CWMBR 50

Chapter 50

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Sponsored by Elisa. Thank you ❤️ (2/6)

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"Patrick was the one who told me to take the manuscript in the first place."

Donna shrugged her shoulders and said in a matter-of-fact tone.

"Patrick Sherman. That big, shadowy man who follows Mr. Emerson around everywhere. You know him, don't you?"

Donna, who usually didn't enjoy long conversations with Bridget, was unusually chatty that day.

"Turns out I was his first love. Good heavens! And he acted all cold and indifferent. Did he think that made him different from everyone else?"

Her cheerful voice carried a hint of subtle boasting.

"Ha. I noticed he always seemed to avoid me whenever he saw me getting along with Mr. Emerson. Turns out there was a reason. Of course. How could he not be interested in me?"

Why on earth was she telling me this? Bridget wondered as she listened to Donna. As if sensing her confusion, Donna clicked her tongue and continued.

"Actually, I mentioned my worries about you to him a few times. After that tavern incident, I wondered if you'd lost your parents and were just drifting. I said I hoped you'd find somewhere to settle down. Seeing how he's been looking out for you lately, I guess he took my words to heart. I suppose he thought I'd approve."

Only then did Bridget grasp Donna's true intentions. It seemed she wanted not just Finn's attention, but Ain’s as well. After all, Donna was the type who couldn't stand not being the center of attention in any situation. She must have been deeply annoyed by the cold attitude Ain usually showed her. It was unbearable to her that he was not only occasionally kind to Bridget, but even often seen spending time with her.

Donna probably wanted to get under Bridget's skin, but Bridget hadn't reacted that strongly at the time.

After all, it was obviously just bragging and lies. Instead, she focused on her stolen practice pieces. Even though she hadn't intended to share them publicly, they were undeniably her creations.

When Bridget threatened to make them correct the misinformation immediately or she'd go confront them herself, Donna nodded with an annoyed look. That was quite a while ago, but it seemed the correction had finally been made.

"I believe with just a little more guidance, you could debut as a fine writer. I'd like to help you. Of course, that means the few issues troubling Miss Pennington need to be resolved as soon as possible."

"You liked my practice pieces...?"

"Yes. I believe the pieces I haven't seen are also good. That kind of talent is innate."

At least, of all their conversations so far, this one felt most filled with Finn's genuine sincerity. Ain’s advice to win Finn's favor through writing seemed spot on.

"That's a rather perplexing suggestion. I'll think about it."

Despite the praise from a popular playwright, she didn't feel particularly happy. Had the dreamy girl who once longed to make her proud debut at the Glynford Grand Theatre vanished long ago?

Bridget quietly fiddled with her teacup. She hadn't set foot in her writing room since her parents passed away. It had been years since she'd put down her pen, and she felt no sudden hope that she could write anything again. Her old typewriter was covered in dust, and she doubted it would even work.

It was hard enough to keep the grand theater going. Wasn't it too greedy to expect to hold onto the innocent dreams of childhood too?

Instead of offering Finn a hopeful conclusion, Bridget quietly dismissed him.

"I'm still not feeling well. I'd like to rest now."

***

Donna was Ain’s first love?

Bridget didn't take this statement seriously at all. Yet, when she actually faced Ain, curiosity reared its head.

First love? Where on earth did Ain and Donna even meet? Was there a place they could have crossed paths? Not that she wanted to dismiss Donna, but as far as Bridget knew, Donna had never properly stepped onto a stage until Ronan discovered her and brought her in. She had apparently lived quietly, moving from one small town to another. And Ain? He was a man who had lived a life far too noble to have chosen some country girl from a village he didn't even know existed as his first love.

"You knew Donna?"

Bridget blurted out the question during her visit to his mansion. It was around the time she was slowly getting used to his habit of extending dinner invitations with a sharp tone. His brow furrowed, clearly displeased with the sudden topic brought up mid-meal. But Bridget decided that since she'd already brought it up, she might as well ask clearly.

"Donna said she was Mr. Sherman's first love."

"Ah.”

His response was a short exclamation. And in the silence that followed, Bridget sensed his unspoken affirmation.

Bridget's eyes widened as she asked in a dazed voice.

"Was it true?"

Her voice, slightly higher than usual, laid bare her disbelief all too plainly. Ain dropped the fork he was holding with a clatter.

"You think I've ever done something like that?"

"No, it's just... I thought it was a strange coincidence."

Bridget quickly composed her expression and offered an awkward smile as an excuse. She too carefully set down the utensil she was holding.

"That's surprising. Did Mr. Sherman help your first love get acquainted with other men?"

"When she asked what Finn Emerson liked, I just replied that since he's a playwright, he must like writing."

Though she hadn't known Ain for long, he didn't seem like the type to simply let go of someone he loved or quietly cheer them on from afar. He seemed more inclined to fight for what he wanted.

Questions piled up like mountains in an instant. Glancing at Bridget, who was just rolling her eyes while drinking plain water, Ain asked in an indifferent voice.

"Why?"

Bridget, who had been biting her lip, swallowed dryly. Her wavering mind, unsure whether to ask such a question or not, finally leaned one way. Bridget forced a calm, light expression onto her face. It was to hide the subtle disappointment rising within her chest.

"Is it okay if I ask how you met?"

“No."

Her carefully managed composure crumbled instantly at Ain’s immediate refusal. Her face froze. But she couldn't help it. Ain’s voice was unnecessarily firm and cold. It felt like she was back to the first time they met. He didn't just refuse; he frowned and scolded her.

"Isn't that a bit too personal a question?"

"Um, I'm sorry."

Bridget apologized with an embarrassed expression. A blush of awkwardness spread across her flustered face. Unable to bear looking at Ain any longer, Bridget lowered her head, pretending to focus on the food instead.

"Your first love must mean more to you than I thought."

"Yeah. More than I thought."

He answered her near-muttered soliloquy in an indifferent tone. Though it was an unexpected response, she wasn't particularly grateful. The disappointment that had been slowly swelling within her rapidly grew in volume. Bridget pressed her lips tightly together, struggling to control this emotion somehow. 

From the start, Ain and she hadn't even been anything special. Sure, he often invited her to meals like this, but had the atmosphere between them ever been friendly or meaningful, even once? 

Ain had never once crossed a line with her, either in action or word. At this point, she had to assume he saw her as little more than a friend to share a lonely meal with. Disappointment? That wasn't an emotion she should be feeling. Even if she conceded she did feel it, there was nothing good to be gained from letting that man see it. 

"I see. It must have been nice to meet her again here."

 Bridget picked up the fork she'd set down and spoke in a deliberately light tone. Ain clicked his tongue cynically. 

"Well, she’s changed so much that I couldn’t even recognize her.”

It was an extremely dry and indifferent sentiment to be saying about a former first love. Bridget, who had been fiddling with her fork, quietly lifted her eyes to look at Ain. 

"Ah... she’s changed so much. How did you recognize her?" 

"You're persistent." 

Ain murmured softly. At his words, Bridget's face flushed bright red. Her lips parted, and she blurted out an excuse. 

"The most interesting stories are always about other people's love lives, aren't they? Especially when it comes to Mr. Sherman..." 

Not Patrick Sherman, but Ain Wise. The great Ain Wise. Just as she swallowed the words she couldn't bring herself to say, Ain finished her sentence in a disinterested tone. 

"A man like me who couldn't squeeze a drop of blood out of him if pricked talking about first love? It doesn't suit me, right? It's surprising, really."

 Surprisingly, he was a man remarkably adept at self-objectivity. Forgetting her flustered state, Bridget stared blankly at him before offering an awkward smile. 

"That's not what I meant." 

Her response seemed to leave Ain unimpressed. Wiping his lips lightly with a tissue, he looked at Bridget. 

"I'm not really hungry myself. How about you?" 

It was welcome news. Even though plenty of appetizing food remained, Bridget's appetite had completely vanished. Instead of answering, she quietly set down her fork. Ain let out a deflated laugh. 

"Then shall we move somewhere else for a drink? I just needed a drinking buddy." 

Bridget didn't hesitate long. 

"Sure."