“Lord Arthur, what crime do you believe Margaret was guilty of?”

‘The crime he knew…’

If he hadn’t been reminded of the word ‘fiancé’ earlier, he might have wondered why she was suddenly asking such a question. After that strange exchange, however, Arthur sensed that something was amiss.

“…….”

A cold unease crept up his spine. There was something else; something he didn’t know about. The thought of uncovering it filled him with dread.

‘Whatever it is… I don’t want to know.’

Every nerve in his body screamed to preserve the fragile illusion he was clinging to.

“Why are you asking that all of a sudden…?”

His voice faltered defensively and his gaze darted away. But curiosity was a cruel thing. Even a man as timid as Arthur could not resist its pull.

“…What exactly is it that you know, Baroness?”

For a long moment, Baroness Vansen simply regarded him. Then, lowering her eyes to her teacup, she spoke in a voice utterly devoid of emotion—cold, steady, and precise.

“Margaret Redgrave. Commonly known as the ‘Black Widow.’ A notorious marriage swindler… and a seductress.”

“……A s-seductress?”

Arthur stammered, his face draining of color.

“Yes. Forty-two confirmed victims on record.”

Estella said, her tone clinical and detached, as though reciting from a report.

“But when you include those who never came forward, the total is estimated to be close to a hundred.”

Although her voice carried no emotion, the numbers alone made Arthur flinch. He pressed his hands over his ears and hunched his shoulders as if trying to block out the sound.

“T-That’s impossible… Rosalyn was only a petty thief, I swear she—”

“A thief, yes. She stole under the guise of engagement and marriage, taking everything her victims owned.”

Arthur’s lips sealed tight. The baroness said nothing more, simply holding his gaze, her silence pressing heavier than any accusation.

“…….”

He wanted to argue that she was wrong, that she’d never met Rosalyn and didn’t know her. But he couldn’t. He didn’t have the courage. Yet he couldn’t pretend he hadn’t heard either.

So Arthur did the only thing he could: he ran.

“I’ll… come back another time.”

Ian Wyndham rose calmly from his seat and looked unsurprised. There was no shock on his face; only a quiet composure that suggested he had foreseen it all from the outset. He walked to the door and opened it with a refined smile.

“It’s late, Lord Arthur. Please, take care on your way home.”

“……Thank you.”

And just like that, Arthur fled the Wyndham estate, as though running from the truth itself.

✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦ ✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦ ✦❘

After he left, Ian and Estella gathered the untouched teacup and their own empty ones and carried them to the kitchen.

“You noticed she’d lied to Lord Arthur from the start, right?”

“No,” Estella said, placing the cups on the counter. “I only realized it as we were talking.”

“For someone who just happened to realize, that was quite the deliberate questioning.”

Estella let out a faint chuckle.

“I suppose it was.”

She rinsed one of the cups and set it down.

“Do you plan to tell Baroness Maynard?”

Her hand paused mid-motion. She shook off the water from her fingers, turned, and faced him.

“What do you think I should do?”

“What does Estella want to do?”

It was a difficult question. If she told the truth, she would be caught up in a storm of family conflict and resentment. However, if she stayed silent, she risked being accused of complicity later on — of knowing and saying nothing.

“I’m not sure.”

Ian’s brows lifted, surprised.

“I thought you’d simply ignore it and move on.”

“Normally, I would. But this involves the Maynard family, the very center of our current operation. I can’t just look away.”

Ian lowered his gaze for a moment, as if considering.

“There’s no need to rush. Let’s watch how things unfold for a few days.”

“Agreed.”

She said quietly, turning back to the sink. He stepped closer, coming to stand beside her. Without saying a word, he took the sponge from her hand, his fingers brushing lightly over hers. Their hands overlapped briefly before separating.

‘…He could’ve just taken the sponge.’

Why did he have to hold her hand like that?

Was it just her imagination, or had the distance between them been shrinking lately?

Lost in thought, Estella stood still for a moment, her hand hovering uselessly in the air until Ian spoke in a casual tone.

“Shouldn’t you check on Ayla?”

“Ah—right.”

He was right, of course. Pushing the strange feeling aside, Estella stepped back.

“I’ll head up first.”

“See you tomorrow.”

Ian said without turning around as she walked away.

Watching his broad back as he rinsed the dishes in silence, she wondered if his touch had been an accident after all.

Raising her eyebrows slightly, she quietly left the kitchen.

✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦ ✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦ ✦❘

Ian had suggested that they give Margaret a few days to quietly observe the situation before deciding how to proceed.

However, events unfolded far more chaotically and much sooner than either of them could have anticipated.

✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦ ✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦ ✦❘

Thud! Thud! Thud!

“Baroness Vansen! Sir Wyndham!!”

Early the next morning, there was a loud, frantic pounding on the door that echoed through the house. Ian and Estella hurried downstairs without saying a word.

When Ian opened the door, Arthur stood there, sweating, pale, and gasping for breath.

“Lord Arthur?”

“Something terrible has happened—terrible!”

His face was drawn and trembling, despair melting him down like wax. Words tumbled from his mouth in fragments.

“Isaac… Isaac is gone! Rosalyn took him, she took my son and disappeared!”

“What?”

“What do you mean she took him?”

The commotion must have woken Ayla. She appeared at the top of the stairs, rubbing her sleepy eyes and still in her nightclothes.

Seeing the little girl’s tousled hair must have reminded Arthur of his missing son, because he suddenly dropped to his knees and began to weep uncontrollably.

“It’s my fault! I should have waited until morning, gathered everyone together and questioned her properly, but—oh, heavens!”

Although it was early enough that no one was passing by outside, they still couldn’t afford to draw attention.

“Come inside.”

Ian said firmly, helping Arthur to his feet and closing the door behind them. Estella approached Ayla, crouching down to meet her gaze.

“Ayla, sweetheart, could you go back to sleep for a little while? The grown-ups need to talk about something important.”

“…….”

Though young, Ayla was perceptive. She nodded hesitantly and went back upstairs.

By then Arthur was still sobbing, his breath hitching in short, ragged bursts.

“Let’s move to the parlor,” Ian said.

“I’ll bring some water.”

“Good idea.”

✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦ ✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦ ✦❘

After a long stretch of tears, Arthur finally steadied himself with several gulps of the water Estella brought.

“After what I heard yesterday… I couldn’t contain it—my fear, my anger. So when I returned home, I asked Rosalyn about the ‘Black Widow.’”

He had hoped she would laugh it off, say she didn’t know what he meant. But the moment she heard the name, she froze.

“I couldn’t pretend anymore… I lost control. I pushed her, shouted at her. I just couldn’t stop myself.”

He let out a hollow laugh, heavy with regret.

“If she’d at least tried to deny it… anything… but she didn’t. She just kept her head down and said nothing.”

His voice broke.

“I don’t even remember how I fell asleep. I must have exhausted myself from yelling at her for hours… told her to leave if she wanted to so badly.”

And when morning came, she really did. The problem was, she hadn’t gone alone. She had taken his son, Isaac, with her.

“Are you certain Margaret took him?”

“Sniff… Yes. I found this letter.”

He pulled a crumpled note from his pocket.

[‘I’m sorry.]

It was so brief it felt almost cruel.

“…She doesn’t mention taking Isaac.”

“But she did! I know she did! The only reason she ever decided to settle down was because of Isaac!”

Estella’s brows drew together.

“Then… did she love you?”

“Of course, there was some affection, but we weren’t at the stage of calling it love.”

“…….”

Wiping his tear-streaked face, he buried it in his palms.

“After my wife died, I stayed in her hometown with Isaac. We lived there for years.”

Estella glanced at Ian, who gave a slight nod to confirm the truth of it.

“My wife… she was an angel. Everyone loved her. Even my mother, the Baroness, couldn’t stop grieving for her.”

His voice grew faint, laden with guilt.

“Adults struggle to recover from loss, but what about a child? Isaac lost his mother in an instant… and I was so broken myself that I couldn’t see his pain.”

He drew in a trembling breath.

“Last summer… it happened.”

He looked away, his eyes clouding with memory.

“The boy kept saying he saw her. His mother. And one day, he ran straight into the lake. Said she was standing there, in the middle of the water.”

Arthur’s voice cracked.

“I still don’t know if it was s*icide… or if he truly saw her ghost.”

In the end, the child had nearly drowned, nearly followed his late mother into that deep lake.

“It was Rosalyn who saved him.”

At those words, Estella’s eyes darkened.

‘She saved him…?’

The Black Widow approached first encounters meticulously. She planned every word, every gesture and every detail of how she would enter her prey’s life. However, she wouldn’t have been able to orchestrate something as unpredictable as a child throwing himself into a lake.

This meant that Isaac’s rescue was purely accidental.

‘Then she didn’t approach Arthur Maynard deliberately…?’