“Rosalyn is our savior.”

Arthur murmured, his gaze unfocused as if lost in old memories.

Estella waited patiently for him to continue, but when the silence stretched too long, she finally spoke first.

“When did you find out that Margaret was a criminal?”

“Ah… that…”

He flinched, lowering his head again before answering.

“I only learned about it recently. When I suggested returning to the capital together… that’s when she confessed. She said she couldn’t go with me because she was a criminal.”

“Margaret confessed that herself?”

“Yes… though she didn’t say it was for fraud. She said it was theft.”

“…….”

‘Well, if stealing a man’s heart counts as theft, then she’s guilty of that too.’

And in a way, she wasn’t wrong. Margaret had indeed taken people’s money and property under the guise of marriage. By definition, she was a thief.

‘Still… this feels different from before.’

For her to have confessed first that was unusual.

“According to Rosalyn, Isaac reminded her of her younger brother, who died when he was little.”

That might have been a lie or perhaps the truth.

‘This is what makes swindlers so exhausting.’

They blur the line between sincerity and deceit so seamlessly that it becomes impossible to trust them.

But one thing was certain. The Black Widow’s actions this time were unlike anything she had shown before.

‘But that alone isn’t proof that a person has changed.’

Even after more than a decade of the same schemes, she may simply have refined her methods and crafted a new persona.

Perhaps sensing the doubt behind Estella’s silence, Arthur vehemently shook his head.

“Her feelings for Isaac weren’t a lie. Even if I failed to see who she really was, I know that much for certain. I could feel her sincerity. That’s why Isaac followed her so naturally like a fledgling following its mother bird.”

“…….”

Estella saw in him the familiar trace of delusion shared by many victims of con artists. She let out a quiet sigh and rose from her seat.

“Where are you going?”

“To report this.”

Arthur’s face froze, the blood draining from it. Seeing that, Estella clicked her tongue inwardly.

‘I thought so.’

He had learned that his child was missing, yet instead of reporting it, he had rushed to their house at dawn.

What did that mean?

‘He still wants to believe in her.’

This was what made swindlers so terrifying. Even when victims discovered the truth, they rarely accepted it.

‘There must be a reason. She’s not really like that. Maybe if I just wait a little longer…’

And then, when their lives had fallen apart and there was nowhere left for them to turn, they finally admitted it.

It wasn’t just about their faith in the swindler; it was also about their pride and refusal to accept their mistake.

Arthur was no different.

“I… don’t want to report it.”

Hearing that, Estella tilted her head back and looked up at the ceiling.

‘Wonderful. Just what I needed, another headache.’

The Maynard family. An essential connection for protecting Baron Vansen’s research. But now, with the situation spiraling like this, a thought crossed her mind: Maybe I should find another way.

The Black Widow was troublesome enough but the real complication was this indecisive heir in front of her.

‘Even though she saved his son from drowning, she’s the kind of person who would demand your bag in return.’

To be honest, she preferred people like Marianne, or even that crazy matchstick seller. At least they were decisive.

Men like Arthur were always hesitant and wavered between choices, ultimately passing responsibility onto others only to blame them when things didn’t go as hoped.

Having organized her thoughts, Estella turned back towards Arthur. She was about to say, ‘If you won’t report it, then there’s nothing we can do.’

But…

“Unfortunately, there’s nothing we can do to help.”

Both Estella and Arthur turned to him at once.

“Wh-what? Why not—”

Ian’s tone remained calm, measured—not harsh, but firm enough to leave no room for debate.

“Didn’t Lord Arthur himself say yesterday that we’re outsiders?”

“That’s… that’s different—”

Apparently, he hadn’t expected that kind of response. Arthur’s eyes trembled violently before he stood abruptly, his voice rising.

“B-but…! It was because of you two, because you told me about Rosalyn that all of this happened!”

As expected. He was already trying to shift the blame onto her.

Ian stood as well, the faintest smile still resting on his lips.

“Lord Arthur. It wasn’t we who came to you to speak of Margaret Redgrave.”

Arthur opened his mouth to argue, but Ian cut him off, his tone sharpening just slightly.

“Let’s be clear.”

The sudden change in Arthur’s presence made him flinch and take a small step back.

Ian’s cool, steady gaze swept over him from head to toe.

“We only provided the truth in response to your request. How you chose to confront her with that information was entirely your decision.”

Ian stepped towards the speechless Arthur, his tone calm yet firm.

“Therefore, the responsibility for this situation lies entirely with you. Rather than blaming us, wouldn’t it be more appropriate to ask for our help?”

“…….”

Watching him speak so firmly, Estella was quietly taken aback.

‘I expected him to smooth things over and send Arthur away politely… not confront him like this.’

“If you continue speaking in that resentful tone as if it’s only natural for us to fix this together, then there’s nothing we can do for you, Lord Arthur.”

Arthur stood frozen, stiff as a statue.

“It’s too far to walk back at this hour. I’ll have a carriage brought around for you.”

Without waiting for a reply, he left the parlor to call the coachman. It was a graceful expulsion, delivered with the precision of a closing door.

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

After that day, Arthur never came back to see Ian or Estella. However, what surprised them most was that no missing person report was ever filed for Isaac Maynard.

“It seems he hired private investigators instead.”

“He hired detectives? His son vanished, and that’s all he’s done?”

“That’s what the rumors say.”

But his tone suggested those weren’t mere rumors. His information was always precise.

‘His child was abducted, yet he didn’t even report it…?’

He’d only gone to private investigators.

‘Then that means…’

Before Estella could follow the thought, the kitchen door opened a crack.

“Auntie… Uncle…”

It was Ayla, holding a small flowerpot in her arms, the golden dale that the butler, Wilbur, had helped her plant.

“I don’t know why it won’t grow. I water it just right, and I give it lots of sunlight…”

Ian crouched down to meet her eyes, studying the plant carefully.

“We might need to look through a few more books.”

“But… I already read all the books about plants in the house.”

She said, her voice tinged with disappointment. Ian tilted his chin, still studying the withered leaves beside her.

“Then what should we do, hmm?”

With both of them leaning toward the same direction, their profiles matched almost perfectly. They didn’t quite look like father and daughter but like an affectionate uncle and his bright young niece.

“How about this? We could go to the bookstore and pick up some new books on plants.”

Ayla perked up instantly, her whole body lifting like a startled rabbit.

“Really? We can?”

Ian let out a soft chuckle and absentmindedly tapped her head twice.

“Of course. Why not?”

A blush bloomed on her cheeks, delicate as watercolor. Then she turned to Estella, her eyes shining with unspoken hope.

Estella caught her gaze and smiled faintly.

‘Perfect timing.’

The news about the Maynard family’s reliance on private investigators instead of the authorities had left her uneasy. But now, their outing might give her a chance to investigate on her own.

“Go on.”

Both Ian and Ayla turned to her at once.

“Aren’t you coming, Auntie?”
“You’re not going with us?”

Their words overlapped.

“I’ve overworked myself these past few days. I think I’ll rest.”

Both faces turned serious.

“You’re tired?”
“Auntie…”

Their expressions mirrored each other again.

“It’s nothing serious, so don’t worry.”

“I’ll call a physician.”

“If I don’t feel better after some rest, I’ll go see one tomorrow.”

“Don’t say that, just come with us. We can stop by the physician’s house before the bookstore.”

“He’s right. Let’s go together.”

Ayla chimed in eagerly. Seeing the two of them persist with such matching concern, Estella regretted bringing up the subject of fatigue at all. Nevertheless, she had already said it, and now she had to see it through somehow.

“If I’m not better by tomorrow, I promise I’ll go. But for now, I really just want to sleep.”

Their faces showed their unease and worry, mixed with a hint of reluctance, but neither of them pushed her any further.

“All right, but if it gets worse—”

“Don’t worry. Just go and enjoy yourselves.”

She interrupted before the conversation could drag on. She ushered them upstairs to change into their outdoor clothes, cutting off any chance of further protest.

As they disappeared upstairs, Ayla took Ian’s hand, while Estella lingered to look at the child’s back.

‘Isaac Maynard was about Ayla’s age…’

All the Maynards had done was hire a few private detectives to find their missing child.

‘What in the world are they thinking?’