Chapter 67

Chapter 67

“I’m glad I brought your handkerchiefs with me. Is mine still safe?”

Telegram fees weren’t exactly cheap, and yet he sent these non-urgent messages every morning and evening. Was this what a capitalist’s sense of money looked like?

Even as Rose thought such crooked thoughts, she couldn’t stop the smile tugging at her lips.

So he really carries around that wrinkled old handkerchief without throwing it away.

She quickly scribbled a reply and handed it to Maria to send.

“All right, time for me to get to work!”

The bright sunshine and clear sky—was there ever a better day to work? The weather was so fine it could shame a landscape painting, and her motivation swelled with it.

“To my dear Miss Iris Brown… I hope you have been well. Thank you for your positive reply regarding the victims’ association roster you so kindly offered to share…”

Not long ago, Iris had written saying she could provide a copy of the roster of those abducted.

Rose needed not only to thank her but to ask something she could no longer postpone.

“Forgive my boldness, but I have something to ask. At the time of your abduction, Miss Iris… did you perhaps…”

In the sunlight streaming into the sunroom, Rose wrestled with pen and paper.

“…perhaps encounter an eleven-year-old Logos boy—or rather, a twelve-year-old blond boy… Ugh!”

Halfway through, she let out a strangled cry, crumpled the letter, and tossed it into the bin.

The letter requesting the roster had come so easily; why was this proving so difficult?

“Pull yourself together, Rose Taylor. What’s so hard about this?”

She tried to rally herself, pen in hand again, but her determination melted as soon as she tried to write. It should have been simple—just asking if Iris remembered seeing or knowing a blond boy during her captivity.

Of course, being kidnapped wasn’t a pleasant subject, so Rose hesitated to ask in writing. But if she invoked the Golden Crow Syndicate’s name, Iris would surely understand the seriousness.

The real problem was Rose’s heart.

What if Iris was indeed the girl James had been searching for?

That would be good, wouldn’t it?

Yes, it would be good. The client would finally find the girl he longed for. Rose would receive a handsome success fee. A win-win.

Yes. It’s a good thing. It is.

She told herself this with absolute sincerity. After all, her to-do list was long.

She had to uncover Ouroboros’s schemes. Confirm whether the world’s destruction had truly been averted. Search for a way to break the soulmate bond.

And all while pretending to be James’s fiancée…

Rose sighed and collapsed face-down onto the writing desk.

Maria said it too—do we really look like lovers to outsiders?

In truth, it meant she had to handle a great deal of Mythos-related work in secret, without revealing anything to the Logos who filled the mansion.

Like the Dautryche estate in Romberton, Trident Mansion was staffed by a whole retinue of servants who cared for their master and his “fiancée”—a role Rose filled by contract, nothing more.

Yet unlike Romberton, these Egarde servants were warmly supportive of her, perhaps too much so. They showed her the kind of nosy affection peculiar to the countryside, which made even lighting incense for rituals feel suspicious.

Thank goodness she had managed to complete most of her training at the Dautryche estate beforehand.

Anyway! There’s no reason to mope. This should make me happy!

But reason and reality rarely matched. Her mind was sticky with feelings she couldn’t shake.

The same heart that fluttered reading his telegram moments ago now felt strangled, painfully tight.

Iris was beautiful—slender neck, deer-like eyes, a classic beauty. Standing beside James, the pair would look so well matched it made Rose’s teeth ache with jealousy.

Jealousy.

Yes, that was the word.

How ridiculous, and yet how inescapable.

James carried himself with the presence of a hero’s statue, with a face shaded like a figure out of a mythic painting, a fine voice, long elegant hands, and the effortless composure of wealth.

Not only that—his business acumen was renowned. He was a marksman, his fists were formidable, his dancing superb. Anything physical, he excelled at.

And when he teased her, the warmth of his smile…

Oh no. She had been listing all the reasons he was so admirable, rather than finding flaws.

I’ve lost my mind. James has me wrapped around his finger for sure.

She longed to slap the mouth of her past self—the one who, three months ago, had said, “I chose you because you’re handsome and don’t seem petty.”

She had once believed he was only useful for the conditions of the ritual. Now she felt ashamed.

“…Miss Taylor? Are you all right?”

It was Maria who broke through the flood of her thoughts.

Rose must have groaned aloud as she slumped across the desk, because the housekeeper looked worried.

Blushing with embarrassment, Rose sat up straight.

“I’m fine. Thank you for asking.”

“Then perhaps some light refreshments? The day is unusually hot—how about some cool lemonade?”

Rose nodded eagerly. There was no reason to refuse, and the thought of tart, cold lemonade promised to wash away this stickiness in her chest.

She braced herself again and picked up the pen.

I can’t claim I’m too jealous to work. That would be pathetic.

Her mood was still sour, but pride wouldn’t let her quit.

She took a deep breath and began once more, each letter neat and deliberate. The greeting, the seasonal pleasantries, the thanks for sharing the roster—all flowed smoothly.

But when it came time to ask about the young James, her pen faltered again.

“…Pardon me, but—no, too stiff. Forgive me if this is rude—ugh, that’s not right either…”

While she tangled herself in phrases, Maria returned with a small trolley. Upon it sat chilled lemonade with ice, tiny cupcakes, and—curiously—a thick book Rose hadn’t requested.

What’s that?

Her gaze fixed on the book until Maria, smiling, handed it to her.

“It’s the master’s childhood photo album.”

“Wait. You mean this is all James’s pictures?”

Photos of a young James? Every word of that sentence was enticing.

“Since the master is away, I thought you might feel lonely. Perhaps this album will help.”

Maria clearly assumed Rose’s gloom was from missing him. Which, in a way, wasn’t wrong.

Rose didn’t hesitate. She opened the album with gusto.

After a few pages of decorative designs and sentimental captions, a familiar boy stared back at her.

Good heavens—!

Her eyes went wide. The very same young James from her dreams was there, recorded in flawless detail.

“He was such a handsome child, wasn’t he?”

Maria mistook her shock for admiration of his looks. If not for the dreams, Rose might have thought the same.

“Ahaha, so his nose was already nice even back then.”

Rose laughed awkwardly, flipping back to the photo.

It showed him dressed in a sharp suit with a white silk ribbon on his arm, commemorating his first participation in a Sierraff Church rite. For a ten-year-old, he looked strikingly dignified.

“That day, he seemed so dependable. Madam even had this photo printed as cards and sent them in bulk to her family back in Morgenia.”