To My First Love, With Regret - 89

I can’t lose this camera.

The public affairs officer, prepared to be cursed out by his superior, asked anyway.

—Major, if I may be so bold, may I ask what this is regarding?

In that instant, the lips biting the cigarette twisted. The Air Force officer slowly pulled the cigarette from his mouth. He exhaled a cloud of smoke—steeped in boredom—directly into the face of the tense lieutenant.

The officer squeezed his eyes shut and opened them to find a glowing red light right before his vision. The Major, flicking the cigarette as if shaking off ash at a dangerously close distance, spoke in a languid voice.

—Listen carefully.

The lieutenant instinctively held his breath and listened.

—If you babble uselessly one more time and make me take this cigarette out of my mouth, the next time I do, I’ll use it to cauterize your eyeball.

The gut feeling that this wasn’t a cruel joke sent cold sweat trickling down his spine. The public affairs officer didn’t dare protest further and submissively handed over the camera—an object that was as vital to him as a rifle.

The Air Force officer bit his cigarette again and, with his free hand, snatched the camera away as if it were a toy.

Click.

The sound of the back cover opening made the officer’s heart sink. The film, containing the photos he had so painstakingly taken, was now defenselessly exposed.

—Oh, no, you can’t!

The Major ignored his desperate cry, ruthlessly pulling at the end of the film. The brown ribbon of film unspooled helplessly under the sunlight. The moment of noble devotion and the moving reunion between the Princess of Cantrell and her army doctor husband burned white in the light.

The Major tossed the camera—now looking like a corpse with its guts spilled out—back against the lieutenant’s chest and sneered.

—I’ll give you a choice. One: I tear up that notebook. Two: you tear it up. Three: you ignore every chance I’ve given you and write an article about those moving fake-spouses, and I tear your hands off.

The lieutenant trembled at the bloodthirsty threat, yet part of him found it too surreal to believe. The military was full of superiors who were cruel to their subordinates, but there were no demons who literally tore off wrists.

—Wh-who exactly are you…?

—You’re asking who the hell I am to be raising such a fuss about killing you if you write an article about that woman?

—No, it’s not that….

—I’m Lady Evelyn’s real husband.

—…Beg pardon?

Being both a soldier and a reporter, there was no way he was ignorant of the world’s rumors.

Then that Air Force officer is Ethan Fairchild?

In other words, a notorious gang leader. A man more than capable of slicing through his wrists like butter.

—We haven’t even divorced yet. So, it wouldn’t be right to publish a heart-warming story in the papers about that criminal’s bigamy, now would it?

—I… I won’t write it.

Ethan watched the terrified greenhorn scurry away for a moment as a warning, then turned his gaze outward. A bizarre landscape unfolded: a black-haired mermaid standing between a bloated walrus and a pale, frail jellyfish.

Evelyn Sherwood, what are you doing here?

He threw the cigarette—which he’d chewed so hard it was unsmokable—to the ground and crushed it with his combat boot. Despite having just straightened his disheveled uniform, Ethan tilted his flask to cloud his mind before sauntering forward.

He was going to trample that pathetic little game of house.

It was just as their conversation was winding down.

—Captain Kallas, take this.

Colonel Wallace pulled something from his pocket and held it out.

—You’re dismissed for the day.

The moment the pass was in his hand, not only Owen but Eve also couldn’t hide a joyful smile. Of course, it wasn’t for the loathsome reason Owen expected. She was simply satisfied that everything was moving according to her calculations without her even having to speak.

—Since Mrs. Kallas has traveled all this way, surely the two of you should spend some intimate time together as a couple.

The Colonel addressed Eve as ‘Mrs. Kallas,’ setting aside higher titles like Princess or Lady. It was his way of showing respect to a devoted wife who had come to find her husband at the harsh front—unaware that to her, it was an insult.

As they exchanged goodbyes in front of the car he had provided, the Colonel called her that once more, striking the nerve of the man who had been prowling closer like a predator whose territory had been invaded.

—It was an honor. I look forward to seeing you again, Mrs. Kallas.

—Miss Sherwood.

A sharp voice wedged itself in like a spike. It sounded less like he was calling for Eve and more like he was correcting the Colonel for using the ‘wrong’ title. Of course, his smoldering blue-gray eyes were aimed solely at Eve.

—Why is the woman who was at home when I left here now?

As Ethan spoke as if he were Eve’s husband, Owen stepped forward to explain, perhaps worried the Colonel might misunderstand.

—Major Fairchild is residing in the officers’ quarters at the Cantrell estate.

—Ah, lo sé.

The Colonel clearly knew Ethan. The warmth with which he had looked at Eve—seeing her as a model wife—had vanished. In its place was the glinting curiosity of a gossip-monger who had just discovered a scandalous femme fatale.

She couldn’t even blame him for his rudeness. It was a fact that her first husband and her second were standing in the very same spot. Who wouldn’t be curious about such a bizarre spectacle?

If only Ethan hadn’t been here, she wouldn’t have had to endure those looks.

—Then why is Major Fairchild at the hospital instead of the airfield?

Eve wanted to ask him the same thing. When her eyes first met Ethan’s as he approached, her heart felt as though it had plummeted into an endless abyss.

Why are you at the hospital…? Are you hurt?

But seeing him walk over on his own to pick a fight, he seemed perfectly fine from his limbs to his head. For a split second, why had she worried for her enemy’s safety? Was it because her heart was still too soft to be a true demon, or did a lingering warmth of regret still remain? Whichever it was, Eve loathed her own pathetic self.

—I have someone to meet. And you?

—As you can see, I’ve come to meet my husband.

Eve spat the words out clearly while facing Ethan, pointedly wrapping her arm around Owen’s for all to see.

It was a cold declaration: No matter how much you insist, you are not my husband.

—Major.

Owen, standing by Eve’s side, was also on guard like a beast whose territory had been invaded. He suddenly cut in.

—I ask that you show proper courtesy to the Princess of Cantrell.

He was pointing out Ethan’s excessively informal speech. Ethan twisted his lips in a mocking sneer, eyeing Owen from head to toe.

—Captain Kallas.

It seemed for a moment that he would use his rank to put a simple brake on this emotional power struggle between Y-chromosomes, but he immediately slammed on the accelerator and went off the rails.

—If ‘Eve’ and I were the type to observe ‘proper courtesy,’ we wouldn’t have spent our time rolling around naked in the same bed.

Eve’s face flushed a burning red in an instant. She knew well enough that this man had a foul mouth by nature. But to shout in front of others—not that they had been ‘married,’ but that they were ‘sleeping together’—was that not the act of someone who had abandoned their humanity?

She missed her first love, who had been free-spirited yet knew where to draw the line. At the same time, she felt an unbearable hatred for herself for having thrown her life away on such a vulgar beast.

Colonel Wallace seemed equally shocked by Ethan Fairchild’s crude revelation. Sizing up the murderous atmosphere, he made a hurried excuse about being busy and beat a hasty retreat.

Once only the three of them remained, the restraints on Ethan’s tongue loosened even further. He spoke like a madman to Eve, who glared at him with eyes that looked ready to slap him.

—Lady Evelyn, do tell. When we are naked and slamming our bodies together, do you wish for me to observe ‘proper courtesy’ then as well?

Ethan suddenly mimicked the lewd expression of someone in the throes of climax, flustering Eve even more, before spewing even more obscene words.

—Ah, my apologies. I simply couldn’t hold back and came inside you because of the Lady’s ecstatic hip movements. Is today a ‘safe day’ as well?

Eve’s blood boiled with rage, but a sense of crisis threw cold water over it. With that uncontrollable tongue of his, he might reveal that ‘your wife was riding me all night only a few days ago.’ Even if he didn’t explicitly reveal it, if such blatant insinuations continued, Owen might figure it out himself.

If that happened, Eve would have to discard the painting she had worked so hard on and start over from scratch.

I can’t let that happen.

Slapping him could wait. She had to get away from him right now. But she couldn’t take a single step toward the open car door. It was because Owen, whose arm was linked with hers, was standing his ground.