Timothy Donwell answered politely. I, who had been mindlessly shoving food into my mouth and eavesdropping on their conversation, was so startled that I swallowed the carrot without chewing. I coughed desperately and reached for my water glass, only to find it empty. With no other option, I downed an entire glass of wine to wash down the large carrot chunk lodged in my throat. Thankfully it was a cooked vegetable—if it had been meat, I wouldn’t have managed to swallow it. I wiped away the tears that had welled up in my eyes and let out a shaky breath.It had been eight years since I’d last heard the name Sergio Terres. Eight years ago, when George captured me in Denver, I met that man. George killed him for looking like me. Hearing his name slip from Timothy’s lips so casually made my heart pound. When I finally calmed enough to lift my head, Timothy was staring at me with a hint of surprise on his face.“Rachel, you really need to chew slowly and thoroughly. You’ve been so clumsy today,” he said abruptly, and every conversation at the table died. Forks froze midair; everyone turned to look at me. Timothy rested his arm on the table and, feigning concern, asked, “Are you uncomfortable anywhere? You’re not still frightened, are you?”I couldn’t tell whether he was genuinely worried or just teasing. Christine gave me a sidelong look and, as usual, clicked her tongue. Jerome, on the other hand, pretended not to notice and signaled to one of the attendants, whispering something before stepping back. I cleared my throat and shook my head.“No… it’s just a piece of vegetable stuck in my throat.”“Oh dear.” Timothy motioned to the attendant, who refilled my wine glass and then stood behind me. I’d intended to stop drinking, but I had no choice. I took another sip and set the glass down. Timothy shook his head and gestured again, so I drained the rest. Satisfied, he nodded and turned his attention back to Jerome.Quiet murmurs resumed around the table, and I listened closely as Timothy spoke to Jerome and Christine in low tones. This time, I made sure not to shove anything into my mouth.“You know Agent Chapple, right? You’ve met him. He’s from the FBI, though now he’s working with the CIA.”“Marcus Chapple,” Jerome replied.“He’s been quiet lately, but he used to collaborate closely—even worked cases with George.”“That’s right—Marcus Chapple. He recently shared some intriguing information about Sergio Terres. I was just about to tell Christine.”“Sergio Terres… Did Chapple uncover something new? Last I checked, there was nothing remarkable about him, aside from being the culprit in George’s final case.”“That’s what I thought. But on my recent trip to the States, I ran into Chapple by chance. He told me he actually confronted Terres at the arrest scene.”“He saw him in person?”“Yes. But get this—the face he saw on the scene didn’t match the face on the corpse later identified as Terres. Understand what I mean? Christine, do you get it?”Christine, who had been sitting quietly, replied, “If the man Chapple faced at the arrest wasn’t the same man who died, then the real Sergio Terres must be someone else.”“Exactly. Terres was a scapegoat—a sacrifice to hide someone else. The real culprit is the one Chapple saw that night.”Timothy spoke up brightly, “In other words, there’s a mysterious figure hiding in the shadows.”A strange silence settled over the three of them. I sat motionless, staring at my plate, feeling their gazes burn into me. Should I look up? Or pretend not to notice?Compelled by some force, I lifted my head. Timothy supported his chin on his hand and watched me intently. When our eyes met, he gave me a soft, unsettling smile—eerily reminiscent of Hugh. He raised his glass. Unable to refuse, I lifted mine and forced down a third glass of the potent wine. After emptying it, I deliberately averted my gaze to the servants bringing dessert. Timothy’s stare remained fixed on me. Then, in a lazy drawl, he said, “So there’s someone I don’t know… how infuriating.”The plates were quickly cleared, and dessert was served. This time, my wine glass was replaced with whiskey. The strong drink and sweet treats brought a festive air back to the table. Timothy chatted animatedly with everyone except Jerome and Christine; his eyes never returned to me, though I dared not raise mine.Despite not liking sweets, I pretended to enjoy the dessert while discreetly watching. When Timothy seemed sufficiently absorbed in conversation, I caught the attendant’s eye and signaled him.“I’m feeling dizzy—perhaps the wine was too much. Is there somewhere I can rest?”“I’ll show you,” he said. I followed him out of the salon, past the small room, and down the corridor. He led me to a balcony just around the corner.Pushing open the double doors, cool air tinged with the scent of rain rushed in. It was still raining outside. After a deep breath, I stepped onto the balcony. A few sofas and stools were scattered haphazardly, and several guests sat smoking or sipping champagne, chatting without noticing me. At last, I felt relief.I sank onto a secluded sofa and rubbed my face. Cold sweat clung to my forehead. The bra beneath my dress shirt felt constricting and unnatural against my chest. My head spun from the wine, but I wasn’t in danger of collapsing. I recalled the raindrops still clinging to his shoulders, the flash of his polished shoes crossing the blue-and-white tiled floor, and his green eyes… Jerome.Only two of the upstairs boys remained in my thoughts, but for eight years I’d deliberately avoided them both. It wasn’t fear that drove me—my hatred for them was as vivid as yesterday, and I wanted to be prepared before any reunion. Even now, it had only been a glance with Jerome; no words were exchanged, no second look followed. Yet that single glance shattered my composure. If I met him again like this, I would surely lose control. Nearly ten years had passed. Simon’s whereabouts and status were easy enough to track, but Jerome’s were not. After that last night in Laberham, when he had blown me a kiss through the glare of headlights and waved with brazen confidence, I never searched for him. Reunited now, he stood in a flawless tailcoat—my Jerome, yet not.…Enough nostalgia. I shook my head and lit a cigarette. Gazing at the rain-soaked garden, I forced myself to compose my thoughts. Jerome would have to wait. The real betrayer was Christopher. That bastard had remained calm even upon seeing Jerome. Judging from Timothy’s warm greeting, they’d known each other well. Christine must have known Jerome would appear tonight too—she’d surely encountered him before. Why hadn’t she tipped me off?Suppressing my rising anger, I replayed the dinner conversation in detail. Christine had said I’d incurred Timothy’s wrath for killing his brother. Now, mentioning Sergio Terres, Timothy seemed determined to unmask every murderer—from the man who killed Hugh to the one who killed George. And Christine and Jerome, who clearly knew more than they let on, simply egged him on. It felt… unsettling. Christine surely had her own agenda with Timothy, but what about Jerome? Both he and Timothy belong to the Club—yet were they no longer on the same side?Something was happening. Between Timothy, Christine, and Jerome. Christine had her reasons for ostracizing me.I tapped the ember from my cigarette into the ashtray and stood. The night was long, the mansion vast. I decided to explore the party in the ballroom first. I didn’t want to return to the dining room while it was still in session. It might have been wiser, but the thought of Timothy’s glare and his accusation of my insolence sent a chill down my spine. No, it was more than a chill—it was a premonition. Tonight, I had to avoid both Timothy and Jerome.I took one last look at the mist-shrouded garden—beautiful, yet ominous—and turned back. Spotting a passing attendant, I asked for directions to the ballroom and headed downstairs. Following his guidance, I soon emerged into the grand ballroom where Christine and I had briefly stopped earlier.The room buzzed with modern music from the orchestra, dancing couples, and clusters of chatting guests. It felt far more relaxed than the suffocating dinner table. I took a glass of champagne from a passing server and slipped into the crowd. First, I needed to discern the purpose of this party. Surely not all these people belonged to the Club—so it must be an ordinary celebration.Scanning randomly, I spotted a man sitting alone at a table, yawning in boredom. He might prefer solitude, but he could also welcome company. I approached without hesitation and sat down beside him.“How are you finding it?” I asked.He shrugged without reluctance. “It’s deadly dull—the party, the music.”“I don’t mind the music.”“Then why aren’t you enjoying it?”“I find dancing tedious… but listening while chatting isn’t so bad.”He grunted. I offered him my champagne, but he just stared. I smiled and added, “Apart from talking about the music itself—I don’t know much about classical.”His eyes widened, then he chuckled and took the glass. “That’s Shostakovich. I’m a fan, actually, but my partner drifted off to meet someone, and I’m sulking. Sorry.”“Oh, you had company?”“Yes. They said they’d meet someone but never returned. So here I am, jealous of everyone dancing alone.”“Funny you say that—I was abandoned by my companion too.”“Nice to meet you. I’m Jamie.”“Teddy.”He offered his hand. Without thinking, I said the first name that came to mind—Teddy. I swallowed, shook his hand, then dropped a hint.“I was at the host’s dinner.”“Timothy Donwell’s?” Jamie exclaimed. I nodded.“Somehow I ended up at his table, but it was so uncomfortable I felt like what I ate would come back up.”“Why’s that?”“Do you know Christine? She looked like the host’s lover.”“Christine? The cross-dressing man?”“Yes. They were so affectionate—though I sat at the edge, I couldn’t help but stare.”“Timothy does dote on his lover, I hear.”“Indeed—they barely spoke to anyone else, just kept to themselves.”“Not exactly refined tastes, but they’re famous for devotion. The Donwell family’s fates are curious—one dead, the other trailing a cross-dressing lover…”That bait worked. Jamie launched into gossip, and I leaned in, prompting him eagerly.“Yes, exactly. Dinner was so uneasy I couldn’t even finish dessert…”“There you are.” A voice cut through my words, and I turned to see Jerome smiling at me. I nearly jumped from my seat.“I’ve been looking for you.”“…”“And who is this?” Jerome asked, casually laying a hand on my shoulder and looking at Jamie. In that moment, Cal and James flashed through my mind. I stood abruptly.“We were just talking.”“Hello.” Jerome smoothly offered his hand to Jamie. Oblivious, Jamie shook it and greeted him. He even rose slightly to make room for Jerome to sit—thankfully, Jerome chose not to.“We’ve all been looking for you.” Jerome’s gaze snapped back to me. I stared at the face I hadn’t seen in ten years, stunned. Then he grabbed my wrist firmly.“There’s something urgent—come with me.”Before I could reply, he nodded to Jamie. “He’ll be fine for a moment. I’ll return soon.”“Of course—go ahead, Teddy.” Jamie replied, eager to escape the awkwardness.Jerome strode off before Jamie finished speaking. I gave Jamie a brief nod, then allowed myself to be half–dragged after Jerome. I glared at the hand gripping my wrist. Years had passed—I was no longer the child he once knew. I yanked my arm free. Jerome hesitated, then let go. I followed him in silence.

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