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Chapter 32
The Mousetrap (5)
It was, of course, Berenice who had emptied the mansion’s safe the previous night.
Dressed in black pants and a black shirt, with a black robe over them—just as she had worn when she’d moved secretly through the lord’s castle—this time she was more prepared. She wore a mask, wrist guards, and soft leather-soled shoes to silence her steps.
She had memorized the patrol routes of all the guards by studying the security logs and, being more familiar than anyone with the layout of the mansion, the job was easy.
Of course, it also helped that she had one of the master keys—kept by the direct family members—since no one would ever imagine the owner of the house would rob her own safe.
As she slipped out of the vault, Berenice thought idly that once this incident was discovered at dawn, the household’s security might finally be strengthened.
Her next destination was Marianne’s room.
Marianne was fast asleep, unaware that anyone had entered her chamber. Berenice quietly looked down at her sleeping face for a moment before taking out the items she had prepared in advance: a small note, several valuables stolen from the safe, and a small leather pouch containing Bleddin’s cufflinks.
Berenice remembered from her life before regression that Marianne never kept her treasures far away—she always hid them under her own bed.
Berenice crouched low and reached under the bed.
As she expected, her fingers brushed against a hard box.
She pulled it out carefully so as not to make a sound. After confirming that Marianne was still fast asleep, Berenice used her tools to unlock the box.
I should’ve brought some sleeping incense…
Every time she acted in secret and haste, something was always missing.
She resolved to bring some next time, then lifted the lid and examined the contents.
Inside were a fairly thick document envelope, a single unmatched earring, and three thin silver rings.
There was also a small leather pouch that looked heavy even at a glance.
Opening it, Berenice saw the gold coins inside and clicked her tongue softly.
So these are the coins she received for selling my information.
The amount was far too much for a maid’s wages.
Berenice glanced at the peacefully sleeping Marianne, her amber eyes turning cold.
She has no idea what hell is waiting for her.
After returning the gold pouch to its place, Berenice picked up the thick envelope and peeked inside.
She let out a bitter laugh.
I knew it. She was collecting them even back then.
Before her regression, Marianne hadn’t just sold information about Berenice—she had gathered and stored secrets about the entire Marquisate of Wiltiera.
Because Berenice had trusted her, Marianne had been able to access data that could have fatally harmed the family.
When Berenice had later discovered that, she had nearly torn her chest apart in regret.
And it’s not just about our family…
Several sheets toward the back were documents from the House of Blaze.
They contained records of how Count Blaze had requested and paid for information on Berenice.
Was it for her dowry?
Marianne was the second daughter of a baron’s family who had joined the Marquis household aiming for Bleddin’s side.
She wasn’t the only one who came with that intent, of course.
But after Bleddin had renounced his position as heir, most returned to their own families—except Marianne, who stayed and earned Berenice’s trust, pretending her goals were different.
She wanted to become Countess Blaze.
While gathering compromising information on the Marquisate, she was also collecting the Blaze family’s weaknesses.
Had her plan succeeded, Marianne would have offered those “weaknesses” as her dowry and become Nion Blaze’s bride after the Marquisate’s downfall.
But she failed. That was the price for underestimating the Count.
Berenice placed the cufflinks and stolen jewelry back into the box, locked it, and slid it under the bed where it had been.
She picked up the documents again and stood.
This time, you won’t get what you want, Marianne Wood.
Before her regression, Marianne had died miserably after her attempt at blackmail.
This time, she wouldn’t die that way—she’d be forced to live through a far worse hell.
Looking down at Marianne’s sleeping face, Berenice vowed to make that happen.
She then took out the small note she had prepared and placed it on the bedside table, setting a silver coin on top.
When Marianne saw it, she would surely believe that the Blaze family had contacted her.
After completing her work, Berenice returned to her room, changed clothes, and wrote a letter to the “White Raven.”
It was an anonymous tip to be delivered to Madam Patterson.
Berenice knew that no matter how much she tried to disguise her handwriting, someone would notice if she sent it directly. So she planned to send it through the White Raven.
It was almost dawn, but delivery wasn’t difficult.
She only had to place the letter on the windowsill and put one of Bronwen’s silver coins on top.
She had no idea how the letters were collected, but anything sent this way always reached Bronwen.
She had used this method many times before her regression.
When Berenice finally went to sleep after finishing everything, the only thing left on the windowsill the next morning was a single silver coin—the mark that the White Raven had taken the message.
Pocketing it for future use, Berenice calmly ate breakfast.
Then, claiming she disliked the necklace she’d chosen yesterday, she sent a maid to retrieve another from the vault—only after making a show of looking for Marianne and confirming before others that she was missing from the mansion.
I didn’t expect her to scream when she discovered the theft, though.
After watching Marianne being dragged away, Berenice composed her expression in her mother’s arms and stood, wearing a sorrowful face.
She did feel a pang of guilt as she saw the worry in her family’s eyes—but it quickly faded. This was, after all, something she had to do to protect them.
“How will Marianne be handled?”
Her father, the Marquis, answered in a gentle but firm voice.
“She’ll be handed over to the constabulary after due process.”
“She’ll be punished?”
“Of course.”
At his resolute reply, Berenice nodded somberly.
But just the constables, Father? That’s not nearly enough.
The hell awaiting Marianne would not be a prison cell.
As she leaned into her mother’s arms again, Berenice thought, She’ll live through something far worse than death.
Silence fell over the Marquis’s office soon after.
The day had already darkened, consumed by unexpected chaos since morning.
“I think we should all rest for today,” the Marquis finally said, noticing how tired Berenice looked.
Everyone nodded.
Of course, Berenice would be the only one actually resting.
The Marquis would begin organizing the aftermath, the Marchioness would review household matters with the head maid, and Lowell, the heir, would remain by his father’s side to assist.
If Berenice insisted, she could have joined her mother’s work—but she chose instead to quietly return to her room.
“Young Lady, are you all right?”
“Yes.”
Supported by Nadia, Berenice sank onto the sofa at the center of her room as if collapsing.
It was simply exhaustion from moving tirelessly since last night, but to Nadia’s eyes, it looked like something else.
“Shall I prepare a bath? Or warm some milk for you?”
“No, I’m fine. I just want to be alone.”
“Will you really be all right?”
“Yes.”
Perhaps Nadia had already guessed that Berenice was behind everything.
She hadn’t bothered to hide her actions too carefully around her, after all.
But Nadia didn’t ask anything—she simply bowed and withdrew quietly.
Berenice smiled faintly. Nadia’s silence was strangely reassuring.
Then she pulled a small glass vial from her chest pocket.
It was poison—something she had prepared in advance for Marianne’s “hell.”
Of course, it wasn’t a normal poison meant to kill. That would be far too merciful.
“Did you know, Bleddin? Black market merchants make house calls too.”
After deciding to get rid of Marianne, Berenice had sent a “signal” to summon an underworld dealer, even in the middle of the hectic banquet preparations, and bought the poison.
Those dealers were known to appear unseen, complete a deal, and vanish like smoke—so the task had been simple.
“Do I look like a terrible person?”
She chuckled softly, as if talking to Bleddin sitting across from her.
But there was no joy in her laughter—only dryness and emptiness, closer to a sob.
“But you can’t scold me even if I am, can you?”
Because her brother was dead.
Maybe that thought hurt too much.
Her eyes, parched and burning, suddenly brimmed with tears.
At that very moment, she heard the creak of a window opening.
Startled, Berenice turned her head toward the sound—
And there, climbing through the window, stood a man who absolutely should not have been there.
“Why are you crying again?” he asked.
