CWMBR 39

Chapter 39

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Gilum did not respond. He must have been considering all the possibilities. Whether Ain and Bridget's night existed or not. If it did exist, whether it was forced or consensual.

"Even if it wasn't me, what if someone involved with the theater was involved in that matter?"

"I'll be honest with you, ma'am."

Gilum, who had been holding a pen, set it down and spoke in a somewhat cold, stiff tone.

"The mere fact that Mr. Wise experienced an unfortunate incident here is sufficient reason for the royal family to completely shut down this theater. The marriage vows of the two of you and the continued existence of this theater are entirely due to Mr. Wise's generosity."

It was a judgment devoid of any warmth. Bridget lowered her gaze helplessly.

"If you have committed a sin, confessing honestly is the only way to find a path to redemption."

"Guilt………………."

Bridget's muttered voice was so faint it seemed ready to fade away at any moment.

"Did you intentionally climb into his bed?"

"He wanted me. I wanted him too. Is that also intentional?"

This was undoubtedly the truth. Even if one person couldn't remember it.

Gilum fell silent for a moment at Bridget's words. Then he asked in a subdued voice.

"Did you know his true identity at the time?"

Ain Wise never revealed his true identity during his stay in Glynford. He had always been that way. Even without revealing his name, his striking appearance drew attention wherever he went, so it was only natural that the entire town would be in an uproar if he did. Whether one knew Ain's true identity or not, it was impossible not to interpret the intentions of those who approached him

completely differently.

When Gilum asked the question, Bridget smiled wryly.

"Yes."

At least on the day the incident occurred, Bridget knew exactly who the person was. She knew it was Ain Wise, not Patrick Sherman, with absolute certainty.

***

*Past 

It seemed that Patrick and her became seriously entangled when Bridget took on the role of his personal tour guide.

To be honest, Bridget had briefly suspected that he might be interested in her. Even if he needed a personal guide, what kind of crazy person would hire someone at five times the going rate? He could easily find someone else without spending that much money.

Bridget was quite confident in her assumption, as Patrick didn't seem like the type to waste money unnecessarily. The fact that he kept hanging around her, picking petty arguments, added credibility to her assumption. Moreover, his requests didn't stop after just one day, and he continued to spend large sums of money every day when they were alone together.

So she wondered if he was trying to use the tour as an excuse to go on a date with her, but after observing him for a few days, she concluded that her guess was a ridiculous delusion. He was really walking around as if he wanted to explore every corner of Glynford, and there was no room for romantic words like "date" or anything else.

At first, he seemed to be asking for guidance mainly on tourist attractions, but later he made it clear that tourism was not his purpose. Apart from accompanying her as a consultant, he seemed to be looking for something of investment value in Glynford. However, it was unclear what criteria he was using to explore the area.

Thanks to this, Bridget ended up guiding him to places where few others ventured, exploring them thoroughly.

For instance, right here.

“This isn’t a tourist spot.”

She had noticed that he wasn't interested in tourist spots, but she still thought that such places might be more likely to hold something of value. With that thought in mind, Bridget stepped out of the carriage and spoke up first. Patrick, who followed her out, replied with a hint of reproach.

“I know. Who would come to a field like this for sightseeing?”

"It's not a meadow, it's a vineyard... Oh, yes. That's right."

Bridget, half-resigned, nodded her head, thinking that there was no way the client, who was paying five times the usual amount, could be wrong. She then rattled off a string of information about the location.

“Glynford Mountain wine was once famous enough to be presented to the royal court. The wine produced here at Shilton Farm was particularly renowned as a premium product. The Notell family, who once owned this place…”

"Enough with the history lesson."

Bridget silently repeated to herself that this was worth five times the usual price and closed her mouth. Instead, she followed Patrick's gaze and looked around at the surrounding scenery.

They were standing in a vineyard on the outskirts of Glynford. Located not far from the city, this place had once been a vast farm with hundreds of workers, but now it was just a field overgrown with weeds. Although grapes were still being grown in some parts, even a casual observer could tell that the place was not well maintained.

As far as Bridget knew, the quality of the produce had deteriorated over the years as the farm changed hands multiple times, leading to its current state. The most recent owner seemed intent on repurposing the land for something else. She had heard rumors of conflicts with the tenant farmers who had worked there for years.

“What’s that?”

Patrick suddenly pointed at something. It was a building made of red bricks.

Just as Bridget was about to explain, Patrick strode toward the building. The path was overgrown with weeds and littered with rocks, and within a few steps, his neat, high-quality trousers were covered in grass stains.

However, he didn't seem to care much about his clothes and shoes getting dirty. Bridget, who had often seen him brush off even the slightest speck of dust from his shoulders, couldn't help but compare the two. It was quite unexpected to see him act so carefree, considering how picky he was with his words.

“It’s a brewery. I heard it used to be much larger, but as the farm’s scale shrunk, the building was downsized too.”

It was a holiday, so there was no sign of anyone inside. Still, it was clearly private property, so Bridget looked around nervously.

“The architectural style is very old-fashioned.”

“The only person who would notice the architectural style of a brewery is Mr. Sherman.”

Patrick, who had somehow heard her mutter to herself, turned to look at Bridget.

Bridget, who hadn't expected him to respond, flinched and quickly looked away. She had assumed he would just say what he wanted to say and move on, as he always did.

Bridget cleared her throat and added in a small voice, pretending not to notice.

“It has to be old-fashioned. The building has always been the same, even though the owners have changed.”

“Everything here is old-fashioned except for the train station.”

Bridget, who had been watching Patrick with a frown, replied in a polite tone.

“There’s a very good expression for that: ‘old-fashioned.’”

“This city has no will to develop. There’s no place to invest in, no matter how you look at it.”

Bridget, who had been pouting, finally couldn't hold back and spoke up.

"It's okay for there to be one place like this, isn't it? In a world where everyone is rushing to develop here and there."

Bridget glanced at Patrick and added,

"Of course, it won't make any money."

After spending a few days guiding Patrick around, Bridget had come to understand what was most important to him. He hated wasting anything—whether it was time, money, or anything else. He was a man who placed value on everything in the world. Usually, his benchmark was money.

Patrick, who had been peering through the stained window into the brewery, snorted at Bridget's words.

“That’s a bit too carefree for someone struggling with money, isn’t it?”

“It’s not that bad.”

“I heard you have a lot of debt.”

Patrick, with his hands behind his back, continued walking along the brewery building's exterior wall as he spoke.

“Your uncle was holding onto Finn Emerson and complaining for a while.”

“Haa…”

Bridget unconsciously touched her forehead. Even without seeing it, she could vividly imagine Ronan holding onto Finn and pleading with him. Walking a few steps behind Patrick, Bridget made a feeble excuse.

“He’s feeling a lot of pressure about running the theater.”

Lately, whenever Ronan saw Bridget, he would only talk about how difficult the Grand Theater was. Bridget was fed up with his endless complaints and could tell that he wanted her to sign the sales contract. She was surprised that he was so confident that if he just held onto Finn, he could eventually proceed with the contract. No matter how much he cried, she had no intention of signing the contract. 

“Is it because he’s your father’s twin brother that you’re being so lenient with him?”

“Huh?”

Bridget, who had been holding her forehead, looked up in surprise. Patrick, who had been walking briskly ahead, had stopped suddenly and was staring at her.

“By the way, I only found out about this because your uncle blabbed about it.”

***