* * *

The unexpected twist made me clutch the handkerchief tightly.

Jerome was suggesting there was a different mastermind framing me.

He drummed his fingers on the table.

“Remember when you were kidnapped by mercenaries from the slave syndicate? When I found you?”

Unpleasant memories surfaced as I nodded stiffly.

“Around that time, there were rumors in the capital of Sacre girls vanishing. Using that tip, I tracked a trader… and found you.”

“What do you mean ‘just in case’?”

“Meaning you didn’t need to cry yourself to pieces; I’ve always looked out for you in my own way.”

His voice was uncharacteristically sincere.

I considered protesting that I hadn’t cried that much, but instead, I gestured for him to continue.

Jerome’s explanation resumed, calm and casual.

“After relocating you, I searched the bodies of those dead mercenaries again. There, I found this.”

Jerome pulled a bloodstained slip of paper from his pocket. I recognized it instantly.

“Is that…?”

“Yes. Somehow, the temple had permits to move Sacre girls in carriages. At the same time, rumors began circulating about a ‘Witch of Sacre’ killing men.”

“…”

“I knew, instinctively, that the two incidents were connected. And that someone with malicious intent was targeting you.”

A shiver ran down my spine as Jerome sighed.

“But I couldn’t act recklessly. I needed solid leads before moving, so I waited until they made a move first.”

“…So you intentionally lured me into a trap?”

“Yes. This opponent is cunning. To beat them, I had to be more devious. It wasn’t for fun—I did it to protect you.”

His explanation made my anger melt away, even if I still had doubts.

“But you could’ve told me the plan in advance.”

“Well…”

Jerome averted his gaze, a rare look of discomfort.

His sheepish grin returned, followed by a bizarre confession.

“I want to be your husband, your child, your parent… Even the villain who stands in your way, just once…”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Ever thought about wanting to monopolize every part of someone’s life?”

“No, that’s insane.”

It was a train of thought impossible to follow with common sense.

At my visibly bewildered reaction, Jerome murmured, looking just as shocked.

“So, that was weird, too, huh? I thought everyone was like that….”

I felt my head was about to break from the absurdity, so I grabbed my forehead.

“Enough of that. Do you have a report of the case details?”

“Here.”

Receiving the case report from Jerome, I slowly read through the sentences.

As soon as I saw the victim’s name, I paused.

Osman was listed among the deceased.

Osman once said his wife had beautiful teal eyes.

Yet, the woman posing as Madam Quaintrell had unmistakable hazel eyes.

‘She lured me from the start. All of this, just to frame Jeanne as the Witch of Sacre.’

To prove that the real culprit wasn’t me but Madam Quaintrell, I first had to prove that she was a fake.

As I flipped through the case report, I asked,

“The younger sister who requested the guild’s help—can’t we just bring her here and prove Madam Quaintrell is a fraud?”

“Unfortunately, after investigating, we found that Madam Quaintrell had no sister. Her only family was Osman.”

“So the entire request was fake from the beginning. Why on earth would she do all this?”

Instead of answering, Jerome gave me a bright smile.

I stared at him for a moment, then spoke calmly.

“Ah, so you already know who the real culprit is.”

“Yup.”

“And you’re not going to tell me, even if I ask?”

“That’s right.”

My expression darkened, and Jerome laughed.

“I could solve everything for you, but then you’d gain nothing from it.”

“As if you haven’t already done everything for me.”

“Not at all. The most crucial answer lies with you. I just made sure you had shoes to protect your feet. Running is entirely up to you.”

It amazed me how easily he could say such kind things.

All this coming from a tin man who knew nothing about love.

‘What am I supposed to do if my heart starts racing?’

Jerome’s gaze turned unsettling as he watched me clear my throat.

“By the way, don’t you think this room has pretty good soundproofing?”

I silently returned my attention to the case report, feeling his piercing stare digging into my skull but forcing myself to ignore it.

The murder process described in the report went as follows:

Last night, the suspect Jeanne mixed poison into the meal Osman was to have, as requested by his wife.

Unaware, Osman ate the poisoned food and was found dead the next morning.

Madam Quaintrell discovered his body and immediately reported me to the guards, who arrested me after finding the poison bottle in my possession.

‘The poison used was Paju’s extract…’

A forgotten memory surfaced. Paju’s poison extract—the one Jerome had deliberately ingested at Maron’s cabin to suppress Mephisto’s power.

Recalling that scene, I lifted my head sharply. My heart, which had been quiet, began to race.

“I understand now.”

“Hm?”

“I know how to prove my innocence.”

What had seemed like an inescapable maze was finally revealing an exit.

Jerome watched me with a pretend look of surprise, a smile spreading across his face.

“Really? That’s great.”

The sound of metal clinking announced the arrival of the guards, signaling the end of our meeting.

Jerome suddenly grabbed my collar and pulled me toward him, planting an unexpected kiss.

The guards froze, stunned.

Jerome slipped his tongue into my mouth without hesitation, ignoring the surrounding stares.

As I tried to push him away, I stopped when something foreign brushed against my tongue.

“Get off me, now!”

The wet sound of our kiss was interrupted as the guards finally separated us.

Jerome, restrained by the guards on either side, looked at me with eyes gleaming in excitement.

“Forgive me. I haven’t embraced my wife in days… I feel like I’m going to burst.”

“Take the prisoner away now!”

One of the guards dragged me out.

Even as the heavy metal doors shut, Jerome never took his eyes off me.

Back in solitary confinement, I spat out the tiny piece of paper Jerome had hidden under my tongue.

A few concise sentences were scrawled on it. I quietly read the note.

[Always remember: a great fire starts from a small spark.]

“A great fire, huh…”

Frowning, I crumpled the paper and sighed, hardening my resolve.

“Fine. I’ll prove Madam Quaintrell is the real culprit.”

✽ ✽ ✽

The trial commenced in an atmosphere thick with tension.

Jeanne was accused in five murder cases involving Paju’s poison extract, all attributed to the so-called Witch of Sacre.

If I couldn’t prove my innocence here, I’d be branded a monstrous serial killer responsible for five deaths.

As I entered the courtroom, my eyes met Cedrick’s.

‘He looks like he might faint any second.’

Cedrick’s gaze wavered as he looked at my shackled wrists.

Unable to watch any longer, he abruptly left the courtroom.

Just then, Luke entered, passing Cedrick without a word, his expression unreadable.

“The trial will now begin.”

The courtroom was packed with spectators eager to see the infamous Witch of Sacre.

Judging by their glares, they’d already deemed me guilty.

“So it’s true the Sacre people are violent.”

“Killing someone… how terrifying.”

I sat in the defendant’s chair, masking my anxiety.

No matter how composed I tried to seem, I couldn’t stop the trembling in my body.

I was terrified.

“The defendant stands accused in the murder of Osman Killis and four others, using Paju’s poison. The time of the crime is…”

While the judge went on, I recalled Cedric’s words from the night before.

“My father said you should only admit to killing Osman. Pleading guilty might get you out on bail. But if you claim you’re innocent of everything, you’ll be in even more trouble. You could even face execution if things go poorly.”

I knew Cedrick meant well. The other murder charges lacked solid evidence, giving me a chance at a not-guilty verdict.

But Osman’s case was trickier due to the concrete proof against me.

Still, I couldn’t admit to a crime I didn’t commit.

Doing so would also dishonor Osman, who had died unjustly.

My trembling subsided as my mind cleared.

“No, I don’t admit to any of it.”

The crowd stirred at my defiant declaration.

I locked eyes with Madam Quaintrell on the witness stand.

She stared at me with her usual lifeless expression, and I allowed a small smile to form.

“Didn’t you hear me? I don’t admit to any of it.”

I’d taken enough hits.

Now, it was time to strike back.

* * *