After He Called Me Shameless

When my mother first told me about the arranged marriage, Noah Parker lowered his head and kissed me, pulling me closer as we became tangled together.

After a haze of passion, he carried me into the bathroom. Warm water streamed over my skin, but his words sent a chill straight through me, as if I'd fallen into an icy pit.

"Go home. And don't come looking for me here again."

I thought he'd seen the text and was jealous, so I quickly clung to him and swore, "I won't marry anyone else—"

His smile stayed, but the heat in his eyes cooled into something distant.

"But I'm getting married."

He brushed back my messy hair, ignoring how my body trembled under his touch.

"My fiancée is gentle and kind—nothing like you. She’d never throw herself at her foster brother like that. We've already set a date. If you keep clinging to me like this, she'll be upset with me."

Noah Parker grabbed a towel, wrapped it around himself, and carried me into the guest bedroom.

Watching his tall figure turn and walk away, the blood in my veins seemed to freeze solid.

I was still staring blankly at the doorway when he suddenly returned.

Noah sat down beside the bed, and his familiar warmth surrounded me again.

Instinctively, I reached out for him.

Instead, he pressed a cold phone into my palm.

"Since Mom has already contacted you, you should go home. It's best not to drag this out."

Panicked, I reached for his hand and pleaded softly, "Noah, I won't agree to an arranged marriage."

"Lola's back."

Hearing those words, I lost my voice. Tears fell silently.

Lola Cohen was Noah's first love.

Back when she suddenly went abroad, Noah fell into a long, deep despair.

It was because of that I finally found the courage to confess my feelings to him.

From then on, we were affectionate foster siblings by day, and by night, tangled together again and again.

More than once, I secretly felt grateful—thank goodness Lola had left.

I never thought someone who walked away so decisively would actually come back.

Noah stood up and looked down at me.

"In the future, try not to appear in front of her. I don't want her to feel upset when she sees you."

His gaze toward me was cold, yet when he spoke of Lola, his tone held a tenderness I had never received.

Tears fell in clusters. I grabbed a dress nearby, pulled it on, and flustered, tried to escape.

Just as I reached the door, Noah's indifferent voice came from behind me.

"Elena, happy wedding to us both."

My heart shook violently.

Once, how desperately I had longed to hear those words.

But I never imagined they would come as he married someone else—and I married another man.

After replying to my mother's text, I started packing my things.

Looking at the photos of Noah and me together, I couldn't hold back the tears as memories of every moment we shared came flooding back.

Noah was five years older than me.

I watched him fall in love with Lola, argue with her, and finally break apart.

He suffered deeply, drowning himself in alcohol day after day.

My heart ached for him.

That's when I realized my feelings for him had long crossed the line of sibling affection.

Every day, I tried everything to make him happy. There was no trace of a smile in his eyes, but he still endured his own pain to comfort me.

"I'm fine, Elena. Don't worry."

I loved his gentleness, but I wasn't satisfied with staying where we were.

Until one night, when he was drunk again, I gathered my courage and kissed his lips.

That night was painful—yet full of bliss.

But early the next morning, I saw him kneeling on the floor, eyes bloodshot.

When he noticed I was awake, his expression was complicated, his tone full of disgust.

"Elena, how could you be so shameless?"

He hurled the cruelest words at me, saying he never wanted to see me again.

I ran out of the house and drank until I was numb.

When a friend helped me back, I saw Noah kneeling before my father's urn, slapping his own face over and over.