Chapter 104

Adrian wondered if he was dreaming.

Carl Lindbergh, sitting quietly amidst flickering candles and scattered rose petals, was a breathtaking sight.

“You’re here?”

Carl Lindbergh’s voice trembled slightly, his long eyelashes casting shadows on his cheeks.

“Yes.”

Adrian strode towards him. He always felt this urge, this need to touch Carl, to hold him close, to be as near as physically possible.

He’d always believed that lust dulled the senses, made one vulnerable. But now, feeling Carl’s skin against his, their bodies intertwined, he welcomed the feeling, the surrender.

“I have something to tell you.”

Carl gently pushed against his chest, stopping Adrian’s attempt to kiss him.

The slight rejection, though not forceful, sent a chill through Adrian’s heart.

“Is it a story so long that you can’t even spare a moment for a kiss?”

Adrian’s tone was sharp, his words laced with a hint of annoyance, and Carl Lindbergh smiled.

He was smiling? Why?

The smile, coupled with the slight distance Carl had placed between them, darkened Adrian’s mood.

If Carl Lindbergh hadn’t added those next words, Adrian might have grabbed his chin and kissed him forcefully.

“No, it’s just… my heart is racing.”

Adrian, relieved he hadn’t given in to his impulse, took Carl Lindbergh’s hand instead.

“Is this… permissible? While you tell your story?”

Carl nodded silently, and Adrian watched as Carl’s hair shifted with the movement.

His scent, unusually potent tonight, made Adrian’s head spin.

What was so important that it required such a serious tone, such a dramatic setup?

“Adrian, I have something… important to tell you. Something… difficult to believe. And if, after you hear it, you still want to kiss me… then you can.”

Carl Lindbergh was taking a huge gamble.

If Adrian refused to kiss him, their relationship might be over.

If only he were a god, able to read Adrian’s thoughts and feelings.

He pushed the useless thought aside, licking his dry lips.

“There was a man… who was loved, briefly, then abandoned. He lived… solely for his younger sister.”

He paused, took a deep breath, then continued, his voice steady. Adrian realized this was the story of Carl Lindbergh’s soul.

“He lived with relatives, believing that if his sister had someone to care for her, she would be happy. While he himself… wandered. His sister needed him, but he… he was afraid, he wanted to escape…”

This was Carl Lindbergh’s, or rather, Jeon Woo-young’s, hidden truth.

He’d found no solace in his attempts to distance himself, believing he was a burden to his sister.

“He loved her, but she was also… a weight on his shoulders. And by the time he realized it… she was already… scarred.”

Adrian’s heart ached, seeing the pain in Carl’s eyes as he spoke, reopening old wounds.

He wanted to hold him, to reassure him, but he knew this wasn’t the time.

Carl pulled his legs up onto the sofa, hugging his knees. He looked small and vulnerable, like a baby bird huddled in its nest.

“He wanted to die, but he couldn’t. He was disappointed in himself, for always running away, but he couldn’t show it. He didn’t want his sister to blame herself.”

Abandoned, alone, unsure whether to hold on or let go of his sister, he’d drifted aimlessly, until he finally understood what he truly wanted.

“He did everything for her, for his sister. He worked tirelessly, gave up his own dreams, his own desires… He sacrificed everything for her, telling himself it was for her own good.”

It sounded insane now, but back then…

Jeon Jae-young had been his reason for living, his faith.

“He had no reason to live without her. And… God must have known. He took her away, and then… he took him too.”

Adrian tightened his grip on Carl’s hand, his own breath catching in his throat as Carl’s words, though referring to another, echoed his own pain.

He could never compete with the dead.

He knew he could never replace Carl Lindbergh’s sister, could never be his first priority.

A burning rage, a searing jealousy, consumed him, directed at someone who no longer existed. What could he do? How could he claim this man, fully and completely?

If only his sister were still alive…

Carl Lindbergh looked up at him, his eyes searching.

“That man… is me. Carl Lindbergh. And… Jeon Woo-young, from another world.”

Adrian didn’t feign surprise.

He simply said, “I see.”

“You’re not… surprised?”

Carl Lindbergh was more surprised by his reaction than Adrian had been by his confession.

“I suspected something. I thought… you might not be the real Carl Lindbergh.”

“Really?”

Carl was impressed. Adrian was indeed a formidable opponent.

“Do you… believe me? Or do you think I’m… crazy?”

Adrian didn’t mention the times Carl, drunk and unguarded, had spoken of another world.

He didn’t want Carl to censor himself, to build walls around his true self. He wanted him to be open, to be vulnerable, to make mistakes, if necessary.

“I believe you.”

Who else would believe him if Adrian didn’t? He spoke sincerely, his gaze unwavering.

Carl Lindbergh smiled faintly. He was indeed a remarkable man.

Adrian didn’t press for details, didn’t dismiss his story as absurd. He simply watched him, his expression unreadable, his gaze intense.

It was as if he was searching for the original Carl Lindbergh within him.

Carl, suddenly self-conscious, averted his gaze, but Adrian gently tilted his chin up, forcing him to meet his eyes.

“Tell me more. I want to hear it.”

“So… I thought I was dead. But then I woke up… in this body, in Lindbergh Castle. Marco was crying, saying the prince was dead.”

This was the story of the current Carl Lindbergh.

His confusion at seeing Marco crying, his initial expectation of a luxurious life as a prince, which had been quickly shattered.

“I knew about you, Adrian, because…”

Carl Lindbergh swallowed nervously, his anxiety evident.

Adrian also felt a flicker of nervousness.

“…you were the protagonist of my sister’s favorite novel.”

“Huh.”

Adrian was genuinely surprised. He hadn’t anticipated that.

“So, in your world… this world is… fictional?”

Carl Lindbergh, biting his lip, nodded at Adrian’s carefully neutral tone.

“And I’m… a fictional character?”

“Yes.”

“I see.”

Adrian’s chest rose and fell, his breathing heavy, the buttons of his shirt straining against the fabric.

“I know how… unbelievable this must sound. But it’s… my reality.”

Carl’s quiet resignation, his anticipation of judgment, irked Adrian.

Fictional or not, Carl Lindbergh was here, real and alive, while the Jeon Woo-young of his previous world was gone.

Adrian gently lifted Carl and placed him on his lap.

Carl, nestled in his arms, grumbled internally, ‘Must be nice to be so strong,’ then instinctively wrapped his arms around Adrian’s neck.

Old habits die hard. It felt… right, as if this was where he belonged.

Adrian, resting his chin on Carl’s shoulder, murmured, “But why did you only know about me? Why not the rest of the story? Wasn’t my love for Carl Lindbergh… written in that book?”

Carl had tried to push him towards Belfry. Adrian couldn’t understand why.

If there was a novel, it should have been a love story between Adrian Heineken and Carl Lindbergh. Why had Carl, in the beginning, tried to set him up with his sister, and then with Belfry?

Unless…

‘Carl Lindbergh didn’t want to be with Adrian Heineken.’

The thought made Adrian’s jaw clench.

And then, as if to confirm his suspicion, Carl Lindbergh uttered the most infuriating words.

“Don’t be absurd. Carl Lindbergh was supposed to die by your hand!”

Adrian, cutting him off mid-sentence, bit down on Carl’s lip. He ignored Carl’s yelp, deepening the kiss, his movements rough, almost punishing.

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ his rational mind protested.

Perhaps, if that arrogant ten-year-old Carl Lindbergh had grown up, he might have killed him eventually.

But now… even this small act of revenge felt… wrong. He cared for Carl too much.

The thought of Carl uttering the words ‘Adrian killed me’ was unbearable.

Did Carl still see him as a fictional character?

As someone capable of taking his life?

Adrian’s sorrow, his confusion, translated into a fierce, almost violent kiss.

Carl, momentarily struggling against him, then reached up and gently caressed his cheek.

‘He’s sad. But I’m fine.’

He’d never felt so content in Adrian’s embrace.

Adrian, his lips and tongue exploring every angle, every curve, suddenly pulled away, his eyes blazing.

“I don’t want to hear that. You are Carl Lindbergh. Mine. My world.”

His one and only.

Adrian’s heart ached. Carl Lindbergh had come to him, knowing that Adrian was supposed to kill him.

Carl sighed softly, cupping Adrian’s face in his hands.

“That was the novel. I know this… us… is real.”

Adrian, wanting him to just shut up and kiss him, glared at him, but Carl stubbornly held his gaze.

“Anyway, what I really wanted to say is this, Adrian Heineken.”

“What?”

Adrian held him tighter, nuzzling his face against Carl’s back. If Carl dared to mention fate, or falling in love with someone else, because of some fictional narrative… He’d bite him, silence him, and carry him back to the Empire.

As Adrian’s grip tightened, Carl Lindbergh spoke, his voice muffled against Adrian’s chest.

“Haa… That Jeon Woo-young, whose soul is now in Carl Lindbergh’s body… even though he’s… no longer alive… I mean, his physical body… he… loves you.”

Carl Lindbergh chuckled. “That’s a bit ridiculous, isn’t it?”

“Not at all.”

Adrian’s blood ran hot at his awkward, fumbling confession.