Chapter 74
Vanessa reached for the paper as if possessed. A faint sense of urgency told her she had already lingered too long and that someone might burst into the office at any moment, but she couldn’t simply pass this by. Theodore Liam Battenberg. It was the signature of the legendary Duke himself.
What on earth was this doing here? And that handwriting…
“If it’s Theo, then… Theodore?”
Vanessa’s shoulders shook at the sudden flash of memory. Why now? Why of all moments did that day come back to her?
Her breath hitched, trembling violently. Forcing herself to stay grounded, she began to read the text from the top. Her mind was such a mess that it took her three times longer than usual just to process a single sentence.
As she flipped through the pages, a storm of agitation rose in her grey eyes. This was a type of investment contract. At the same time, it looked like evidence of the scandal that had set the world abuzz a few days ago. Evidence. Something definitive that, if released to the press, would brand the scandal as absolute truth.
“My God…”
An investment commitment of a staggering scale she had never seen before; a generous grant of betting commission shares in exchange for the land where the racecourse would be built; traces of her uncle borrowing money from several private lenders using this contract as collateral; and a long string of mortgage documents attached beneath it.
And then, back to the bottom of the first page.
Theodore Liam Battenberg
In that moment, Vanessa inadvertently crumpled the paper in her grip. Was what she was seeing real? Or was she possessed by some terrible delusion? Her heart was racing so fast she felt dizzy.
Sometimes, certain imaginings grew in size far too quickly. Usually, they were morbid thoughts—negative and detached from reality. Yes, this was nothing more than a delusion.
She had only seen him sign something once—no, twice. Memories aren’t evidence. Memories are easily distorted. The “Theo” scribbled hastily in the officer’s notebook on the night of the circus… that alone couldn’t prove anything…
“Ah…”
Vanessa let out a ragged gasp and slowly sank to the floor, crushed by her own thoughts. An unbearable sense of dread surged within her. Perhaps the handwriting she saw then was similar to this. Or perhaps her memory was entirely wrong.
Staring blankly into space, she suddenly burst into a sharp, brittle laugh. It was impossible. It couldn’t be.
‘It’s River Ross. My childhood friend. That kind, gentle boy.’
How long had they known each other? Even if they hadn’t met often, it was a lifelong connection. There was no way she could mistake “River Ross” for another man. Her stubbornly raised eyes began to waver.
…But what did the River Ross of those days look like? Black hair, blue eyes… No, that wasn’t it. Was his hair a black that leaned toward brown? Were his eyes a lighter sky blue? Then again, it didn’t really matter. People’s coloring changed slightly as they grew up.
In truth, all her memories from that time were hazy. They weren’t vivid; it was as if they had been painted over. It was difficult to recall his features in detail, let alone imagine what he would look like as an adult. All she remembered was his promise to visit the following summer. And that promise had gone unkept for a very long time.
Until River Ross returned. To the Rose Garden this summer, and their…
The fluid stream of her thoughts snapped. A possibility suddenly occurred to her. A possibility that could erase this absurd suspicion once and for all.
Vanessa stood up from where she had collapsed like someone in a trance. Her pale, bloodless face took on an abnormal flush of hope. She hurried to return the safe to its original state and gathered the necessary documents. She didn’t forget to leave the key in the agreed-upon spot.
“My Lady?”
A startled maid called out from behind as she saw her rushing away, but Vanessa was in no state of mind to answer. She ran straight down the stairs and bolted down the path through the back garden.
The path was slick from last night’s rain. The damp bushes soaked the hem of her skirt, and the wet fabric tangled clumsily around her ankles. Overgrown branches occasionally whipped against her calves. Despite this, Vanessa did not hesitate or falter for a single second.
Panting, she crossed the gate of the Rose Garden and stood before the darkened shed. The door was firmly locked, but she already knew where the key was. The key box. Standing on her tiptoes, Vanessa opened the box and fumbled inside until she found the flat key.
For a fleeting second, she hesitated at the thought of intruding into a space whose owner was absent. She felt a pang of guilt for touching someone else’s belongings. Ridiculously, it was a memory that cleared that hesitation.
“Don’t stay out here like this. From now on, wait inside. Even in summer, the temperature drops before sunrise.”
“…And what if I break something important of yours?”
“Whatever is inside, you can dispose of it however you like.”
With that absolution, her hand slotted the key into the lock. Soon, the door opened with a creak. The moment she took a few steps inside, sentimental tears felt ready to spill over.
The nostalgic scent that filled the room. The traces of his presence.
She lifted her tear-rimmed eyes and desperately scanned the interior of the shed. The first thing she saw was the luggage he had left behind. The large bag still occupied a corner of the shed as if it belonged there, and on the desk were an old compass, ink, a high-end fountain pen, and thick leather journals that looked like navigation logs.
These were items “River Ross” always kept close and used. It was strange that someone who would be away from this place for ten days hadn’t taken any of them. It was as if he wasn’t in Linden, but intended to stay in this garden forever. As if he might open that door and walk in at any moment. As if he intended to return here at any time.
‘This is useless sentimentality.’
She muttered coldly to herself, crushing the trembling in her heart. Now was not the time to indulge in such feelings. If only for the sake of his honor. River Ross was not a deceiver. Even if everyone else in the world deceived her, he must not.
Vanessa smoothed out the crumpled contract, placed it on the desk, and opened a drawer. A lady-like guilt flared briefly at the thought of invading someone’s private storage, but she suppressed it.
‘Just once.’
Just once, “River Ross” had left his signature on a drawing. If she could find the sketchbook he used and compare it with this signature, everything would become clear.
Speech, behavior, and the past could be manufactured if one was conscious of them, but the subconscious does not lie. Furthermore, if there was a person who could fake even the handwriting they used habitually, they were one of two things.
A born liar, or someone who intended to deceive others with absolute resolve. She believed River Ross was neither.
She grew anxious when the sketchbook, which usually sat in the same spot, was nowhere to be found. Had he taken it? She searched the side table by the bed, under the bed, and even the kitchen cupboards. Her hand brushed against something on the highest shelf. When she flicked it forward with her fingertips, it rolled out. It was a glass bottle about half the size of her palm.
‘What is this?’
Following a premonition, she held the glass bottle up to the sunlight. Inside were refined pills. She didn’t need to deduce what they were. The ingredients were kindly labeled on the paper tag attached to the bottle.
Trinil. A contraceptive ingredient taken by men to avoid fathering illegitimate children.
“I don’t need children. My body can’t even produce them.”
Vanessa gripped the edge of the desk, gasping for air. She collapsed, unable to fight off the surge of nausea.
The sense of wrongness she had tried so hard to ignore came crashing down like a tidal wave. Every object placed carelessly in the room now took on a completely different meaning. Perfume from Buford Co., a cigar box from Millon Co., a wristwatch from Largo Co….
Those glittering luxury goods that no amount of money could buy without the prestige to back it up.
The sound of something shattering echoed in her ears. It was the sound of a thin veil—the one that had blinded her, the one she herself had sensed but desperately wanted to believe in—splintering into a thousand pieces.
