When That Door Opens - Chapter 75
“Are you ill? Did you get a terminal diagnosis or something?”
Lavo joked, but his words struck a deep chord with Verne. In a way, it was like a terminal diagnosis—he could no longer write.
“Not writing is good news. You can just return to the duchy. His Grace has been pestering for you to come back, and it’s been hell for me being caught in the middle. Shall I cancel all the contracts? Since we haven’t received anything, canceling won’t cost us anything,” Lavo said cheerfully.
“Yes, cancel them. Going back to inherit the duke’s estate doesn’t sound so bad,” Verne replied.
In the monotonous routine of life, writing was the only thing that made him feel alive. As the heir to the duchy, who had to be always proper and upright, writing was an escape where he could reveal his dark inner thoughts and still be praised. But now that he couldn’t write anymore, he had to return.
Maybe it was fortunate that he still had somewhere to go back to.
“Should we clear out this mansion?” Lavo asked.
“No. Leave it.”
Everywhere he looked, memories of his intimate moments with her were vivid. The thought of someone else entering and touching the places where her essence had seeped made him feel sick.
“It seems I’ve fallen for her after all,” Verne muttered.
What he thought was just a distraction had turned into affection. He was following the typical path of a pathetic male protagonist.
“I thought it was just simple amus*m*nt.”
The last image of Julieta shouting at him came to mind. Her wounded expression had clawed at him. Without realizing it, he had given her his heart along with his body.
“She was unique.”
Even during s*x, she was thinking about her writing. Before she could savor the afterglow, she would pick up her pen, writing sweet dialogues for her innocent heroines on the very bed where they had tangled passionately.
He had always believed that no one could match his passion for writing, but seeing Julieta, he had to acknowledge that there could be a writer even more fervent than himself.
When she wrote, she radiated light. Verne saw the frustration in her writing, the joy when she overcame it, and the desperate yearning to write again, like stars swirling around her.
‘Is that why?’
She still possessed a purity that he had lost. Being around her made him feel like he was returning to those simpler times.
It was amusing that a writer, who could manipulate the hearts of others, was only now realizing and regretting his own feelings.
As he let out a laugh, unable to contain it, Lavo’s eyes narrowed.
“If you regret it, why not try to win her back?”
Lavo understood the reason for Verne’s restlessness. Verne let out a hollow laugh at his comment.
“She’s a beautiful person. She deserves a good man.”
She dreamt of romance. But he didn’t understand romance. He had always engaged in physical relationships without any emotional attachment, and he never found that uncomfortable.
Could he, someone like that, have the right to hold onto her? Even if he did, could he make her happy?
“You should see a doctor.”
Lavo suggested worriedly. Verne didn’t tolerate his second nonsense, and Lavo found himself being expelled along with a flying ashtray.
* * *
Julieta gained fame with her first novel, which was inspired by her experiences with Verne. The subsequent works also became huge hits.
Her books were in such high demand that the production couldn’t keep up with sales, making them rare and valuable commodities even in the back alleys where they were sold at premium prices.
However, Julieta was not happy at all. Both novels relied heavily on her experiences with Verne. His influence and emotions were evident in every line.
‘How about changing the dialogue like this?’
‘If it were me, I would give the heroine sand instead of flowers.’
She recalled the gentle advice Verne had given in his soft voice.
“Can I even call this my writing?”
She had barely changed a word from Verne’s original suggestions. The money she earned allowed her to escape the threats of the loan shark.
“He must be sick of me by now.”
Verne had always been disgusted by people who tried to use him. How could he not despise Julieta?
Even though she had begged him to teach her from the start, using the meticulously depicted s*x scenes with him to make money was a different matter entirely. Thanks to Verne, she had managed to pay off much of her debt, but Julieta wasn’t happy. Publishers were lining up, offering large sums for her next work, but she couldn’t sign any contracts.
“I can’t write without him.”
Julieta admitted her condition. She could only write when she reached the peak of pleasure. Inspiration struck her after a satisfying s*xual encounter. However, she couldn’t recklessly seek out new partners, haunted by the painful memories of her previous attempts.
Doing it alone?
Julieta shook her head. She had tried rubbing her cl*toris during showers when arousal hit, but her fingers couldn’t satisfy her. Only Verne’s thick and substantial length could fulfill her. When she had asked him to teach her, Verne had instead tamed her.
The writing didn’t matter anymore.
‘I miss him.’
