Chapter 35
The wind swept through Linda’s hair, carrying it toward Ivan.
“Maybe I did love her,” Ivan said, his voice heavy with remorse. “When I first met her, she reminded me so much of you from before. But later, I realized you were nothing alike. I knew I should have let go sooner, but I just couldn’t.”
“Linda, my love for you–it was never fake. Never a lle.”
Linda exhaled silently, her voice soft as she replied, “I understand.”
The two figures on the bridge stood side by side for a long time.
Long enough for the wind to strip away the pain in Ivan’s eyes. Long enough for his shattered gaze to transform into acceptance.
He summoned the last ounce of strength from within his chest.
“Linda, you should keep going. I’ll stop here.”
Linda kept her head lowered. She turned and walked away without looking back. Each step she took
felt slow and heavy.
Her scarf had grown damp, but she stubbornly stayed silent.
One step, two steps, three steps….
Ivan watched as Linda became smaller and smaller in his view until she finally disappeared
entirely.
He closed his eyes, shutting out all his hesitation and lingering attachment.
The river wind brushed against his cheeks, carrying away the last traces of Linda’s presence–and
with it, all his doubts.
Climbing over the railing, he plunged like a wounded bird into the icy water below, his descent tracing a sorrowful arc.
Splash.
The water erupted in ripples, then quickly calmed, leaving only faint circles spreading outward.
Forsaken by First Love, I’m Back As A Billionaire Heiress
Moonlight filtered through the surface, casting a faint glow on Ivan’s sinking figure.
He watched as the light grew dimmer and more distant, surrendering himself to the pull of the cold”
depths.
As the last glimmer of light vanished, he slowly closed his eyes.
He had lost his moon and now buried himself within its light.
In the darkness, he thought he heard a voice.
A faint, foggy voice, distant and veiled.
said, “Characters in novels–they don’t have real feelings. They’re just puppets manipulated by the plot. No matter how much they love, how deep can that love really go?”
Characters. Plots. Puppets…
What did that mean?
Scenes flashed before Ivan’s eyes, accompanied by a cacophony of voices:
“Wouldn’t the male lead of a novel fall for someone else? Sure, he got his white moonlight, but what does that matter? If someone like her appeared, but younger, he’d fall for her too.”
“Isn’t it just a man’s nature to have wandering eyes, no matter how much they have? Novel male leads are no exception. He’d want both, obviously.”
“He loves the heroine, of course he does. He’s loved her for so, so long. Suddenly not loving her anymore? That’d be too abrupt. He loves her–and he can lie to her too.”
Each word overlapped with everything Ivan had experienced–with Linda, with Katherine.
