Dear Ex-Fiancé, I Hope You Regret Everything - Chapter 4

When I finished reading all of San Lucero’s works, I noticed something.

Though not frequent, there were occasionally unnatural line breaks.

Regarding “The Whereabouts of the Mermaid,” where the manuscripts scattered after we collided. I remembered seeing unnatural line breaks in the pages that fell that day, meaning it was intentional rather than a printing error.

Realizing this must be some kind of code, I tried deciphering it according to certain rules.

As the morning sun appeared, I pushed my bottle-bottom glasses up to my forehead and looked, the completed text concealed an unbelievable truth.

Unable to sit still, I wrote a letter to the publisher.

✳︎ ✳︎ ✳︎

What the hell? That Iris—not a word from her since then.

The weekly letters have stopped, and even though the Saint’s Thanksgiving Festival is tomorrow, she won’t come even if I invite her.

“It’s not like I have to go with Iris anyway.”

That’s right. It’d be a waste not to have some wild fun before marriage.

Even if I get married, if it’s to Iris, there’s no one I can boast to about it.

I’ve never even imagined our married life.

“Hmm,” I tried letting my imagination wander.

A goodbye kiss. Beautiful cherry-colored lips.

A welcome-home kiss. My reflection in her large eyes.

At night…

(Her skin is surprisingly nice, though.)

But my partner would still be that uncouth Iris.

(…I can only sigh after all.)

Why is my heart pounding a little? Am I an idiot?

Since she hasn’t invited me, I absolutely refuse to be the one to ask.

Even though I was thinking of buying her some random accessory from a festival stall as a reward since her organized files saved me from repeating a year.

✳︎ ✳︎ ✳︎

My week of restless waiting paid off—amazingly, there was a reply from the publisher.

I immediately opened it to find a letter, and inside was another envelope.

The letter said, “To Lady Iris Dostoevsky—We passed your fan letter to Mr. San Lucero, and he sent a reply, which we have enclosed.” I was stunned.

Overwhelmed, I leaned unsteadily against my dresser, thinking.

(Wait!? A letter from Mr. San Lucero!?)

Not knowing what to do, I clutched the envelope from San Lucero and impulsively dashed out of the mansion.

To distract myself from the pounding in my chest.

(What should I do!? I can’t open it!)

As if hiding from something, I curled up in a corner of the garden bushes.

Someone slipped past.

(Is that Teresa?)

Dressed in slightly dressier casual clothes, she was heading out of the mansion.

The little bird brooch on her chest glittered.

That’s when I remembered—(Ah!)

Today is the Saint’s Thanksgiving Festival.

(I messed up! I never ended up sending Lord Cain that invitation.)

As a flustered Teresa stepped outside, a voice said, “You’re late.” Looking over, it was

(Lord Cain!?)

Arm-in-arm intimately, the two happily went on their way.

(Lord Cain, not Teresa… Why?)

That feeling clashed with

(Teresa, how could you listen to my stories and do my makeup with what feelings?)

The shock was so great I covered my mouth so they wouldn’t notice me.

(…Wait, why am I hiding like this, holding my breath? Why can they walk around so boldly?)

I can’t take it anymore. I don’t think I can endure this.

Trembling, it took me a long time to stand up.

That day, I asked my father to break off the engagement.