Chapter 17
The first activity at the club was to pair up and draw each other’s portraits.
Noah was partnered with Scarlett. He had insisted on it, unable to shake off the anxiety of not knowing when her condition might worsen.
“You draw first.”
Faced with Scarlett’s suggestion, Noah had no choice but to stay silent. He didn’t want to expose his terrible drawing skills again. But Scarlett was firm.
“If you draw after me, you’ll feel even more embarrassed. So do as I say.”
“Alright. Sure. Where should we do it?”
“Building B-8 is usually empty. We need steady lighting, so we should draw indoors.”
“I see.”
They found an empty classroom, moved some desks aside, and set up the easels.
Scarlett pulled a chair in front of the easel and sat with perfect posture. She tidied her long hair and straightened her clothes.
“I don’t get why they’re making even total beginners do this, but I guess it’ll be a good experience. Is this pose okay?”
“Ah, yeah. It’s fine.”
“It’s okay if you draw badly. But make me look pretty.”
“I’ll try.”
Noah gave her a faint smile, eyes sparkling as if asking a close friend to go easy on him.
In that moment, Scarlett realized the discomfort between her and Noah had significantly faded. And Noah felt the same.
But he chalked it up to the deepening guilt he felt toward her—thinking that his growing familiarity with Scarlett was a consequence of that guilt. He reminded himself to be more cautious and picked up his pencil.
“Make me pretty,” she said again.
Golden sunlight streamed in through the closed windows. Dust floated gently in the air.
Scarlett’s gray eyes watched Noah. Her expression was somewhere between blank and smiling—an unreadable gaze.
Scratch, scratch.
The hesitant sound of pencil on paper filled the silence between them. The hallway had gone quiet, probably because class had started.
Noah suddenly felt like his hand was trembling. It wasn’t actually shaking, but his wrist pulsed with a subtle tension.
His eyes darted back and forth between Scarlett and the paper.
He couldn’t even draw an apple—how could he draw a person?
How could he possibly capture that thick, flowing hair on paper? That gaze, cold yet fragile, was something even a seasoned artist wouldn’t be able to portray.
Scarlett, for her part, watched him with a deep gaze, impossible to interpret.
Then, out of the blue, she spoke.
“Don’t hate me.”
Noah’s hand paused for a moment, then resumed drawing. Scarlett repeated herself.
“Don’t hate me. You don’t have to love me, but at least pity me.”
Because that’s the only way you won’t kill me.
A sudden wave of melancholy hit her, and she shut her eyes in frustration.
Noah’s grip on the pencil tightened, as if he might crush it. But he calmly continued drawing.
As he sketched a meaningless line, he answered softly.
“I don’t hate you.”
“I…”
I don’t know who you are. I don’t understand that dream.
“I…”
He couldn’t finish the sentence, the lie too heavy to speak. But now wasn’t the time for distance—it was the time to win Noah over.
This was the perfect opportunity. Scarlett’s aversion to him had lessened, and she had an excuse to give him a chance.
Because he saved her life.
Scarlett accepted the fact that Noah had saved her. She chose to acknowledge it.
Whatever he did to make it happen—something that an angry Scott had refused to explain—Noah Ashford had risked his life for Scarlett White. That much was true.
“I want to forgive you.”
It was a lie, lightly laced with a single drop of sincerity.
Noah’s eyes widened and his lips parted. And Scarlett suddenly realized—his face didn’t look as gentle as his personality suggested.
In truth, Noah was only gentle with her. But his mask had been so complete that she never noticed.
“But I still hate you.”
“I understand.”
Scarlett could feel her heartbeat.
As long as her heart beat, she would long for Noah Ashford’s death and revenge.
It was a fate sealed at birth. That’s why she spoke of forgiveness.
“Even so, I want to forgive you.”
“Forgive…”
Could he really desire something so bold? Noah Ashford, from Scarlett White?
Scarlett’s gaze made it hard for Noah to breathe. Yet somehow, he also felt a strange sense of euphoria.
She looked at him—without any particular expression, as if unsure what face to wear.
Noah chose his words carefully, and only after a long pause did he speak.
“…Only you can save me.”
“…What do you mean?”
A small crack appeared in Scarlett’s emotional armor.
Noah avoided her gaze, focusing on the pencil tip as he continued in a quiet voice.
“You’re the one I’ve sinned against. So it’s only your genuine feelings that can decide the fate of my soul. One word from you could cast me into hell—or your gaze could allow me to set foot in a heaven on earth.”
After pausing for a shaky breath, he added,
“I’m not asking for your mercy. I just wanted to say… I’m sorry. If my existence hurt you, then I’m sorry.”
Noah’s words were the confession of a wounded soul, one that denied its own right to exist.
Though he spoke gently, the meaning crashed down like a storm—a tidal wave of sorrow.
Scarlett felt the weight in her chest grow heavier. Her mouth tasted so bitter it made her feel sick.
What must it be like to deny your own existence? How painful must that life be?
She had always resented Noah—never once tried to understand him.
But his sudden vulnerability was raw, bloodied, and exposed—and for the first time, she could finally see Noah Ashford for who he really was.
She could see his pain, his expression, his message—clear as day.
For the first time, Scarlett’s heart ached because of Noah. Not out of pity, not out of pretense, but from genuine sorrow.
“…How am I supposed to respond to something like that?”
Her face twisted in anguish. Noah, in the meantime, began drawing again as if nothing had happened.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. You don’t need to.”
Noah smiled faintly. It was an ambiguous smile—somewhere between laughter and tears, lost in an incomplete emotion.
He began the drawing with her eyes. He studied Scarlett’s eyes and eyebrows, her nose and lips, in minute detail.
Her brows were raised like she was always angry, and her eyes—sharp and alert—gleamed with a nervous edge.
But as sensitive as they were, they also carried a fragile air, like mist.
Her long lashes cast shadows on her eyes. Her nose was straight and enviably beautiful. And below, her lips were unusually full.
But it wasn’t just her features. Beyond her posture, there was something innately noble about her appearance.
Her poised demeanor, slightly arrogant gaze, and fragile yet elegant presence drew people in at once.
The contrast of her delicate face and striking red hair made her unforgettable.
Objectively speaking, she was stunning. In the sunlight, a golden tint warmed her usually pale skin, and the ghostly chill she often exuded was nowhere to be seen.
She looked free from everything.
Or rather, in Noah’s eyes, she was redefined. The air, the scent, the warmth around her—all had changed.
Scarlett hesitated, then confessed.
“I don’t know how to forgive you.”
It was the unvarnished truth, with not a single lie.
If forgiveness was a path, then she had lost her way entirely.
She didn’t know where it began, or how to step onto it. She was facing the opposite direction altogether.
“You don’t have to.”
Noah let go of the idea of forgiveness. Seeing how broken Scarlett was, he fully understood what he and his mother had done.
But when a shadow of sorrow passed over her face, doubt crept in.
Why are you making that face?
“Do you not want to be forgiven?”
“If hating me gives you peace, then I prefer that.”
She could despise and curse him—it didn’t matter. He had no right to expect anything more from a dying girl.
Even if he longed for it, he knew he shouldn’t. That would be too much to ask.
He had dragged someone else’s life into ruin—so a part of his should remain in the muck as well.
“Why? Why? Have you just given up?”
“No. It’s just not something I can ask for. That’s your choice to make.”
To Noah, his opinion didn’t matter.
He would never escape the chain that was Scarlett White.
Even if she forgave him and his mother, Noah would forever live in the shadow of Scarlett.
Because the scars she carried were far too vivid.
That’s why he didn’t understand why she took a deep breath, as if steadying herself.
“Freedom…”
She mulled over Noah’s words for a long time.
Maybe it was because she was about to say something deeply unpleasant—her hands began to tremble.
And when she finally spoke, it was shocking.
“Then, putting aside hatred and emotion, by my free will—I permit you to become a lowly beast on this earth. Whether you fall or rise to the heavens is up to your actions. Congratulations, Noah Ashford. You’re free. You no longer have to be bound to me.”
Ah…
He knew this wasn’t the end. But at the same time, it marked the end of a shadow in his life. Scarlett had severed the chain.
Even though she was the one most hurt, Scarlett buried the hatred, the rage, and the bitterness she had long carried—for his sake.
Suddenly, everything felt unfamiliar. Like meeting her for the first time. Like being born into a new world.
Everything had changed. His world had flipped.
The air was different. The particles of light transformed. Even a speck of dust drifting in the air took on new meaning in his senses.
The sunlight was dazzling. The dust looked like flower petals descending from the sky.
It all began with Scarlett. Her whispered, false forgiveness was the beginning.
The moment was brilliant—achingly beautiful. Noah wanted to burn it into his heart forever, to feel everything with all his senses.
The warmth of the sunlight. The dryness of the dust. And Scarlett’s complex expression filled with pain and release. He pressed it deep into his chest and understood:
From the moment he was born, he had been bound to Scarlett. No matter how twisted their fates became, he would always be at her mercy.
And somehow, that felt like destiny.
In that way, Scarlett became everything to Noah.
