🔊 TTS Settings
Chapter : 14
The tense three-way confrontation that nobody enjoyed had finally ended. Lauren dragged her dress along the floor as she walked, careful not to reveal that she had changed her shoes.
The oversized shoes didn’t fit her properly, and it felt like she might stumble at any moment.
In her hand, she carried the report that Noah had meticulously written. She intended to go into her room and read it thoroughly.
“Lauren?”
Cedric’s voice came from behind. As he lengthened his stride and walked a few steps, the distance between them quickly closed.
“Are you uncomfortable? You look like you might have hurt your leg.”
He said this while glancing at the hem of Lauren’s dress.
“No, it’s just a little joint pain. I broke it badly when I was younger, and it sometimes acts up after that.”
It was a perfectly natural answer. Since meeting that man, her skill at lying had noticeably improved.
Lauren bent slightly and tapped around her knees with her hands. Cedric, watching her, nodded as if he had realized something.
“…What is it?”
Lauren forced herself to act nonchalant as she asked, sensing that he might know what had happened in the parlor. She studied his face carefully.
“The wounds are linked, and the pain is felt together. You probably already know that.”
“Of course I do. Not that I really wanted to.”
Lauren fiddled with her wrist, where the scar was healing. When Cedric had cut his own wrist, she had felt the sharp pain alongside him.
“I didn’t want to know either. Rather…”
Cedric’s words trailed off. Perhaps thinking it was better to show than explain, he extended his hand toward Lauren. A large hand with knotted joints came into view. It was covered with old scars in various places.
“Would you like to try?”
What followed was far beyond what Lauren expected. Frowning at what seemed like a crude joke, she hesitated, but Cedric didn’t withdraw his hand.
“With your fingernails?”
“If it’s easier with your teeth, you can use them instead.”
“……”
It wasn’t even worth replying to. She thought a slap might suffice, yet now that he was offering his hand, she wondered what his true intent was.
“You asked for it.”
After a long hesitation, Lauren finally brought her index finger to Cedric’s hand. She felt his cool skin.
She lightly scratched his flesh with her fingernail, leaving faint white marks wherever it passed.
“How does it feel?”
Only after hearing Cedric’s low question did she understand his intent. Her own hand remained unmarked.
“It will feel different this way.”
As soon as he finished speaking, he grabbed her hand. Before she could pull back, he pressed her fingernail against the back of his hand, creating a small wound. She felt the texture of her nail scraping against his skin.
“Are you insane?!”
She quickly withdrew her hand. Yet the mark was already there, a long vertical scratch streaked with blood.
At the same time, a matching wound appeared on Lauren’s hand, accompanied by a dull pain.
The unpleasant sensation of being held and manipulated at will made her painfully aware of her helplessness.
Cedric, seemingly oblivious to Lauren’s stiffening expression, began to explain calmly.
“It seems only wounds that draw blood are linked. Pain without a visible wound, like a headache, or mild stimuli like skin contact, are treated separately.”
“Thanks for the explanation. So…”
She swung her hand toward his cheek. The sound of flesh hitting flesh echoed through the corridor.
Cedric’s head snapped to the side, and a warm sting spread across her palm.
“…So you can hit the cheek, then.”
He slowly straightened his head and pressed the back of his hand against his swelling cheek.
“Well, it’s not unreasonable to think that way.”
The inside of her lip had burst, and the metallic taste of blood lingered on her tongue. Cedric laughed loudly.
Lauren Bailey—he was certain she felt the same. He tapped her lips lightly.
“You’ll need to adjust your strength. Try better next time.”
He left first. Lauren stood rooted in the hallway, staring at him until his figure disappeared.
Cedric Collins, a man used to acting arrogantly. He seemed to regard her as a high-strung noblewoman.
‘…I hope he keeps thinking that.’
Dragging her oversized shoes, Lauren headed to her room. That misconception would help her hide the folding knife concealed in the sole.
Finally, she had a knife. Two days remained until Thursday. The rest depended on Noah.
Noah. An amateur detective taking on his first case.
He sat at a pub table, letting out a sigh as if the ground had swallowed him.
What had seemed a simple missing-person case had transformed, and now he was tasked with helping a client escape from a mansion where she was being held.
“So… what exactly did you call me here for this time?”
A familiar voice broke his train of thought.
Ted, who had burst into the pub in a rush, pulled out the chair across from him. Noah gave an awkward smile.
“Call you? I just wanted to see your face.”
He said that, but he was about to make a very inconvenient request of Ted.
Noah raised his hand and ordered two beers. The bearded owner nodded and disappeared into the kitchen.
“Noah, your treat. I thought you were always busy whenever I wanted to meet.”
“Of course I’m paying.”
Clunk. The owner set the two beers in front of them. Tiny droplets formed on the cold glass surface. Noah lifted the beer and poured half into his mouth without a toast.
“Huh? Drinking first thing?”
“……”
Ted’s eyes widened, mumbling complaints about courtesy and proper etiquette for a shared toast.
Noah nodded absentmindedly, his mind entirely focused on the note in his pocket. The note Lauren had handed him, even tipping over her soup bowl to do so.
I need a knife.
Below, a P.S. read: “Do you know any reporters?”
She wanted him to gather journalists in secret from the mansion owner. Noah had no clue what she was thinking.
The first thing that came to his mind upon reading it was Ted’s face. Ted was the only reporter he knew. Assuming even a cheap gossip magazine counted.
Ted, unaware of Noah’s thoughts, nibbled at the biscuits on the table.
‘What do I even say…?’
Telling the truth would be foolish. No one would believe that Cedric Collins had imprisoned a woman in his mansion.
Even the police had ignored it. If a reporter rushed for a scoop without evidence, they would be dragged into court.
“Hey, if you called me, speak up. Why the long face? Things not going your way?”
Ted slammed his empty beer on the table. Concern filled his brown eyes as he looked at the silent Noah.
“No, it’s not that…”
Noah dragged out his words. Lying to a childhood friend felt wrong, but more than that, he wanted to help Lauren escape. He finally grabbed Ted’s hand.
“Ah, what? Let go! What are you—”
“Ted, I need to tell you something.”
“Fine, just say it and let go.”
Ted removed his hand, crossed his arms, and leaned back. Noah hesitated, then spoke.
“I wasn’t sure whether to say this… but since it’s you, I will.”
He had carefully chosen his opening words. Ted leaned closer to listen.
“Ted, do you know Count Collins? Cedric Collins.”
“Of course I do. Who wouldn’t?”
Ted laughed as if Noah were joking.
“Whenever his name appeared in an article, it sold out immediately. Countless newspapers that wrote any article for the sake of sales without checking ended up closing down.”
“Really? Why don’t I remember hearing that?”
Noah looked at Ted with suspicious eyes.
