Chapter 69.2

Chapter 69.2

And what did he do in response?

On impulse, he accepted Buchanan’s suggestion to include a photo in the press release. Then, like a clown, he struck exaggerated poses for the photographer. And right in front of Buchanan’s bewildered eyes, he stole one of the photos for himself.

At first, he had intended to write something harsher, something final—telling her to stop sending letters because he truly didn’t care if she forgot him. He was already facing the possibility of being legally entangled with Lorraine Cabot for three years. At a time when he was pouring every waking moment into protecting Lafayette-Lowell Group, exchanging letters with Miran was the only thing he did that had no clear purpose or benefit.

And yet, it took him an entire hour to write a simple message on the back of that photograph. He never spent that long even reviewing thick stacks of financial documents.

When he finally scrawled out a few lines and threw down his pen, he admitted his own contradiction. If he truly wanted Miran to forget him, all he had to do was not send the damn picture.

Realizing that a strange sense of possession over her still clung to him like a persistent shadow unsettled him. It even made him a little angry at her.

Forget me? Then why did you cry?

André refused to accept the idea that Miran could forget him. Even if they never met again, her eyes should always shine with love for him.

He knew full well how disgustingly selfish that was. But when it came to Miran, he had never been capable of rational judgment.

That day, on impulse, André stormed out of his office and personally mailed the letter with his photo at the post office. Even if you forget me, you will remember me for the rest of your life.

He looked down at Miran’s picture.

Kind, bright, beautiful.

One day, she’ll meet another man and love him with the same wholehearted devotion she once gave me.

He wasn’t oblivious to that fact.

But the thought that her letters might become less frequent, that one day they might stop altogether, stirred a chaotic storm of emotions he had never experienced before. Anger, fear, frustration, anxiety—an exhausting mix of feelings too complex to name.

So he compromised with himself. He kept her photo in his wallet but cut off the letters. If he had no way of knowing about her, then as far as he was concerned, Miran would love him forever.

Before he could change his mind, he called Higgins and ordered that all future letters from Korea be returned immediately. After that, he never received another letter from her.

It had already been about three months since then.

It was around that time.

A persistent, constricting pain settled over his chest, as if a heavy stone had been placed just above his solar plexus. At one point, he even wondered if something was wrong with his heart. He had squeezed a hospital visit into his packed schedule, but the diagnosis was clear—no abnormalities. Just a warning to watch out for stress and overwork.

André carefully tucked the photo back into his wallet.

This is just…

It was like the sedatives his mother used to take whenever she felt anxious. A harmless, insignificant habit that he could break the moment things got better.

Just like how he thought of Miran whenever he pleasured himself.

Ha…

Familiar self-loathing settled over him as he rubbed his face with both hands. When he opened his eyes, the sedan had come to a stop.

Doorman Charlie opened the backseat door. He tipped his hat in greeting, and André gave him a curt nod before stepping into the lobby.

And then, he heard it.

“Oppa! Come on, let me buy dinner, okay?”

He had lost his mind.

André shook his head violently.

Had looking at her picture in the car really made him start hallucinating her voice? Maybe he really did need to see a doctor.

Thinking that, he took a step forward—then froze in place.

Miran was standing near the concierge desk. With a man.

He shut his eyes tightly and then opened them again.

Had he finally gone insane?

The vision did not disappear.

He looked around.

No.

This was definitely the lobby of Lafayette Residence.

Why on earth is she here…? No, more importantly, who the hell is that guy—

At that moment, Miran tugged on the man’s arm, her expression playful and affectionate. The man turned toward her and ruffled her hair. In response, Miran beamed at him, her eyes shining with warmth.

Those eyes—

A rich, caramel brown, warm enough to melt.

André’s heart plummeted, weighted down like a leaden anchor sinking straight to the Earth’s core.

With a throat dry and parched, he barely managed to force out a sound.

“…Kang Miran?”