“You heard those thugs. They are targeting Roselia. If Roselia had recognized the script of Rugvella and come here just as you did, she would have been captured.”
For once, there was no choice but to acknowledge Klaus’s words.
She could have been caught while trying to uncover the identity of Rugvella. Judging by their conversation, it seemed they intended to nab anyone investigating the matter, even if it wasn’t Roselia herself.
Roselia bowed her head, her voice losing its edge. “I’m sorry. You seemed so indifferent to Roselia’s situation that I thought I had to look into it myself.”
Klaus, who had let out a faint sigh at her dejected tone, stared down at her.
“I simply didn’t want you to get dragged into this.”
At his cryptic words, Roselia looked up. There was a sincerity in his expression that made her heart waver for no reason.
*He surely just meant he didn’t want to deal with the trouble,* she reasoned. *Why am I overthinking this?*
Roselia shook her head vigorously and broke their eye contact.
“I’ll tell Roselia to be careful as well.”
At her blunt retort, Klaus furrowed his brows. “If they discover that you are Roselia’s brother, the probability of them targeting you increases. Please, behave yourself for the time being.”
He held her gaze with piercing intensity.
“This is an order.”
Roselia didn’t want to put Antonio in danger, so she nodded reluctantly. Whether or not Klaus realized what she was thinking, her only true desire was to escape the Duke as soon as possible.
Being swayed by his every word was a dangerous sign.
Furthermore, it was her entanglement with the Duke and the Crown Prince that had turned her into a target for mysterious entities. They were clearly hunting Roselia to use her as leverage against the men.
To lead a peaceful life, her only option was to pay off the debt and leave the Duchy as quickly as possible.
* * *
To escape this tangled web, she needed to settle the Duke’s debt, secure enough funds to stand on her own, and flee.
Of course, that meant finding the unknown artists from the original novel who had yet to emerge.
Roselia sighed, standing before Nadia’s house in her Antonio guise. She had come to deliver the Crown Princess’s sponsorship funds. Ordinarily, she would visit as Roselia, but given the current risk, she had no choice but to pose as her brother.
After a moment of hesitation, she knocked. After a long wait, the door creaked open, and Nadia scanned her from head to toe.
“Hello, Ms. Nadia.”
“Who…?”
Nadia’s voice was guarded. Roselia forced her kindest smile.
“I am Roselia’s brother. She isn’t feeling well, so I’ve come to deliver the sponsorship funds on her behalf.”
Nadia stared at her suspiciously, then suddenly locked onto her face, her eyes widening.
“Aha~?”
Before Roselia could parse that exclamation, Nadia threw the door wide open and gestured for her to enter. Roselia glanced around the home—it seemed better maintained than before—and felt a wave of relief.
“We’ve met before, haven’t we?”
“Pardon?” Roselia was caught off guard.
“You requested my company at the bar where I work last time.”
“Ah… haha, you remember. I happened to see your paintings, and I wanted to come by to be of some help.”
“Hmm… Never mind that. But perhaps it’s because you’re siblings, but you look a lot alike.”
Roselia grew nervous at the mumbling. Nadia’s gaze, observing her with a lazy, indifferent expression, was unexpectedly sharp, making her body stiffen.
“Don’t you hear that often?”
“Yes, well…”
In reality, she and the real Antonio weren’t blood-related, but there was no need to correct her. She just laughed it off.
“Hmm…”
Under that meaningful gaze, Roselia stood rigid, forcing a smile.
“Well, alright. So, where’s the sponsorship money?”
Nadia took the funds without resistance, leaving Roselia flustered. After exchanging brief updates, Roselia finally stepped outside.
As she walked away, Nadia called out in a leisurely tone.
“That look suits you well enough to be eye candy, too.”
Roselia turned in confusion, but Nadia only offered a subtle, cryptic smile.
* * *
Leaving Nadia’s place, she headed into the city to flag down a carriage. Just as she was scanning the area, a chaotic shout erupted nearby.
“If you don’t have money, get lost! You beggar of an old man!”
A man shoved an elderly figure to the ground. The old man fell face-first but shouted back at the restaurant owner, undeterred.
“You son of a XXX! I clearly had money!”
He rummaged frantically through his shabby pockets, but, naturally, they were empty. The owner spat on the ground and disappeared back into the shop.
Roselia sighed. Having been raised by her grandmother without parents, her heart was soft regarding such scenes.
“Grandfather, are you alright?”
The man turned his disheveled face toward her and replied gruffly, “Do I look alright to your eyes?”
Despite his harsh tone and informal speech, Roselia smiled and helped him up by the arm.
“Let go of me! I can get up by myself!”
“Yes, yes. Where is your home?”
“Do you think I don’t even have a home?!”
*This old man is certainly unique,* she thought. She supported his weight with habitual ease.
“I’ll take you home.”
“I told you, no!”
“I’ll feel uncomfortable otherwise. Where do you live?” The situation reminded her of her grandmother, whose late-stage dementia had made her unkind to those around her.
“What business is it of yours where I live! Are you trying to rob me?!”
“Yes, yes… Then at least give me the address. I’ll send you home by carriage.”
“By carriage to my house?”
“Yes. Please, just tell me the address.”
“…Bronx 6th Avenue.” The old man grumbled ill-naturedly. “Bronx 6th Avenue is my home. But I can’t remember how to get there…”
*As expected,* she thought. He clearly had dementia. Thinking of her own grandmother, she felt too troubled to leave him and flagged down a carriage.
She followed his faltering directions until they finally reached their destination. When the coachman announced their arrival, Roselia stepped out and froze in shock. A massive, luxurious mansion loomed before them.
“Um… Grandfather. I think you might have given me the wrong address.”
The old man didn’t answer; he simply limped toward the gate. Roselia stared in a daze, then her eyes widened at the plaque: *Count Bernas.*
It was the mansion of the genius painter who would go down in history.
“What are you doing? Not coming in?”
The old man glanced back at her. Roselia followed him in a numb state.
“By any chance… are you the owner of this mansion?”
“Then did you think I just walked into someone else’s house?”
He passed the front door—piled high with dust and fallen leaves—and stepped inside. The interior was much like the bankrupt Baron Hessink’s estate.
“But… where have all the servants gone?”
The old man didn’t look back. “Can’t you tell? Those XXX sons of bitches, seeing that I was losing my mind, ran off with anything of value.”
She couldn’t understand it. How could they be so reckless with a man of such wealth?
“Even if I forgot to pay their wages for a few months, they shouldn’t take everything without my permission!”
“Ah… so you forgot to pay their wages…”
“I forgot the safe’s password.”
“…”
Roselia was speechless. And the clothes—how could he be dressed in rags?
“But why are you wearing these…?”
The old man scanned himself, frowned deeply, and grumbled, “I don’t know. When I came to my senses on the street, this was what I was wearing. My memory is fuzzy, so don’t ask me for details.”
*He must have been robbed during an episode,* she realized.
Sighing, she scanned the room. The original novel mentioned his dementia, but surely a master’s house should have some art?
“Um, Grandfather… do you not paint?”
The old man turned his head, looking at her with a strange expression.
“I… know how to paint?”
While Roselia stood frozen, Count Bernas delivered the final blow.
“But tell me, who are you to be wandering into my mansion?”
She felt as though her road ahead was a thousand miles long.