him. His green eyes fixed on her with a hungry light, as if he wanted to sink his teeth into her neck and devour her instead of eating dinner.

She flinched, and he lowered his gaze halfway, dimming that light. But she had already seen the familiar desire flickering in those boiling green irises. Her lower belly tightened in reflex.

Rigid and tense, Miran bit her bottom lip and awkwardly turned her gaze back to the freesias. The sound of her swallowing felt impossibly loud.

“So… is Andre the one who invested in Flushing Video?”

She flicked a sidelong glance at him. Instead of answering, Andre lifted one shoulder in a shrug.

That explained it.

Hyunsu had assumed they were still a couple. Otherwise there would be no reason for Andre to put money into a short film that would almost certainly never return its budget.

Now she understood the way Hyunsu had shouted “Surprise” and pushed her into this room, as if helping lovers in a long-distance relationship pull off some special event.

“Acting. Are you going to start again?”

At Andre’s question, Miran shook her head firmly.

“No. Flushing Video is the last one. Actually… I passed the document screening for a flight attendant position, and I have my first interview next week. I really hope it goes well.”

Andre hesitated for a moment, then quietly added,

“There are plenty of airlines in the United States too.”

Miran gave a bittersweet smile.

“I know. But foreign airlines only hire people who speak good English. And you know my English skills better than anyone. Besides, I have a reason I need to stay in Korea.”

Andre parted his lips with a heavy expression, but Miran spoke first.

“My mom is really sick.”

His brows drew together sharply.

“Your mother who passed away is sick?”

She let out a soft sigh.

“No. It’s a long story, but… Juran unni, my older sister…”

“I know. The one who came to the rooftop room.”

Remembering that day made Miran’s cheeks warm. She avoided his eyes.

“Yes. That unni is actually my mom. She was too young when I was born and wasn’t married, so my grandparents adopted me. That’s why she became my sister, not my mother.”

She delivered a difficult truth briefly and calmly, her expression composed. Someone with such clear, decisive strength had been able to cut him off completely and walk away.

The irony was that only after she left did he truly learn who she was. It made him even more frantic. He almost wished she had been more dependent, less self-sufficient.

Andre steadied his expression and asked carefully,

“What’s wrong with her?”

“…Stomach cancer. She’s having surgery soon. I’m her only guardian, so I can’t go anywhere now. No, I won’t go anywhere. There isn’t anyone in this world more important than my mom.”

Her steady voice drove a sharp blade straight into Andre’s heart.
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