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Chapter : 9
“Can I go if you don’t have anything more to say?”
“Um, wait a second. Does Cedric not normally come here much?”
“Well, it’s nothing new for the Count to be away from home. I didn’t expect he’d be gone even after bringing you here, though. He said he was going out to look for someone, and you should’ve seen how shocked I was when he returned with you all limp in his arms.”
“…Cedric?”
This was news to her. Lauren clearly remembered her last memory as being gagged by a masked man.
And that man had rough, scarred hands and a short, stocky build. At least a handspan shorter than Cedric—without question.
“Forget I said anything.”
Peter cut himself off and hurried away, as though regretting opening his mouth at all.
What on earth was that?
Something didn’t add up. Was there truly something she couldn’t remember? If Peter wouldn’t say, she’d have to find out herself.
Lauren Bailey’s daily life had become excruciatingly monotonous. Each day had been similar before her confinement, but now that her movements were limited to inside the mansion, it was all the worse.
Wake up. Ask Peter something—usually about Cedric. Wander around the building. Draw maps of it. Try to open windows before finally falling asleep.
Still, she managed to make some progress.
First, she learned that every single window that could be used to exit was thoroughly sealed.
The garden was accessible, but the wall surrounding it was high enough to make escape impossible.
She also learned a lot about Cedric—most of it useless.
Cedric was unmarried. His parents died early. And he was wealthy.
Peter insisted Cedric was reckless but a gentleman at heart. Lauren didn’t listen for a second.
He added that “people of standing in this country” had taken a strong interest in Cedric—including parents of unmarried women.
As if.
She couldn’t care less about the man’s glittering résumé or his wealth. Her only goal was to live a normal life: escape this place, report it to the police, find her father, and continue as before.
But obstacles stood in the way. Even if she escaped, the bigger issue—their shared injuries—remained.
“Well, at least…”
“At least what?”
Lauren swallowed the words that had risen to her throat. Startled, she doubled over coughing.
Cedric stared blankly at her crouching in the hallway.
“You look like you were caught stealing something.”
Not exactly the greeting one expects from one’s kidnapper.
“What are you doing here? You’ve been gone long enough that not even a hair of yours was in sight.”
“I got a bruise where the cheesecake hit me. The doctor recommended complete rest, so I took it.”
“That was supposed to be a joke?”
“I thought it would be funny.”
His black hair was neatly combed. He wore a white dress shirt with a fitted black vest—lighter attire than before.
“Don’t do that again. I have plenty to talk about with you outside of jokes.”
Lauren folded her arms and glared.
“Yes. I heard you wanted to see me.”
“Wouldn’t it be nice if I knew what in the world is going on?”
She had a list of questions ready. First was uncovering the meaning behind the “serious situation” Cedric had mentioned—when she could leave, and whether Noah was truly alive.
She couldn’t trust his answers entirely—but ignorance was worse.
“Shall we go to the parlor?”
“As if bothering to treat me as a guest now means anything.”
“I’ve been treating you as a guest all along.”
He added that he would bring tea. Lauren didn’t waste her breath replying and hurried ahead.
She didn’t get far. Cedric widened his stride and caught up effortlessly, his shoes appearing in her lowered line of sight.
“There is no need to rush.”
“I’m not in the mood for a stroll.”
“Have you tried the garden? Weather’s fine these days.”
“…”
Cedric kept talking as if he’d forgotten she was confined here—and that he was the one who confined her. He spoke casually, almost leisurely, as though they were simply out for a walk.
Lauren gripped her dress, breath tight in her chest.
Unlike other rooms, the parlor’s windows weren’t boarded up or covered.
Tall windows stretched to the ceiling. It was too dark to see clearly now, but in daylight she should be able to survey the area around the mansion.
Locked during daytime, most likely.
She watched Cedric’s hand slip the parlor key back into his suit pocket.
The room was dominated by a black carpet embroidered with gold patterns, flanked by two long black sofas. A space that could only have been decorated by someone fanatically in love with black and gold.
“Please sit.”
Cedric took one sofa; Lauren sat in the middle of the other and crossed her legs.
“Tea, if you’d like?”
“No need.”
Silence filled the room. She tried to appear calm, but nervousness prickled to her fingertips. She straightened her back.
Fear of a situation beyond her control, disgust toward this man, and the stubborn residue of curiosity—all of which she kept tightly hidden.
“Actually… two cups of tea might not be terrible.”
She muttered a worthless bit of humor—just to mask her nerves.
“I ended up drinking both cups last time.”
Their reflections stared back in the window. Lauren sat stiff-backed, Cedric leaning slightly her way.
“Where have you been? I’ve been trapped here unable to do anything.”
“It’s nothing you need to know. But if I say, ‘I’m trying to resolve the problem about to fall on us,’ is that answer enough?”
“No, it isn’t. At least tell me what ‘trying’ means.”
Cedric finally looked away, turning toward the window. The darker it got outside, the more clearly the two of them reflected in the glass.
“But Lauren…”
He rose and approached the window, hands shoved in his pockets.
“If I tell you what’s going on, and what I’m doing about it…”
He turned back to her. The pause felt endless.
The smile vanished from his face.
He approached her sofa, planted a hand on the armrest, and leaned in.
“Is there anything you could even do?”
A certainty disguised as a question.
Lauren felt something snap inside her head.
He was close enough that she could touch his face with the slightest reach. She instinctively leaned back, her body nearly folding into the sofa.
Cedric leaned even closer.
“Fine. I’ll explain just like you want. If you get stabbed, I die. I know why this is happening, but I’m not telling you. Because…”
His voice dropped low—almost a whisper.
“The moment you find out, the ship gets even more dangerous.”
“…”
He couldn’t harm her—she knew that logically—but panic surged anyway.
“Still, you insist on asking. Fine. It’s partially my fault, after all. And I get it—you want to leave.”
“…You get it?”
“Yes. Must be suffocating. But Lauren… you’ll be even more suffocated in a coffin. So please, stay put. I won’t hurt you, and nowhere is safer than here.”
Lauren dug her nails into the sofa. She forced her voice to stay even.
“You say you won’t hurt me? Don’t lie. You had someone drag me here—how is that not harm?”
“Oh dear, Lauren… You were drugged unconscious. I rescued you from their hands and brought you here. If I hadn’t, you’d have been taken who-knows-where and killed. And I would have died with you.”
