Next Time We Meet, I’ll Let You Kill Me - Chapter 5

He was left speechless and deflated, then gloomily pressed the button and opened the lattice gate. Hugo pulled her in against his side and casually skimmed the guard’s nametag with his eyes.

When they stepped out into the third‑floor hallway, Liselotte was the only one smiling. She chuckled as she took out her house key.

“Thanks. He’s not a bad person, but he’s a bit of a hassle.”

“Looked like his pants were about to burst from the moment he talked to you.”

The elevator machinery hummed loudly as it descended. Without taking his eyes off it, Hugo asked, “Does that bastard always pop a boner like that?”

Standing before the door labeled “Unit 301, Graham,” Liselotte lifted one shoulder lightly.

“I’m used to it, so it’s fine.”

How could she blame someone for their body reacting on its own? As long as they didn’t act annoying, things like that were so common they barely registered.

When she was away for days on business, he’d gather her piled‑up mail for her, and he’d even go upstairs to complain to the noisy neighbors on her behalf. Because of that, she’d smiled at him a few times, and the guard had flushed red like he’d been waiting for exactly that.

If she kept smiling, he looked ready to propose on the spot, so she’d started treating him a bit stiffly. But the oblivious security guard kept trying to confess anyway.

If only all men had Hugo Schwartz’s quick intuition, life would be so much easier.

Liselotte thought for a moment, then shook her head to scatter the thought. She unlocked the door and pulled Hugo’s arm.

“Don’t mind it and come in. Quickly.”

“Oh.”

A heap of shoes—heels, loafers, boots—strewn everywhere without being put in the cabinet greeted Hugo first. He watched her halfheartedly shove them aside with her foot to make a path, then stepped inside.

When Hugo started walking toward the living room, Liselotte darted ahead and began grabbing things one by one. Clothes were scattered everywhere.

“I rushed out this morning.”

Laughing awkwardly, she picked up a pair of wrinkled stockings she’d tossed aside days ago. Hugo slowly came to a stop as the full state of the living room came into view.

“….”

Liselotte hurried over, squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them again. She knew it would be messy, but somehow seeing it through his eyes made it ten times more embarrassing.

“Lottie.”

Trying not to laugh, Hugo looked back at her.

“Did a thief break in?”

“…It’s usually cleaner than this.”

‘Probably.’ Swallowing the last part, she quickly snatched up the towels and socks lying at her feet. Gift boxes and shopping bags she hadn’t opened yet were scattered everywhere, and on the coffee table, the remains of takeout she hadn’t cleaned up still sat in plain sight.

“Just sit for a second. I’ll clean up really quick.”

There was no way she could set the right mood in a place like this. She planned to at least tidy whatever was visible, so she gathered everything she could hold in both arms, hurled the bundle out onto the balcony, and shut the curtains to hide it.

‘Where did I put the scented candle I bought last time?’ While opening the drawer of the console cabinet, she glanced back.

Hugo was standing in front of the console table mounted on the wall.

He was staring quietly at something.

Her family photo.

In the black‑and‑white photo, yellowed with age, a family of three dressed in fine Western clothes smiled brightly.

Hugo picked up the small frame, about the size of a notebook.

The young Liselotte in the photo didn’t have the glamorous blonde curls she has now. She had long, straight hair—likely a dark brown—and Hugo’s gaze lingered on it.

A child with smooth, well‑kept hair, a silk ribbon headband, and a pretty smile. Her bare, makeup‑less face had not even a shadow of darkness on it.

“You were really pretty even as a kid. Maybe because your dad was handsome?”

Hugo asked as if probing her. Her parents weren’t unattractive, but neither of them resembled Liselotte in the slightest.

“It was taken on my fifteenth birthday.”

Liselotte answered calmly as she pulled a gold candlestick from the center shelf of the display cabinet. She omitted anything about being adopted.

“That morning, everything was so hectic. Getting dressed up, doing my hair…. It was the happiest birthday morning in the world.”

Fifteen? Hugo turned to look at her.

“After we took the family photo with the photographer, my parents headed to the train station. They were going to pick up my grandparents, who were invited to my birthday party.”

She reached deep into the drawer, groping around until she finally found a scented candle with a pink ribbon. Her fingers quickly straightened the messy bow.

“Once the locomotive pulled into the platform, people with luggage started pouring out endlessly. My parents must’ve spotted my grandfather somehow in that crowded, market-like chaos.”

Hugo set the frame down and turned, watching her profile. She was carefully fitting the ribboned candle into the antique-shaped holder.

“The bomb probably went off around then. My grandparents and my parents… all four bodies were lying together. Oh, there.”

Holding the neatly finished candle, she admired it proudly. A shadow fell across her head. Hugo had approached without a single footstep.

He slipped the candlestick from her hands and smiled gently.

“Baby. Get me a glass of water.”

“Sorry?”

Liselotte only started moving after Hugo repeated, “Water.”

‘Normally, when people hear about my parents, they make some half‑baked sympathetic face and start offering clumsy comfort….’

This was the method she often used after opening a conversation with a target. Nothing loosened a person’s guard like family stories.

Maybe because his reaction wasn’t what she’d expected, her brows narrowed on their own. Was he even listening? Why was he suddenly asking for water? Did he lack empathy altogether?

Tilting her head, Liselotte entered the kitchen and took out a glass. She filled it with tap water and returned to the living room, where Hugo had already lit the candle and placed it on the table, silently watching the flame.

When Liselotte approached, making her presence known, he turned only his head while still keeping his arms crossed.

“….”

The daylight filtering through the curtains dyed his hair a soft shade of red.

Long eyes, a sharp nose, lips curved in a gentle arc beneath it. Thanks to his firm jawline, even the delicate beauty of his features still carried an undeniable masculinity.

In short, he had the kind of face that could ruin a person.

Liselotte restarted her stalled thoughts, defined him as such, and slowly approached.

She’d brought him home for one reason. What was the fastest way for a man and a woman to close the distance between them?

If Hugo was thinking of just a one‑night stand, she simply had to change that thought. If she gave him an unforgettable experience that made him come back for more, securing the position of his lover wouldn’t be hard.

Liselotte set the glass on the table and tossed her coat onto the sofa. In the form‑fitting black dress that hugged her body, she felt his eyes on her as clearly as touch.

In those sparkling, pitch-black irises was an unmistakable interest.

She slowly approached and wrapped her slender arms around his neck. Her soft breasts lightly pressed against a torso far more solid than she expected. No man would be able to refuse such temptation.

“Can I kiss you now?”

“….”

“Do you not want to?”

He looked down at her quietly, then raised one eyebrow with a slight twitch.

“I didn’t exactly come here for this.”

‘Then why are your hands naturally wrapping around my waist?’ Liselotte mocked him inwardly. She pressed her upper body a little closer and puckered her lips.

“You said you’re my boyfriend.”

Letting out a sound like air escaping, he laughed. Then, without warning, Hugo yanked her waist in and pulled their lower bodies tightly together.

“You’re bold. Cute.”

“Ah….”

Her pupils widened and her mouth fell open.

There was no way she could ignore the sensation pressing against her lower abdomen. The presence of something on the inside of his left thigh was far too vivid to miss.

But this… isn’t it a bit… big…?

Judging by the firmness, it didn’t seem fully hard yet. For something hanging so obediently, the length was anything but ordinary.

It had been a long time since she’d encountered a size like this. Without meaning to, she swallowed dryly.

“Why?”

He rubbed himself against her blatantly, then asked as if he didn’t know. His expression practically said, ‘Is something wrong?’

The teasing sweetness of his tone was irritating, but she couldn’t show it. Liselotte forced up an awkward smile.

“No. It’s just… it feels a bit big.”

“What does?”

He obviously knew, yet he still asked. When Liselotte gave him a pouty glare, he giggled like a mischievous kid.

“It’s not even hard yet.”

“….”

“You said you’re confident you wouldn’t regret it.”