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Chapter 44
“How can I trust the Royal Police?”
“Our deal has already gone through once, hasn’t it? I’d say we’ve built up at least some level of trust.”
Isaac was referring to the bitter medicine.
In fact, it had been the Royal Police who had told him how to obtain it, and thanks to that, Isaac had been able to see light again. Paradoxically, their deal had already created a faint layer of trust.
Hugh Gun tore up the statement on the spot. Then he pulled out a second one, signed it, and handed it over to Scarlett.
“Here it is.”
She accepted it. It was a statement that confirmed Evil Crimson had been the first to attempt stabbing Isaac Crimson, and it softened all the wording related to Isaac’s violence.
Scarlett looked at the tea set before her, and Hugh Gun continued,
“Drink.”
At his words, Scarlett drew in a slow breath.
She asked,
“Will this erase my memories?”
“To be precise, it digs into them. The partial loss of memory is merely a side effect.”
“…Ah.”
Scarlett’s face clouded with melancholy.
“So I didn’t go mad from guilt over betraying Viktor. I really just had no memory at all?”
“Yes, that’s correct.”
Scarlett reproached herself for having even briefly doubted. Taking the cup in her hands, she said,
“Don’t touch Isaac again.”
“As you wish.”
While they spoke, the tea had cooled. She downed it in one gulp, then rose and headed for the door—only to be blocked by a Royal Police officer who did not open it.
Hugh Gun said calmly,
“Stay just a little longer. The drug has to take effect.”
“…Fine.”
Scarlett remained standing in place.
The officer blocking the door hesitated before telling her,
“You’ll forget anyway, so I’ll say this: Miss Scarlett, you kept your loyalty to Sir Viktor.”
His words of comfort only made her murmur bitterly,
“If only Viktor had come here that time…”
Her lips trembled, and she gave a faint smile.
“Just once… it would have been nice if he had left that precious honor behind and come to see me.”
“That’s precisely why you became the target, Miss Scarlett.”
Hugh Gun spoke almost jokingly.
Scarlett nodded weakly.
“I really did live with a cold man…”
Muttering so, she suddenly felt a splitting headache and staggered. The officer at the door rushed forward to catch her.
“Are you alright?”
The young man who caught her was about her age, his face healthy and ruddy.
How dreadful, Scarlett thought, that a group committing such vicious acts could still have kind individuals in their ranks. Perhaps they thought of what they did merely as orders, not their own crimes.
“I’m fine.”
She steadied herself with difficulty.
Only three or four hours later did the Royal Police open the door for her.
Scarlett once again moved on, escorted by the officers. She strained to hold onto her memory, repeating over and over in her head:
I must remember. I must remember what happened today.
Before the drug erased everything, she managed at least to confirm with her own eyes that Isaac’s statement had been changed. And she cast a sidelong glance at Isaac in his cell.
He, too, had grown up amid violence and seemed to wield it without hesitation. Leaving him unchecked was dangerous.
I’ll deal with Isaac’s violent nature first. Then I’ll tell my husband—no, my ex-husband—that I never betrayed him. That it was he who betrayed me. I’ll tell him, angrily, those exact words.
And only after saying that, she thought, would she finally be able to tell Viktor how much her heart had ached back then.
How terrifying it had been to wake up in a hotel with no memory.
And worse, how dreadful it had felt to realize that in her moment of need, she couldn’t rely on the man she loved. That the husband who refused to believe in her—she had hated him, truly, deeply, endlessly.
In her daze, she had left home carrying only her handbag with her wallet. Catching sight of a city policeman, she asked,
“Excuse me, but could I borrow a pen and some paper?”
She wanted to write things down before she forgot them.
The officer readily replied,
“Of course.”
He picked up a pen from a desk and then fumbled around, saying he’d look for scrap paper.
It was only then that Scarlett noticed a Royal Police officer watching from outside the station. She realized that even if she wrote anything down, it would only be taken away.
“Sorry, but I don’t see any spare paper. Would you like just the pen?” the officer asked.
Scarlett turned and blinked at him.
“…What?”
“The pen. You asked to borrow it, didn’t you?”
“…Did I?”
When he held it out to her, she tilted her head and smiled faintly.
“It’s fine.”
She thanked him and stepped out of the station. Then she drifted to a bench in the square and sat there in a daze.
By the time she came to her senses, night had already fallen. She rose from the bench and tilted her head.
“What am I doing here?”
She muttered to herself, then hurried toward home.
As she walked, she tried to recall when she had come to sit there. That morning she’d gone early to pick up a pair of cufflinks the tailor had mentioned. She was sure she remembered receiving them, yet now it was night—and when she opened her bag, the cufflinks weren’t there.
Scarlett glanced at the clock tower and gasped, running toward the road where carriages passed. It was already past ten.
“Oh no, what do I do…”
By now Viktor would be asleep. He might not even notice her absence. But Scarlett felt anxious about returning home so late. Tears streaked her cheeks as she whispered, frightened,
“I’ve never come home this late before…”
Luckily, she hailed a private carriage quickly.
In a trembling voice, she cried out,
“To… To Dempelter Street, please!”
The Dempelter estate was usually quiet, but today it had been noisy since morning. Marina Dempelter, Viktor’s mother, was choosing a dress for Nina Hunter’s charity party.
As Viktor had expected, Marina was overjoyed at the rare chance to attend a social gathering.
She had spent the entire day focused on her wardrobe.
She enjoyed the process of trying on different outfits, but she no longer had the clarity to actually decide. Everything, in the end, was chosen by her son Viktor. Emerging in yet another outfit, Marina said brightly,
“Viktor, being raised in the Royal Palace is something entirely different.”
“In what way, Mother?”
Viktor replied absently, raising the empty bottle he had already drained. A maid, startled, hurried forward.
Normally a servant would replace a bottle before the master finished it, but Viktor gave them no chance. Every time a new bottle appeared, he poured it straight down his throat.
He sat slouched, legs crossed, leaning toward the side table. By now he had drunk enough to kill an ordinary man.
As another maid went to fetch more liquor, Marina spoke dreamily,
“When I was little, that place seemed as wide as the whole world… We would run through the entire palace, and when the royal children gathered on a fine carpet, my late aunt would read us stories. Ah, she truly was a storyteller, through and through.”
Viktor, who had heard this tale a thousand times, only half-listened, waiting for more drink.
Soon, instead of liquor, Blythe entered.
“Master, we’ve received a fine new tea. Would you care to try it?”
“I told you to bring alcohol.”
Without even glancing at him, Viktor spoke coldly. Blythe bowed his head, unable to press further.
“Yes, I’ll have it brought right away.”
Alcohol was indeed necessary if one was to pretend to listen to a story for the thousandth time—but today, even for Viktor, it was far too much.
Blythe left with a troubled look. At that moment, a maid entered carrying a fresh bottle and glass.
“At this rate, normal people would be dead already…”
“The young master isn’t normal.”
“Still, wouldn’t it be better to give him water, especially since his taste is already dulled?”
“He’s not that insensible.”
Viktor Dempelter was an indifferent master. Among employers, indifference alone placed one at least above average. Even a violent master who still paid on time was considered middling. So none of his servants wished for Viktor to drown himself in drink.
Viktor’s tastes were impossibly exacting—if he liked a dress, he would find the shoes lacking; if the shoes were chosen, the hat would not suit.
Even Marina, who had longed for this party, grew weary of changing outfits all day and began lashing out.
“Are you trying to strangle me with clothes until I die?”
“Is that possible?”
“I’m tired of this.”
“Just a little longer.”
“That’s right—I should never trust you. You’ve always hated me.”
Her eyes unfocused, Marina spat bitterly. Viktor drained the last of his whiskey and answered,
“Of course not.”
“You devil.”
Viktor gazed at his mother’s hostile stare, then murmured,
“You’re beautiful.”
And it was true.
His striking face was a perfect blend of his mother’s and father’s features. Even now, Marina’s beauty shone.
For the moment, his compliment veiled her madness.
