That kiss, filled with ten years of pain and despair, ended.

Julian was the first to pull away. After exposing his deepest vulnerability without reservation, immense panic and regret overwhelmed him. As if burned, he stepped back abruptly, creating distance between them, unable to even look her in the eyes.


In a hoarse, tired voice, he uttered a few words: "…Go rest in the guest room."

It wasn't a command but a plea—almost begging—a request to be left alone to lick his wounds.

Chloe moved like a soulless puppet. Her brain, overwhelmed by such subversive information, had completely shut down. She didn't argue or respond. She just mechanically turned and walked past those paintings that had documented her entire life but now seemed utterly unfamiliar, entered the guest room Julian had prepared, and closed the door.


The door separated two worlds.

Inside the guest room, Chloe leaned against the cold door and slowly slid down to the floor.


She didn't cry.

She just stared at the luxurious crystal chandelier with wide, empty eyes.

He… loves me?

Seven years?

Those paintings… are they real?

Me at eighteen, wearing a white dress… he said that was the "beginning of his sin." But he clearly told me, "Don't waste my time"… his eyes were so cold…

My wedding… he said I looked unhappy… he saw it? How could he see it? He painted it…

That night at the hotel… was that not humiliation? Not toying with me? Was that… love? That force that almost tore me apart, was that love?

He wanted me to marry Daniel… he said he was wrong…

He said that was his hell, and also his only heaven…

Hell… heaven…

Love…

Hate…

What is actually real?

Everything I've experienced, everything I've believed… ultimately, what is real?

Countless contradictory, fragmented thoughts raged like a violent blizzard in her mind. She tried to grasp any one of them, to sort through her thoughts, but failed. All she could feel was immense, boundless confusion after being completely hollowed out.

That night, she remained awake all night.

In the gallery, Julian wasn't sleeping either.

He didn't turn on the lights. He just used the never-extinguished neon lights of the city shining through the window to look at the walls covered with evidence of his obsession.

With his own hands, he had opened the Pandora's box he'd guarded for seven years.

I shouldn't have told her. I should have kept this secret buried inside me until my death.

For seven years, I pretended to be a strong "elder" she could rely on, yet in a single night, I turned myself into the most terrifying, obsessive monster in her eyes.

How does she see me now?

Does she despise me? Find me disgusting? Or… will she flee from me like escaping a plague?

This time, it might be farewell forever.

For the first time, he deeply doubted his once-prized self-control. He realized that after revealing the truth, he had lost the final and only control he had over this relationship.

All that remained was a helpless wait to be judged.

***

Dawn broke.

After a sleepless night, Chloe opened the door of the guest room. She had changed into the silk pajamas Julian had prepared for her. Her face was pale and tired as if she had a hangover, but her eyes, though red from crying, were unusually calm, as if washed by rain.

She saw Julian, who had also been awake all night, sitting on the sofa in the living room with an ashtray full of cigarette butts in front of him.

They gazed at each other from a distance, the air filled with silent, suffocating tension.

Finally, Chloe slowly walked toward him.

She didn't ask "Do you love me?" or "What will happen to us?" After experiencing a whole night of world-shattering shock and confusion, her mind had settled into a strange, almost numb calmness.

She accepted this absurd reality that she could not understand.

She accepted that her life, from beginning to end, had been lived within a grand deception orchestrated by this man.

Since she could neither resist nor understand.

Then, she would throw the question back to the one who started it all.

She stood before him and, in a calm, somewhat weary tone, asked the most direct and cruel question.

She looked at him and said softly: "So, Julian,"

Her voice paused, each word like a light yet unbearably heavy snowflake, falling on his already wounded heart.

"What should we do now?"