Removing his forehead from the wooden guardrail, Averie looked up.
A bottle of rum and two glasses in her hands, a woman was approaching him.
She wore a white coat over a red nightgown, which seemed to complement her flushed complexion.
Her dry walnut hair was tied in a single braid that reached the small of her back. Her skin looked smoother for her age, which was quite apparent from the sunburn spots around her cleavage.
A red lipstick, which looked rather sad on her lips, seemed to bring color to her colorless life.
As she handed him a glass, her steps swayed slightly.
She had clearly been drinking.
’It’s the lady next door.’
Averie studied her gaze.
It was glazed but not lascivious.
’Not here to prey on the young? How nice.’
It reminded him of Patricia Kim and how she had died without any intervention from him. As foul as she was, he had never wished death on her.
’Lucifer must be having fun breaking her.’
He remembered when he first heard of her death.
He was having a late meal with Hyerin and Min-Ha.
He couldn’t remember which one, but one of them had turned to him, screaming, "What have you done?"
It baffled him how little trust they had in him. Even though he was in the UK and hadn’t left the country in more than a week, they pointed their fingers at him.
’I was literally with them when it happened. How could they blame me?’
His fans were no different.
’They will fight anyone in my name, but the moment someone is murdered, I am the suspect?’
If he were to be entirely honest, even he suspected himself at first.
’When did I do this?’ was what he thought while reading the headline for the first time.
No matter how much he tried to act nonchalant, he was curious about who could have committed such a grave crime against a rich man’s daughter.
’Is it a mental fan?’
That was a thought that truly excited him.
On one hand, there was a chance of gaining an idiot who would do anything in his name. And on the other hand, a deranged maniac was on the loose, chanting his name.
What truly concerned him was the fashion in which she had died and how little progress was made in the investigation.
’They openly admitted that it was a ritualistic murder, yet there hasn’t been a single arrest? No leads, no clues, no briefings?’
It frustrated him slightly.
He was worried that he could be indirectly linked with it.
"Not a good evening?"
The woman’s voice pulled him out of his reverie.
Averie nodded, finding a glass full of rum in his hand.
’Why am I zoning out?’
The woman emptied her glass and puffed out warm air.
It smelled sweet like sugarcane, and fiery like spirit.
Averie gazed at the moon reflected in his drink and downed it.
He cleared his throat. "I don’t drink."
But his hand was extended, his glass requesting more.
The woman smiled and poured him one more.
He raised the glass. "To festering health and growing sorrows."
Their glasses clinked with the scent of a branded bottle.
"Are we allowed to drink on the deck?" Averie asked.
Yet he answered himself.
After a few more drinks, the clinking stopped.
The bottle was empty.
It was the woman who began.
"You are the neighbor, right?"
Her black pupils seemed to be recalling a recent memory.
The young man nodded, gazing into the distance, where he thought he briefly saw the tail of a whale slamming into the water.
"I saw you today after we met in the lobby..."
’Met, you say? That’s overexerting the word. We passed each other, and I winked at you.’
"You were on TV, I think."
Averie nodded again, still distracted by the distant waters.
The woman sounded cautious yet hopeful.
Averie believed that she knew the answer.
’Is this what they call being tactful?’
To him, it sounded like she wanted him to take the initiative.
’What am I supposed to say anyway?’
If he weren’t in a sombre mood, he would have flexed his muscles, trying to impress her.
That word stuck in his head.
He turned his gaze to the woman’s hand.
She had a platinum ring on her ring finger.
Despite having played the role of Asmodeus Binsfeld, Averie knew not to hit on someone else’s woman.
’I am a sinful man, not a scumbag.’
If Lucifer had heard that, he would have called it a fallacy.
Averie cleared his throat. The cold air seemed to be ruining it.
"Was it CBC?" he asked.
And the woman turned her entire body to face him. "Yes."
"I, well, I did question myself, but I supposed I was true."
Averie had seen this sequence plenty of times.
No matter the era, people would always approach him with expectations. They would hold their breath as their suspicions were realized.
And no matter what age, they would always be awestruck.
It gave Averie a lively yet tedious feeling.
At a crossroads in his career, he wondered whether they loved him or his popularity.
And even the optimistic actor couldn’t help but conclude that it was his popularity that they revered.
No matter how skilled an actor was, he remained human. But with popularity came—for lack of a better word—godhood.
It was one of the few undisclosed currencies of the world.
Beauty, violence, and popularity—in Averie’s eyes, these were the strongest currencies of the world.
Perhaps that’s why he never felt threatened by anyone or anything.
In that sense, he was rich.
"So, you are an actor?" the woman asked, studying his face.
’Do I suddenly look more attractive to you? Or are you searching for the distinction between men and celebrities?’
"That is correct; I am an actor."
The woman seemed to have expected as much.
"I wasn’t sure at first, but my friend said you were—"
"Oh, yes. She said you would know her. Yoko Roy is her name."
"Ah," Averie exclaimed.
His eyes suddenly became livelier.
There was always something comforting about having mutual friends. It provided opportunities to bridge the gap between ordinary people and celebrities.
"I worked with her once."
With a lazy rhythm, he tapped the glass on the wooden guardrail. It produced a calming sound, which reminded the good actor of Buddhist temples.
"So, you are Yoko’s friend?"
The breeze calmed their worries. And for a while, they talked—celebrity to commoner, man to woman.
"Is it weird to find someone like me occupying the room next door?"
"Hmm... Well, it came as a surprise. It’s not often you find someone extraordinary living next door."
"Is it like finding a majestic flamingo trotting in the hallway?"
The woman chuckled. "Do you like talking about animals that much? Or is it because of the episode today?"
She turned to him as if she suddenly recalled something.
"Do you watch your shows?"
Averie flashed his teeth. "Yes. Why act if you can’t admire yourself?"
The lady found his honesty refreshing.
She offered him her hand; Averie shook it lightly.
"Averie Quinn Auclair."
"Mr. Auclair—" She tilted her head. "Should I call you Mr. Auclair?"
"These days, they call me Quinn. You may call me that, if you prefer."
’Not like anyone listens to what I want.’
"Well, Quinn, I hope you don’t mind my saying this, but you don’t seem much different from your persona on TV."
"Genius casting, wasn’t it?"
Julia didn’t doubt it.
She didn’t know about his acting, as she hadn’t seen it, but it seemed like a waste not to display his unique charisma.
"Is it normal to be... as forthcoming in your industry?"
"There are some, none as young as me. It would be very concerning if we couldn’t find a few eccentrics in this vast industry."
"If we can’t express ourselves off stage or even in front of journalists, who is to say we won’t restrict ourselves on stage?"
He thought it was an odd world where they were PR trained.
’If everyone pretends to be nice, what about nice people?’
He recalled Ellie Arnold.
’Nice people suffer because they must remain honest while hiding their true feelings.’
He didn’t believe in being good.
Curiosity got the better of Julia, and she asked him a page full of questions.
Why did you start acting?
Did your family not mind?
Do your friends act differently now?
Is dating as an actor hard?
Aveire noticed that her questions were more related to how people perceived him and how he ’coped’ with it.
’Usually, they inquire about popularity and the good side of it.’
His gaze drifted to her ring finger.
’Is it because she is older and more mature than most fans? Or because she is unhappy?’
She could hide it from her husband, but not from the Hellion who made his living by portraying others.
The woman’s expression froze.
"No amount of trying will improve it."
In the salty breeze, he let his thoughts flow with the sweet scent of rum.
"You should leave him."