The Phantom Thief had risked everything to reveal how Blake became the Lord of Terium, but his attempt failed. He wanted to somehow make the Count speak and expose something to the world. Debbie wondered if it was worth becoming his enemy over this.

Looking deeper, her parents’ situation was also involved. Why had he hired Lorraine? What was the Phantom Thief trying to expose through Blake?

Her journalistic curiosity was piqued. Even in this situation, her interest in what the column and article were trying to reveal suggested that solving the mystery of the rebellion might be most important to her.

“Let me become Henrietta this time. That would make things simple,” she thought.

Blake had said to her, “Debbie, become mine.”

So she quietly unbuttoned her clothes.

‘Fine!’ she thought bitterly. Asking her to become his mistress? Absolutely not. She would comply just this once because her column deadline was urgent, but never again.

She had simply chosen “Becoming Henrietta” as this column’s theme—not because he forced her, but because she chose it.

She thought he was looking at her hands, but when she realized he was staring at her undergarments through her loosened clothes, she mentally spat curses. She had been meticulously wearing nice underwear every day in case she encountered the Phantom Thief again.

She had hoped that man would see and appreciate them—certainly not for this sleazy boss to feast his eyes on.

Tears of indignation formed in Debbie’s eyes. Moreover, something felt strangely familiar. She pondered the source of this discomfort for a long while before realizing the president was touching the same places the masked man had touched.

She gritted her teeth and tried to endure the situation. However, as her emotions drained severely, her mind kept comparing this moment with her time with the Phantom Thief. How could the same position feel so utterly different?

When he finally released his grip on her, Debbie rushed into the bathroom, locked the door, and turned the shower on full blast.

Suddenly, uncontrollable tears burst forth. She couldn’t hear whatever he was saying outside the door.

“It’s okay. It was just s*x without love,” she repeated in her mind, but to no avail. The imitation had been a complete failure. Though she hadn’t been lovers with the Phantom Thief either, s*x without emotional connection made her profoundly sad.

“How many times must one repeat such relationships before becoming numb like you, Henrietta? How can you have such encounters without feeling anything?”

No matter how much Henrietta looked at her with contemptuous eyes saying “you can’t live on love alone,” Debbie couldn’t agree with her opinion.

She too had s*x with a man she didn’t love—she hadn’t loved the Phantom Thief then. So she thought imitating Henrietta wouldn’t be difficult, but no matter how she looked at it, she couldn’t do it with that bastard again. s*x without respect left her with the misery of having fallen to the ground.

She didn’t even remember how she got home. The photographer waiting on the first floor had left angrily, and Fret had somehow borrowed a carriage to take her home.

She began writing her column. She couldn’t help comparing. As she wrote about how rough and rude he had been, she longed to see the Phantom Thief even more.

“He wouldn’t have done this. He would have been gentle instead.”

The moment she thought of him, she was startled to recognize the physical changes in her body. Smooth secretions flowed from her swollen lower region, soaking her panties despite the friction from her encounter with Blake.

Why? Just thinking about him made her body relax gently, trembling slightly in anticipation, just like when he caressed her.

“Yes, this is precisely why I don’t want to have s*x with just anyone,” she realized.

After enthusiastically writing her column, she placed a period at the end. Now she just needed to attach money in the center and arrange the text around it for a decent design.

With a satisfied expression, she got up and rummaged through her bag.

“That’s strange?”

The wallet that had definitely been in her bag until yesterday had vanished. Throwing her bag in frustration had caused the problem. Though she hadn’t taken anything out, the bag had opened, and its contents had scattered throughout her home. Despite searching every corner of her small room, she couldn’t find her wallet.

“Aargh!”

The publishing house was quite far from home. She needed her wallet to take the tram to work, but without it, she would have to walk all the way.

“What am I going to do!”

* * *

Gray clutched his head in frustration.

“Didn’t she recognize me?”

Otherwise, she wouldn’t have written such a column.

Utterly dumbfounded, he placed his hand on his head and laughed hollowly. He was both Blake and the Phantom Thief, yet the first s*xual encounter was described as the best while the latter was the worst.

“You called for me?”

Fret entered the editor’s office.

“I mentioned that I have a major deal today requiring extensive preparation,” he grumbled, unusually expressing his displeasure.

“Sit down. I called you to look at this.”

Fret glanced at the document Gray handed him and complained further.

“Publishing matters should be handled within the publishing house. Did you call me just to look at this?”

“Since you’ve substituted for me whenever I’m away, aren’t you half an editor yourself? I need an editor’s perspective here. Read it first. I want you to judge whether this column should be published in the magazine. I can’t reach a conclusion alone.”

At Gray’s words, Fret lowered his eyes and accepted the column with a sullen expression.

“Pfft!”

Fret’s laughter erupted at exactly the same point where Gray had spat his coffee.

“Ahahahaha!”

He threw his head back and laughed loudly. Gray groaned painfully, supporting his forehead with one hand.

“So what do you think after reading it?”

Gray cautiously gauged his reaction. Fret kept grinning, rubbing his chin with one hand, looking thoroughly entertained.

“Based on the content, there’s nothing that would identify Blake or provide clues about him. She writes very well and entertainingly. She could debut as a novelist with this quality.”

Blake took the document back, irritably tossed it on the desk, and turned to look at Fret.

“Did she really not recognize me? Or is she pretending not to know this too?”

Fret burst into laughter again.

“I thought you had great intuition, but how can someone be this stupid!”

Gray merely tousled his hair in frustration.

“Fret, should I confess my identity to Debbie?”

Fret crossed his arms and smiled mischievously.

“Do you plan to keep her by your side?”

“Are you crazy? Am I in a position to do that right now?”

“Then it’s simple. The moment you handed her that blank check, you removed the leash from her neck yourself. Now that she’s free, whether she stays at the magazine or leaves is entirely her decision.”

“That’s true.”

“Unless Miss Debbie volunteers to participate in our plans first. We’re not so desperate for talent that we need an amateur as a collaborator.”

“What if Debbie causes trouble?”

“Is that what you thought when you gave her the blank check? Your words don’t match your actions.”

“Hmm.”

Gray sighed deeply.

“You’re cold to others, but become so soft when entangled with her.”

Fret’s eyes gleamed coldly.

“Where is the man who promised me he would bring down Marquis Clarence’s house?”

Gray’s expression hardened at those words.

“I don’t want to see weakness from someone who has staked everything. You clearly promised then—if you ever soften or wish to quit, you’d let me take your life with my own hands.”

Fret calmly conveyed his intentions. Gray paced by the window with crossed arms, his deliberation lasting quite a while.

“I showed an unsightly side of myself.”

“Should we eliminate Miss Debbie now?”

Gray stared at Fret for a moment before slowly speaking.

“I leave full authority to you.”

Fret’s lips curled up slightly.

“But. I want her to have a chance.”

Fret nodded and quietly left the editor’s office. Gray gazed at the Imperial Palace visible through the window.

A flock of pigeons suddenly took flight, cutting across the seemingly peaceful blue sky. After appreciating the scenery for a while, he decided to publish Debbie’s column without filtering it.

He unfolded a newspaper placed on his desk. It contained an announcement about Lime Publishing hosting a poetry contest to discover new talent.

* * *

After writing and submitting her column in a storm of anger, Debbie fell into exhaustion.

“I’ll never imitate Henrietta again,” she vowed.

She remained listless even at work.

She managed to endure until the magazine’s deadline, but once the manuscript was sent to the printing house and she had nothing left to do, her motivation plummeted further.

Since everyone was idling around after the intense deadline rush, no one complained about her behavior.

A steaming cup of coffee appeared on her desk. Debbie glanced at the person who brought it and was startled to see Ashley.

“I didn’t spit in it. Drink it without worry.”

Ashley turned away with a prim expression.

“Th-thank you,” Debbie stuttered, not knowing how to respond as she fidgeted with the hot coffee cup.

Until recently, Ashley had handled objects roughly whenever she saw Debbie and barely acknowledged her greetings with a slight nod. She would pass by, completely ignoring Debbie, so it was confusing that she now initiated greetings since the company dinner.

Even during her time at Alobachia Prestigious School, Debbie had few friends. Only Ailey Fleur had been her sole friend. She would communicate with other children through Ailey.

So having a woman of similar age acknowledge her was both pleasing and burdensome.

From what she’d heard, Ashley had joined as an assistant, handling demanding work for low wages, and had been working there for several years with sufficient experience as an assistant.

She should have been the first choice when hiring new staff. Yet they had hired Debbie, whose only experience was as an assistant teacher, as a trainee reporter. It was obvious how disappointed Ashley must have felt.

However, Debbie found it frightening when someone she barely knew suddenly approached her with false familiarity.

She stared blankly at the coffee cup in her hands.