Chapter 26
Josée was led by Serge to a room tucked away at the back of the first floor. To ease her anxiety, the other representatives had been gathered in a separate room upstairs on the second floor.
“I get why you’re nervous,” Serge said gently. “There are plenty of men who think they can get away with anything the moment they hear words like ‘courtesan’ or ‘brothel master.’ When people in positions of power act like that, it just reinforces the stigma. And in the end, even we get written off as nothing more than ‘political hacks.’”
As he spoke, he handed her a small key.
“When you use the bathroom, make sure to lock it. The windows in here can be locked too—don’t forget those.”
Josée clutched the key tightly in her hand.
“Thank you.”
“If anything happens, shoot first. I’ll come running.”
“Right... hehe.”
With that, the door closed behind her. Alone, Josée looked around the room, unease still churning in her chest.
Outside the window, the rain was coming down in sheets, turning the world into a dark, blurry haze. The roar of the storm drowned out all other sound, making the silence inside feel even heavier.
She locked the door from the inside, then dragged a chair over from the desk. Using it as a step, she hung her damp clothes on the high-mounted clothesline. Afterward, she collapsed onto the bed.
Her stomach was full—enough that she should’ve been able to drift off—but the feeling of not being able to bathe left her restless.
The early summer rain had turned the room into a humid box. But with the storm raging outside, opening a window wasn’t an option. The thick, sticky air only added to her discomfort.
“...Ugh, it’s hot. I should’ve brought something to drink.”
Closing her eyes, she tried to force herself to sleep.
But after only a few hours of light dozing—
“No good. I’m too thirsty.”
The storm was still howling outside. Josée wiped the sweat from her brow, grabbed the key, and stepped out of the room.
After locking the door behind her, she made her way toward the butler’s quarters to get some water.
The butler’s room was also on the first floor, and since a lamp was always left on through the night, she didn’t need to bring one herself.
She quietly entered and asked for water. The butler nodded, went to the kitchen, and returned with a bottle.
As she turned to head back to her room, something odd caught her attention—her feet kept slipping.
“Huh? When did—? The floor’s wet.”
Had someone come in at this hour?
“That’s weird. It wasn’t like this before I went to sleep...”
A chill crawled up Josée’s spine.
“Don’t tell me... someone waited until everyone was asleep and broke in?”
Bad instincts are often right. Instead of heading back to her room, Josée followed the trail of wet footprints—straight to Serge’s door.
*Bang bang bang!*
She knocked hard, loud enough to be heard even through the rain. After a few moments, the door creaked open. Serge stepped out, his hair tousled from sleep.
“Mmm... What’s wrong, Josée?”
“There’s something off. I need you to come with me.”
“...Now? At this hour?”
“The floor’s soaked. Like, really soaked.”
“You think it’s flooding?”
“No, not like that. It’s more like... someone wet walked in from outside.”
Serge sighed, scratching the back of his head.
“So you’re thinking... a burglar?”
“Yes, exactly!”
He took a match from the desk and lit a candlestick, raising it.
“If it’s got you this spooked, let’s go check.”
The two of them stepped into the hallway.
First, they checked the butler’s quarters. Then, following the trail of wet footprints, they headed upstairs.
Suddenly, a rattling sound echoed from one of the windows.
Serge immediately pulled Josée behind him and lifted the candle high to see.
At the far end of the second floor, a door stood wide open. From inside, the sound of a window shaking violently in the wind filled the air.
“That’s Sir Maurice’s room,” Serge said grimly.
Why were both the door and window wide open in the middle of a storm?
A heavy sense of dread passed between them.
Josée kept a hand on her gun as they approached the room with cautious steps.
The moment Serge stepped inside and raised the candlelight—
They both froze, gasping in silent horror.
The windowpane had been shattered inward, letting the driving rain soak the room. The bed was drenched. The fireplace showed signs of something recently burnt, its embers still faintly glowing.
In the center of the room lay Maurice.
A dark hole marred his temple.
Josée immediately raised her gun, scanning the room for any sign of danger. Serge stepped forward slowly, knelt beside Maurice, and checked for a pulse.
Nothing.
“...He’s dead,” Serge whispered.
Josée bit her lip, her knuckles white around the grip of her gun.