Chapter 42
A Place That Doesn’t Exist in This World

Layla’s eyes trembled as she took in Kyle’s vacant gaze, his pallid face, his disheveled hair and clothes.

“Don’t do this. Kyle, we’re already…”

“Anywhere. Let’s go anywhere. Just the two of us. To a place where we can be happy together. That’s all that matters.”

Kyle muttered like a man deaf to reason, pulling Layla with blind insistence. She resisted with all her strength, but he did not budge, striding forward with her in tow.

“Mr. Remmer! Mr. Remmer! Look over there! Layla’s being dragged off!”

One of the gardeners, happening upon the scene, shouted at the top of his lungs. Bill’s face flushed crimson when he followed the man’s pointing finger.

Throwing aside his pruning shears, he bolted after Kyle. The startled workers rushed after him.

“Kyle Etman! Let go of her this instant!”

Bill’s roar cracked like thunder, his fury rising to the very crown of his head.

Before Layla could even try to intervene, Bill’s fist slammed toward Kyle’s face. Stumbling back, Kyle still refused to release Layla’s wrist, and in the end dragged her down with him into the rosebeds.

“Layla!”

Bill’s cry tore the air as he rushed forward to help her up. But her cheek and hand were already scored with deep scratches from the rose thorns.

At last, clarity began to seep back into Kyle’s haunted eyes. And when his vision focused—on Layla’s face streaked with blood—his complexion turned deathly pale.

“L-Layla! Are you all right? You’re bleeding…”

“I’m fine.”

Layla calmly brushed away the hand he lifted to her face.

“You’re the one hurt far worse.”

“No… I…”

Only then did Kyle glance at his own shirt and hands, seeping blood. Sharp pain pulsed from his cheek and neck, but he hardly noticed.

“I’m all right, Uncle,” Layla quickly said, stopping Bill before he could lunge again.

“Kyle.”

Her eyes, swelling with unshed tears, fixed on him.

“There is no such place.”

The corners of her lips trembled even as she smiled. Her eyes and flushed cheeks shone with heat, but her voice was steady.

“A place where only we can be happy—Kyle, that place doesn’t exist in this world.”

“Layla…”

“When you do this, it hurts me too much. I can’t bear it.”

“Layla, please.”

“So live well. I’ll live well too.”

“How can I without you?”

“Go to university, just as planned. Study hard, live in good health, and become a fine doctor.”

Even facing his grief-stricken face, Layla smiled through tears.

“Kyle. My kind friend, Kyle Etman. That’s the person I want to see you become.”

Now Kyle was crying too. He clenched his jaw, swallowing sobs, his reddened eyes locked on hers.

“If you live well, I’ll live well too. And when enough time has passed, maybe someday we’ll smile and greet each other again.”

“…I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Layla.”

The sobs he could no longer contain broke loose.

“It’s all my fault. Because of me, you…”

He collapsed onto the flowerbed like a man shattered, shards of sunlight scattering over him like broken glass. Layla shook her head gently and knelt before him.

“No. Don’t say that, Kyle. I could never hate you. How could I?”

“Layla…”

“So live well. You will, won’t you?”

Gasping like a man being strangled, Kyle suddenly pulled her into a fierce embrace. Her white blouse darkened as his blood and tears soaked into the fabric.

Bill let out another groan and turned away, unable to watch. The workers, standing a few paces off, did the same.

Bill lifted his burning eyes to the blazing sun. Never had he wished so desperately for this cruel summer to end.

Kyle Etman left for the capital earlier than planned. His excuse was the many preparations required for university, but no one believed it.

On the morning of his departure, Layla woke earlier than usual.

Coo, coo, coo.

Turning toward the sound from the window, she found Phoebe perched there.

Sliding her glasses onto her nose, Layla opened the window. A letter was tied to the pigeon’s leg. Phoebe had been trained to fly between Layla’s and Kyle’s rooms. She didn’t need to check to know whose hand had written it.

Still, she hesitated for a long while before untying it.

Layla, I leave for the capital today. To the place I should have gone with you. But I go alone, shamefully, like a coward.

I won’t pretend this is what’s best for us. That would be a lie. The truth is I’m running away. Running from this broken reality, leaving you behind. You told me it was all right, and I clung to that—coward that I am.

I’m sorry. I know these words cannot heal your wounds, but I have to say them. I’m sorry for my mother’s cruelty, and for my own weakness in not protecting you. I’m sorry for thinking too lightly, for pushing forward so recklessly, for hurting you. Only now do I see it clearly.

But Layla, I’ll come back. Not too late—I promise I’ll come back to you.

You may be right. Perhaps there is no place in this world where only we can be happy. But if none exists, then I’ll create one. And when I do, I’ll come for you.

Until then, as you asked, I’ll live well. So please, live well too.

Farewell, my beloved Layla.

The neat lines of Kyle’s handwriting filled the page. Layla read it slowly, strands of tousled gold hair brushing her tear-stained cheeks in the morning breeze.

At last she turned from the window. She tucked the letter deep into her desk drawer and hurried to begin her day.

It was a day crammed full. She scrubbed the house spotless, cooked a feast. After Bill returned to work following lunch, Arvis servants stopped by the cottage.

“Are you all right, Layla?”

Madam Mona, holding out a basket heavy with cookies and cakes, asked with concern.

“Yes.”

Layla smiled as she accepted it.

“Thank you. Please, come in for tea.”

“No, no. What tea?”

Madam Mona waved it off, and the maids who had followed her nodded along.

“As long as you’re all right, that’s what matters.”

“Exactly. First loves never work out anyway. You’ll find a man far better than Kyle—”

“Oh my, look at the time! We’d better hurry back. The mistress’s teatime must be prepared.”

Madam Mona cut off the maids’ chatter with a sharp glance.

After seeing them off, Layla carried the basket into the kitchen. As she unpacked the sweets, her hands stilled. Among them was a cookie baked with peach jam. Kyle’s favorite.

She stared blankly at the seat opposite her at the table—the place where Kyle always sat. Never again would the three of them share this table. Never again the food, the light, the noisy laughter. Only emptiness where the memories sank and faded.

Blinking slowly, Layla put the basket away and left the cottage. She took her old satchel and hat and walked toward the forest path.

Fennel. Baby’s breath. Buddleia.

She murmured the names of flowers as she walked.

Bullfinch. Swallowtail. Meadow grasshopper.

Birds and insects, their names flowing between the rattling of tools in her bag.

Onward, onward—until she stopped before the great tree on the banks of the Schulte River. She climbed into its embrace and crouched between trunk and bough. From there, she gazed blankly down at the river’s shimmering blue current.

The water’s glimmer hurt her eyes.

“It’s been taken care of, as you instructed.”

Hessen closed the short call and turned. Matthias, still staring through the wide window at the river, inclined his head.

“The message should reach him by telegram before the day is out.”

With that, Hessen completed his report and smoothly shifted to the next matter—the upcoming banquet, the guest list, the Brandts’ visit, the need for more staff. Routine words, met with Matthias’s brief replies.

“At your leave then.”

Hessen departed the villa.

Left alone, Matthias descended the stairs to the boathouse level. The villa stood over the river, its ground floor half open to the water. Boats rocked gently, waiting, ready to slip across at a loosened rope.

Matthias stripped and dove straight into the river. Passing beneath the arch of the boathouse, dazzling sunlight poured over his bare skin.

He swam easily, letting the current guide him. His movements were so fluid he seemed a part of the river itself.

Longing always grows sharper for what cannot be had. Once attained, it often proves hollow and trivial. Layla would be no different.

Catching his breath, Matthias accepted it. How laughable, to be swayed by a fleeting desire. Yet he welcomed the urge to claim her. And now, he could. The boy who had failed to keep his pretty first love was gone, and Layla remained. Everything in his world was restored to its rightful place. Perfect order.

As the sun began to sink, Matthias turned back toward the villa. His eyes narrowed when he glimpsed a familiar tree on the riverbank. There, almost absurdly, sat the girl herself.

Layla.

Her name stirred the water as he breathed it.