Chapter 82
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 82
Vanessa reached for the paper as if possessed. A frantic thought flickered through her mind—she had already wasted too much time, someone could burst into the office at any moment—but she simply couldn't turn away. Theodore Liam Battenberg. It was the signature of the duke, the man everyone spoke of with such reverence.
Why on earth was it here? And that handwriting…
"If it's Theo, then… Theodore?"
Vanessa flinched, her shoulders trembling as a memory suddenly flashed through her mind. Of all the moments, why did the memory of that day have to resurface now?
Her breath hitched in a miserable, shaky gasp. Barely clinging to her fraying composure, she forced herself to read the document from the top. Her mind was in such chaos that it took her three times longer than usual to comprehend a single sentence.
As she turned the pages, a violent tremor shook her, reflected in her wide gray eyes. It was an investment contract of some kind. At the same time, it looked like proof of the scandal that had rocked society just a few days ago. Decisive evidence that, if leaked to the press, would cement the rumors as undeniable truth.
*
"My God…"
An astronomical investment pledge, the likes of which she had never seen; a generous cut of betting ticket sales in exchange for the land the racecourse would be built on; evidence of her uncle using the contract as collateral to borrow from several other private lenders; and a thick stack of mortgage documents attached to the back.
And there, at the very bottom of the first page, was the signature again.
Theodore Liam Battenberg
In that instant, Vanessa crumpled the paper in her grip without realizing it. Was this real? Or was she trapped in some horrible delusion? Her heart hammered so violently that her head began to spin.
Sometimes, a single thought could spiral out of control, growing monstrously large in an instant. It was usually negative, morbid, and utterly detached from reality. Yes, this had to be a delusion.
After all, she had only seen him sign his name once—no, twice. A memory couldn't be used as evidence; memories were too easily distorted. The name “Theo” scribbled in the officer’s notebook on the night of the circus… those letters couldn’t possibly prove anything.
"Ah…"
Vanessa slowly sank to the floor, gasping as if crushed by the weight of her own thoughts. An unbearable anxiety surged through her. Maybe it did resemble the handwriting she’d seen back then. Or maybe her memory was completely wrong.
Staring blankly into space, she let out a sharp, sudden laugh. That’s ridiculous. There’s no way.
He’s River Ross. My childhood friend. That sweet, gentle boy.
How long had they known each other? Even if they met infrequently, their history stretched back for years. She could never mistake that River Ross for another man. Her sharp, stubborn gaze began to soften, her certainty crumbling piece by piece.
…But what did River Ross even look like back then? Black hair, blue eyes… No, that wasn’t right. Was his hair closer to brown? Were his eyes a lighter, sky blue? It didn’t matter. It was irrelevant. It was natural for one's coloring to change slightly while growing up.
In truth, all her memories of those days were hazy, as if they’d been painted over with layer after layer of paint. It was difficult enough to recall his features in detail, let alone imagine what he would look like as a grown man. The only thing she remembered with perfect clarity was his promise to visit the following summer—a promise that had gone unfulfilled for a very long time.
Until River Ross returned. To the Rose Garden, this summer, and their…
Her train of thought screeched to a halt. A possibility flashed through her mind, one that could erase this absurd doubt once and for all.
Vanessa scrambled to her feet, her expression vacant, as if her soul had fled her body. A sliver of hope brought an unnatural flush to her pale, bloodless face. She hurriedly restored the safe to its original state, gathered the documents she’d come for, and didn’t forget to place the key back in its designated spot.
"My lady?"
A maid called out, startled by her sudden rush, but Vanessa was in no state to answer. She ran straight down the stairs and bolted down the path leading to the back garden.
The path was treacherous and slick from the overnight rain. Damp bushes soaked the hem of her skirt, the wet fabric clinging to her ankles and tripping her up. Overgrown branches whipped against her calves. Yet, Vanessa never hesitated, never faltered for a second.
Panting for breath, she crossed into the Rose Garden and stopped before the dark, unlit warehouse. The door was firmly locked, but she already knew where to find the key. The key box. Standing on her tiptoes, Vanessa opened it and felt around inside until her fingers closed around the flat metal key.
For a fleeting moment, she hesitated, a pang of guilt striking her at the thought of trespassing while the owner was away, of touching someone else’s belongings without permission. Ironically, it was a memory that swept that hesitation aside.
"Don't just stand out here. Wait inside next time. Even in summer, it gets cold before sunrise."
"…What if I break something important of yours?"
"Whatever is inside, you can do with it as you please. I don't mind."
Armed with his absolution, she slid the key into the lock. A moment later, the door creaked open. As she stepped inside, sentimental tears threatened to spill from her eyes.
Tears welled at the nostalgic scent filling the space, at the subtle traces of his presence.
Raising her tear-brimmed eyes, she desperately scanned the warehouse. The first thing she saw was the luggage he had left behind. The large bag still sat in a corner as if it belonged there. On the desk lay a worn compass, a bottle of ink, a high-end fountain pen, and thick leather notebooks that looked like logbooks.
These were things River Ross always kept close. For someone who was supposed to be away in Linden for ten days, it was bizarre that he hadn’t taken any of them with him. It was as if he wasn't gone at all, as if he intended to remain in this garden forever. As if he might open that door and walk in at this very second.
This is useless sentimentality.
She muttered the words coldly, suppressing her trembling. Now was not the time to indulge in such feelings. Not if she wanted to protect his honor. River Ross was no deceiver. Even if everyone else in the world lied to her, he wouldn’t. He couldn’t.
Vanessa smoothed out the crumpled contract, placed it on the desk, and opened a drawer. A brief, ladylike hesitation—a pang of guilt over invading his private space—flared within her, but she ruthlessly crushed it.
Just once.
Just once, River Ross had left his signature on a drawing. If she could find that sketchbook and compare it with the signature on the contract, this would all be over.
Speech, behavior, even the past—all could be fabricated with enough forethought. But a person’s subconscious, the little things they did without thinking, couldn’t lie. And if someone was capable of faking even the way they casually scribbled their name, they had to be one of two things: a born liar, or someone who had set out to deceive from the very beginning. She believed River Ross was neither.
Anxiety began to prickle at her when she realized the sketchbook, which always sat in the same spot, was gone. Had he taken it with him? She searched the side table, under the bed, even the kitchen cupboards. Her hand brushed against something on the highest shelf. Nudging it forward with her fingertips, it rolled out with a soft clatter. It was a glass bottle, about half the size of her palm.
What is this?
Guided by a sudden, chilling premonition, she held the bottle up to the light filtering through the doorway. Inside were refined pills. She didn’t have to guess what they were for. A paper tag attached to the bottle listed the ingredients.
Trinil. An ingredient in male contraceptives, used to avoid fathering illegitimate children.
"I don't need a child. Besides, my body is incapable of making one."
Vanessa gasped for air, her hand flying to the edge of the desk to steady herself. A wave of nausea washed over her, and her legs gave out, sending her collapsing to the floor.
The sense of wrongness she had so desperately tried to ignore came crashing down on her like a tidal wave. Every object in the room, once so casually placed, now took on a terrifying new meaning. Perfume from the Buford Company, a cigar box from the Milon Company, a wristwatch from the Largo Company…
Exquisite luxury goods that could not be obtained with money alone, but required immense honor and status.
A sound like something shattering echoed in her ears. It was the sound of the thin veil that had blinded her—a veil she had sensed all along but desperately wanted to believe in—splintering into a thousand pieces.