CWMBR 99

Chapter 99

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Sponsored by Elisa. Thank you ❤️ (5/10)

***

After Sanne left, Bridget had originally intended to rest.

But as she was about to go up to the third floor, she suddenly stopped on the second floor. It was because the tightly closed doors suddenly caught her eye.

After moving her room to the third floor, she rarely had reason to go there. At first, she consciously avoided it because the sight made her too sad, thinking of her parents. Later, it was out of respect for Ronan's privacy. But now, with things as they were, respecting his privacy seemed a bit ridiculous.

Maybe there was something useful in Ronan's room.

Useful information, that was, something like that. Something that would save the Grand Theater, stop Ronan from running wild, and restore a peaceful daily life.

After a moment's hesitation, Bridget made up her mind and strode purposefully forward. She grasped the doorknob and turned it. There was a clunk as it engaged the deadbolt from the inside. Confirming the door was firmly locked, a sudden sense of obligation surged within her—she absolutely had to open this door.

Finding the master key and unlocking the door wasn't particularly difficult.

Opening the door revealed the familiar layout of the room. Though it differed from the cherished scene in her memory, as her parents' furniture had been gradually replaced over time, it was unmistakably the room that had once been her parents' bedroom.

Nothing particularly stood out. After scanning the room once, Bridget approached the nearest dresser. As she methodically opened each drawer, a creeping guilt surfaced from rummaging through someone else's belongings. But she forced herself to rationalize: Ronan had crossed the line first.

Sadly, she didn't find anything meaningful. If Ronan had been thoughtful, he wouldn't have left important documents at home in the first place, so perhaps finding nothing was only natural.

Even so, a lingering regret made Bridget pace around the room. Truthfully, she didn't even know what she was hoping to find.

Finally leaving the room empty-handed, Bridget slumped her shoulders. Just as she was about to return to her own room, her gaze suddenly shifted to another room a short distance away. It was a room Bridget had used in the past, but which Donna had occupied recently.

There was a high probability that Ronan and Donna had been in cahoots. If so, wouldn't it be wise to check that room too? Bridget grabbed the master key and opened the door. The room, which had also been locked, opened easily.

Like Ronan, Donna seemed to have completely replaced all the furniture inside the room. The scene before her eyes was not the room she knew, but a dazzlingly decorated spectacle. It was a result reflecting Donna's extravagant taste.

Bridget opened a nearby vanity drawer. Among the haphazardly scattered cosmetics, a used train ticket was wedged in. Bridget, glancing at it absentmindedly, froze.

The destination stamped on the ticket was Bredford.

Ain had said Donna told him that Bridget’s pregnancy was a lie. Had Donna gone all the way to Bredford to tell Ain that? Somehow, the train ticket stamped with Breford's name reeked of the malice she harbored. Why did Donna hate her so much?

The question that often surfaced occupied her mind once more. To say she had simply joined forces with Ronan to seize the Grand Theater seemed insufficient; there was something more insidious about Donna's malice. If Ronan so clearly desired to take the Grand Theater, didn't Donna seem to want something more than that—the destruction of Bridget's very life?

Bridget, who had been staring at the ticket with a sour expression, put it back in its original place and opened another drawer. Two entire drawers were filled to the brim with nothing but cosmetics.

Bridget shifted her attention and headed toward the small desk this time. On the bookshelf holding a few volumes sat something unusually large, like a notebook. Glancing at it, it didn't seem to be a diary, so Bridget quietly pulled it out and opened it.

It was a scrapbook filled with clippings of articles about Donna. The meticulous care taken to collect even the smallest article was truly impressive. Had it been a gift from a fan?

Impressed, she returned the scrapbook to its place and turned her head. Beyond that, the room was just like any other.

An ordinary room, the kind anyone might have.

Another dead end?

Swallowing her disappointment, Bridget quietly bent down to peek under the bed. She would expect something like a secret box hidden in the dark space beneath, but nothing was there.

Detective work just wasn't her thing, it seemed. Bridget was about to withdraw her gaze in resignation when—

"... …………Huh?"

As she turned her gaze, she spotted a crumpled piece of paper beneath the dresser. Bridget reached out immediately.

She managed to squeeze her fingers into the narrow gap, pulled out the paper, and stood up. The scribbled handwriting on the paper was Donna's.

"Where is it?”

It was clearly an address, but it wasn't any of the hideouts Bridget knew Donna used.

After mulling over the address a couple of times, Bridget pocketed the paper and left.

***

"I'm going to start worshipping the Tervia Monthly from now on. That's the true guidebook for our times. Don't you agree, Iliont?"

"It's fortunate you've realized that now."

"Huh, really. I never thought I'd live to see Ain Wise acting like such a fool."

He didn't care much about whatever chatter was coming from behind him. Ain leaned against the railing, letting the noisy voices wash over him. Even staring endlessly at the calm Valea River in the distance brought no peace to his mind. He’d heard somewhere that watching a gently flowing river could soothe the mind and body, but it seemed all lies.

The view offered little comfort, yet Ain just stared blankly at the riverbank. Doing so brought back memories of the day he met Bridget by the river.

They say a water spirit lives somewhere around here? Then where exactly does this water spirit's domain begin and end? Is the water spirit claiming ownership of the Valea River for Glynford? Is that why they kill trespassers, for invading private property?

"Lord Wise?"

Caught up in the world's most pointless questions, Ain glanced sideways. The man who greeted him cheerfully, pretending to recognize him, was the police officer who had helped him at the police headquarters earlier.

"What brings you here? Is there still something you need to know about the photographer?"

"That case still isn't solved?"

He asked, though he suspected it probably hadn't been closed. But the officer, his expression brightening, gave a completely unexpected answer.

"It's almost wrapped up. We caught the killer who murdered the photographer."

"………………They caught him, huh."

It happened much faster than expected. Ain narrowed his eyes.

The officer, not noticing Ain’s darkening expression, shrugged and said.

"Yes, turns out he was a devoted fan of Donna Green."

"A fan of Donna Green?"

"Yes."

The officer clicked his tongue and shook his head.

"The dead photographer was stalking and threatening Donna Green. As a fan, he couldn't stand it and took matters into his own hands. Liking someone can be such a terrifying thing."

While he agreed that loving someone could be frightening, he found it hard to accept the preceding statement. Ain narrowed his eyes and asked again.

"How did that fan know Donna Green was being threatened?"

"Huh?"

"Donna Green probably wasn't going around telling everyone she was being blackmailed by that photographer."

The officer let out a low exclamation at Ain’s point.

"Ah, that. Truth is, those who stalk actors dig relentlessly into their private lives too. That kind of thing is just information fans quietly share among themselves. Among them, Donna Green's followers are especially fanatical. They can be quite extreme, even radical, and if provoked, they'll cause a huge uproar."

Ain instantly recalled Donna Green's fervent fans loitering outside the Glynford Grand Theater. Obsessive, radical, extreme individuals.

Things that had already been an eyesore now stuck uncomfortably in the back of his mind. He doubted patrol officers or a single bodyguard like Gilum could handle those deranged individuals. Perhaps it would be better to plant his own people around. Since he was already planning various ventures in Glynford, he decided he should bring in more of his own men.

Lost in thought, Ain raised another question in a cold voice.

"But if Donna Green was being blackmailed, couldn't she have hired someone to kill the photographer through one of her fans?"

"Huh? Ah, I don't think so. The way this guy kept insisting we tell Donna he did it himself..."

The officer waved his hands dismissively.

The officer clearly wanted to wrap up the murder case at this point. With the police higher-ups already in a foul mood because of Ain, he didn't seem eager to nitpick and drag out a case that could be neatly closed.

Ain clicked his tongue sharply.

Guess I’ll have to replace them all.