The End of a Fake Marriage

“…That’s ridiculous.”

Renee blinked while looking at Alexander and burst into laughter.

“Isn’t it weirder that you wouldn’t know unless I told you? I thought you’d figure it out. I never imagined you’d really mistake me for a boy.”

“And why wouldn’t I? Look at yourself, Renee. You always dress like that. How was I supposed to know?”

Renee pouts and glares at Alexander’s question.

“Even if you were wearing the prettiest dress and full makeup, I’d know you were a boy right away.”

“That’s obvious. My build is completely different.”

“But your face is really pretty. Some people might mistake you for a girl.”

“And what, you’re saying I didn’t recognize you because you’re not as pretty? This isn’t about looks. Stop assuming people will just know things without you saying them. There aren’t as many ‘givens’ in this world as you think, Renee.”

At Alexander’s words, Renee paused for a moment and stared intently at him.

Then, she quickly turned her head to look at the ground, scribbling circles in the sand with her finger as she muttered under her breath.

“…Seriously. You were the one who didn’t figure it out, but all these excuses…”

Her golden hair, loosely tied back, spilled a few strands down her neck, which had turned faintly red.

Alexander, who had been quietly watching her as if engraving the quietly spreading pink emotion into his eyes, smiled and muttered.

“It’s because it’s ridiculous. It’s so absurd that I’m speechless.”

“Fine, next time I’ll make sure to say it—‘I’m a girl, don’t mistake me.’”

Hugging her knees together, Renee buried her face between her legs and grumbled.

Fifteen years old.

The memory of that time melted like sugar in the white foam of the waves.

***

Alexander saw a crimson light flash in the darkness.

But only for a moment, and the light soon disappeared.

Drifting as if caught in black waves, Alexander thought to himself:

‘…Is this how I die?’

And with that thought, his tense heart grew calm. It felt like the fulfillment of a long-held wish was finally within reach, filling him with a strange sense of joy.

At that moment, a voice as sticky as tar grabbed his throat and asked.

‘…Are you going there again, Alexander?’

Dark memories flooded his mind.

It was the morning of the day he was leaving for his last vacation, in the summer when he turned 16.

He was supposed to take the train the next morning and should have gone to bed early, but the thought of the upcoming vacation made it hard for him to fall asleep.

He tossed and turned in bed, thinking about the present he had packed in his trunk and the happy face he would receive, before getting up early in the morning.

‘I’ll sleep on the train,’ he thought.

As Alexander grabbed his trunk and headed down the stairs, Blair Chambler, his mother, called after him.

“Why not spend your vacation here this year? The festival will begin in a few days…”

‘Why is Mother saying this?’

Alexander looked up at Blair with a stiff expression. She stood on the stairs above him, her frame thinner by the day. Despite her frailty, she smiled down at him. But the smile, forced and strained, felt artificial and deeply unfamiliar.

“I’ll visit next time. This year, I’ll spend it there. I’ve already made plans.”
“What about inviting her here instead?”

‘How did she know about Rene?’

Alexander must have frowned without realizing it. His mother looked at him anxiously.

She had always been a fragile person.

She was the third of four siblings, and he was always said to be incapable of love. She fell passionately in love with her father and had Alexander, and impulsively married her, but her marriage was never smooth.

After two years of marriage, her father grew tired of her mother, and her mother was always lonely.

They fought almost every day, and Alexander was tired of the sound of their arguments.

The sparks of their fights often flew towards Alexander. Because he had a strong resemblance to his mother, except for his blue eyes, his father would flinch whenever he saw Alexander. Sometimes, he would unleash his anger under the guise of discipline for strange reasons.

His mother was the same. Looking at Alexander’s blue eyes, she would think of her father, and sometimes she would cry and complain to him or throw things at him, saying it was his fault.

But his mother was better than his father. After venting her anger like that, she would always call him the next day and apologize.

“I’m sorry. It’s my fault for being so weak and hurting you. I wasn’t always like this…”

The sight of her rubbing her pale cheeks with her eyes stained with guilt.

“I wish I had been a little stronger. You shouldn’t be like me. Yes, if possible, I wish you were like your grandfather. He’s a wonderful person.”

Her thin hand would pat his shoulder, an attempt at maintaining composure.

“But this is who I am. This is me. Do you hate me too? Hmm? Even you, my own flesh and blood—do you hate me as well?”

And then there was that pitiful image of her, breaking down in tears, so desperate for love that she didn’t know what to do with herself.

Alexander was disgusted by how she was projecting his father onto him. He also thought that it was pathetic for her to crave the love of such a horrible human being.

However, he didn’t hate his mother enough to express it.

No, actually, he loved her. But the moment he expressed that love, he felt like he wouldn’t be able to escape from her. Because he thought that her obsession would be directed towards him.

So he needed a place to flee, a sanctuary to breathe.

Every summer, that place was Whitehall.

It was that kind of place for him. A place where he could cast everything off, a place where there was someone who would just see him as Alexander. A warm and bright place.

‘…A place where I can breathe freely.’

“Next year. I’ll invite her next year.”

Shaking off his mother’s grasp, he started to leave but hesitated, turning back.
Perhaps she, too, needed a place like that—a sanctuary.

The thought struck him unexpectedly.

Summoning his courage, Alexander spoke to his mother:

“…Next year, let’s go there together, Mother. I think you’ll like it.”

Blair, who was seeing Alexander off for his first vacation, looked down at him for a while before nodding, smiling as if she was crying.

“Let’s do that. Thank you. Yes, let’s go together next year, Alexander.”

…And yet.

She said we would do that.
She agreed, said we’d go together.
And yet!

“…Mother! Mother!!”

“How could you hang yourself like that?”

“If you hated me, you could have just hit me… Hit me, clawed at me, trampled me—it wouldn’t have mattered. Even if my legs broke or my ribs were crushed, it would have been better than you dying.”

“You are so cruel. I was just a child, how could you do this to me? I hate you. I despise you. I loathe you!”

…And yet, and yet, I’m sorry.
I’m sorry, Mother. I’m so sorry.
If you had given me just one more chance, I would have held your hand…

“It’s all your fault!”

It was true. Perhaps it really was all my fault.
That Mother died.
That the nanny, thinking I was trapped in the attic, ran in to save me and lost her life.
That her son, Payson, my coachman, also died.

“It was all because of me.”
‘If you hadn’t given birth to me, if I hadn’t been born, if I hadn’t left that day…’

So maybe it’s better if I die.

But I hate suicide. I’m the grandson of the proud Gunther Chambler. The grandson of a hero. My grandfather would be sad. I won’t take my own life like my mother did. I would never choose that path.

But…
But if I ever get a chance to die—
Then I won’t hesitate.
Not like now.

As he reached that conclusion, his consciousness grew darker and darker.

And then—

Meow—

‘Renee’s cat…’

He felt the rough texture of a tiny tongue licking his cheek. The vivid sensation made Alexander shudder suddenly.

‘Renee.’

His fading consciousness slowly began to rise.

Rene Hazelin of Whitehall.
My little wave. Orange. Isaac. The dirt-streaked tomboy.
And the only truly good memory I have.

‘If I die, you’ll grieve for me, won’t you?’

No matter how much nonsense I’ve spouted, no matter how many times I’ve hurt you, you’ll cry for me. You’re that kind of person.

Because you are the kind of person who would shed tears without hesitation for a dirty pig, for a pitiful cat, and for children who have lost their parents in war and wander the streets.

So, if I can save these little cats you cherish and die, maybe that’s not so bad.

At least, I could become a small hero for your cats.

Better than dying as just the villain who used and hurt you.

“Wake up, Alexander, please wake up.”

Renee’s voice came from a faraway place. Her earnest voice, full of tears, whispered his name incessantly. It sounded so sweet that his ears felt like they were melting.

‘…If I die like this, you’ll never forget me.’

The thought that suddenly occurred to him pierced his brain. Somehow, it seemed okay to him.

I’d become an unerasable scar in a corner of your heart, following you for the rest of your life.

‘…Just like my mother did with me.’

A sudden chill ran down his spine.

‘Would I leave Renee with the same wound I carry? The same pain I endured?’
‘You crazy bastard. You moronic bastard. You pathetic fool!’

No. That can’t happen. Open your eyes, Alexander. Open your eyes! This isn’t how it ends.
You must shine. Brilliantly, fragrantly, joyously.
You can’t let a dark, twisted wretch like me extinguish your light.
Get up. Open your eyes. They’re calling for you.

Then the red light he had seen earlier flashed again.

‘What was that?’ As he looked at it carefully, it looked very familiar. He had definitely seen that red jewel somewhere.

‘Yes, like the kind of gem set in a pendant…’

Suddenly, the pitch-black void shattered like glass, pulling him somewhere beyond the darkness.

As the flickering crimson light receded into the distance, Alexander slowly lifted his heavy eyelids.