“Or perhaps around Mr. Fret, or with the president.”

Having omitted the key ring story when speaking with Meryl, Debbie asked indirectly.

“Is it an important name?”

Debbie asked without much expectation. Meryl seemed to have worked at the hotel for quite some time, so even a small hint would be sufficient.

“Even something trivial would help. Just tell me anything that comes to mind related to the name Charlotte around here.”

“Hmm…”

Meryl hesitated before speaking.

“Lina the hat shop owner’s sister is Charlot, not Charlotte, so it can’t be her. I only remember one Charlotte. Mr. Fret had a sister named Charlotte who was five years older than him.”

Debbie’s eyes sparkled at Meryl’s words.

“But his sister went missing, and while searching for her, he himself was trafficked, which led him down this path. After catching the president’s eye and becoming the general manager, he would ask every pr*stitute he met if they knew someone named Charlotte. He seems to think she’s dead now though.”

Knock, knock.

Just then, someone knocked from outside.

“Manager, are you in there?”

Meryl recognized the voice and glanced at her watch.

“Debbie, I’m sorry. I think I’ve been away from my post too long. Let’s get in touch later.”

Debbie hurriedly handed Meryl her business card.

“Call the publishing house anytime if anything comes up.”

“Ms. Debbie Jones? There’s a phone call for you at the counter.”

A hotel employee relayed the message to Debbie as well.

“From whom?”

“They said it’s from the publishing house.”

Debbie rushed to the counter.

“Debbie! Where on earth have you been all this time?”

Team Leader Louis’s heated voice crackled through the receiver. He was the one who had given permission when she asked to go out for research.

“The president has been looking for you!”

“What? The president was looking for me? Where is he now?”

Though Debbie had come all the way to the hotel to find Blake, it seemed he had gone to the magazine office instead.

‘Why would he be looking for me?’

* * *

By the time Debbie returned to the publishing house, it was nearly closing time.

Blake sat on the desk where Gray usually sat, gazing out the window at the distant spires of the imperial palace. The red sunset bathing the blue roofs in golden light created a peaceful scene, yet his eyes were darker than ever before.

‘I should have stopped her.’

Looking back, he could have read the signs. Like when Lorraine had asked to help with Fret’s revenge.

— “I want to be useful to Mr. Fret too. I’m not a greenhouse flower. I have my own purpose.”

Fret harbored deep resentment toward Marquis Clarence, Nigel. Eric, Nigel’s second son, supposedly killed Charlotte, but it was Nigel who covered it up.

Fret had clearly drawn the line with Lorraine when she asked to be by his side, telling her he had neither the luxury nor the right to love someone.

— “If I can’t be your lover, I want to be your comrade at least.”

Both Fret and Blake had refused her participation. Yet she had insisted. They gratefully acknowledged her sentiment but firmly blocked her involvement.

As Voluptas’s star dancer with outstanding abilities, she had no need for another sponsor. So even if that bastard had made her a sponsorship offer, Blake assumed she had refused it.

…He never imagined she would secretly accept the request.

He should never have let slip in front of Lorraine that Count Shambali was essentially Nigel’s brain. Or rather, he shouldn’t have been so arrogant about possessing that information.

Even if Lorraine did something reckless, he thought he would hear about it given how sensitive people were to rumors.

But when Lorraine herself kept quiet, no one knew. Not until things had gone this far.

Sigh.

His chest felt tight with every breath. Though three broken ribs caused him physical pain, the ache in his heart was far worse.

His injuries were traces of the fight that broke out at the hideout he had raided after hearing Debbie’s words.

Fret had disobeyed his orders, saying he would follow the culprits to the ends of the earth, and now there was no news of him.

All Blake could do now was pray desperately for Fret’s return, despite not believing in God.

He took out the key ring that Lorraine had supposedly left behind and fidgeted with it.

Click.

A hidden key surface popped out, revealing what was clearly Lorraine’s handwriting.

Charlotte -PB0859S1434

Though it was a key to a secret vault at the central bank, the note wasn’t its ID and password.

For secret vaults, the ID and password were a pair of corresponding sentences. Since grammar was considered a noble accomplishment, passwords had to be grammatically correct.

IDs were phrases like “Lamp of Darkness” or “Cunning Snake.”

Passwords were statements like “Will plunge the world into the abyss” or “Will corrupt the earth.”

Analyzing them revealed that IDs typically consisted of a modifier and a noun, while passwords began with an object followed by a verb or adjective forming the predicate.

The last words Lorraine left, according to Debbie—”Father, welcome back”—would need a modifier before “Father” to meet the ID and password requirements.

So this memo needed to be viewed from a different perspective.

Charlotte. The name that remained a bitter regret in Fret’s heart.

PB resembled an abbreviation used in document numbering. Unresolved cases that were essentially nobles’ shameful secrets were commonly called PB.

0859 was an office code. S meant secret document. 1434 was the document number.

There were three places that handled unresolved cases:

The Security Office, the Court, and the Inspectorate.

Interpreting this, Charlotte was ultimately processed as a missing person, status unknown. The Security Bureau had closed the case as a simple runaway without even a briefing.

But the fact that Charlotte’s document existed somewhere meant it was essentially someone’s bargaining chip—known internally but hidden from the public.

Count Shambali was like Marquis Clarence’s shadow; if the Marquis fell, the Count couldn’t survive alone.

Yet this evidence that Lorraine had risked her life to deliver suggested that Count Shambali was preparing documents to someday bring down Marquis Clarence.

‘It’s a sign that cracks have formed in what appeared to be a solid relationship.’

Lorraine…

While he appreciated her bringing such important information that no one else had uncovered, it wasn’t worth sacrificing her life for.

Through the window, he could see Debbie walking toward the publishing house.

Something had caught her attention, as she wasn’t coming directly but was carefully watching a passing carriage before shaking her head and continuing toward the publishing house.

He repositioned himself in the editor’s chair, breaking into a cold sweat. Officially, it was Gray who was injured, not him.

So he leaned back in the chair, crossing his legs, trying to appear fine.

He placed his hand on his painful side and cursed.

“Ugh.”

He resented that woman who had an illegitimate child and gave all sorts of benefits to her family to keep it quiet, showing no concern for others’ suffering.

Imagining the hell burning red that she had created from the highest position—ignoring all corruption for the sake of a few blood relatives rather than the citizens—Blake muttered to himself:

“Did you think I would be grateful if you placed me on a throne built with someone else’s blood and sweat?”

Blake’s heart ached now, burning inside. He felt the curse of countless people who had been sacrificed just to cover up the mistake that was his existence.

Knock, knock, knock.

Someone knocked on the editor’s office door.

“Come in.”

Blake greeted Debbie as naturally as possible.

“You were looking for me?”

Debbie hesitantly entered the room. She still regarded him with wary eyes.

“We must have missed each other. I heard from the butler that you lost my business card.”

Blake took a card from his pocket and slid it across the desk.

“I heard from Team Leader Louis that Editor-in-Chief Gray has been hospitalized due to a traffic accident. I have something important to ask him but don’t know how to contact him. I wanted to ask you.”

Debbie picked up his business card from the desk. It was embossed with elaborate gold leaf.

“My column preparation isn’t complete. This issue’s deadline is urgent—would it be possible to skip the column just once?”

Remembering the card Gray had given her before, she turned it over, noticing it was almost identical to the previous one except for the absence of Gray’s name on the back.

“Negotiate such matters with the acting editor-in-chief.”

Blake stated the principle.

“I don’t get involved in publishing house issues.”

Through the slightly open door, Team Leader Louis’s gaze met hers briefly before disappearing.

He seemed to be protesting that a column hiatus was not allowed. Debbie frowned and fidgeted with the card again.

Looking at Debbie, Blake sensed her strange attitude of trying to maintain distance from him. He felt their psychological distance wasn’t that great, but Debbie seemed to think otherwise.

‘She still doesn’t seem to know that I’m Gray.’

It wasn’t for nothing that he had given Debbie a double-printed business card usually reserved for special acquaintances.

He had been giving her hints that he was both Blake and Gray since then, but it was frustrating to see her still standing with her hand on the doorknob, ready to run out at any moment.

He couldn’t fathom what she was thinking.

He rubbed his face with both hands, mimicking washing it.

“I hear you’ve been asking questions under the pretext of research?”

He already knew everything about what had happened at the hotel.

“Stop it. I’ve left it to Fret, so let him handle it.”

“I just wanted to be of some help.”

Debbie lowered her head.

“When you say do nothing, do you really mean I shouldn’t do anything at all? This is about my friend’s death.”

In Blake’s eyes, Debbie’s image overlapped with Lorraine’s from that day.

Her determined gaze—agreeing not to get involved but clearly intending to pursue her own agenda—pierced his heart.

— “I’m going to practice overnight. Clark and Mildred will always be with me, so don’t worry.”

Lorraine had said she would be fine with bodyguards nearby.

— “I heard Count Shambali has been making advances. That man always gets the women he sets his sights on. Be especially careful since Fret is away on business.”

Blake had warned her like that. But Lorraine had shaken her head.

— “Is there a man who doesn’t desire me? Ah, except Mr. Fret. Hehe.”

Lorraine had dismissed it casually.

— “I’m attractive enough that I can’t avoid attention wherever I go. If he makes another advance, I’ll ask for help then. Don’t worry.”

Until she said that, he truly believed she was going to rehearse for a play. He even thought the bodyguards he had assigned would report back.

But the bodyguards omitted their report, and Lorraine met Count Shambali on her own. That was the starting point of this tragedy.

That day, Baron Bakran and Henrietta had emerged from where Lorraine should have been.

The bodyguard Clark was nowhere to be seen at the waiting room entrance where he should have been stationed.

And the emergency call badge that Blake had given Clark was pinned to Baron Bakran’s br*ast pocket.

The moment he saw that, Blake’s heart sank.