Chapter 18 ❖ ❖ ❖
At the same time, Central Metropolitan Police Station.
Kingsley Sheldon, having just recently set foot in the capital, had to return to the city center—not for business this time, but for another matter entirely.
He had submitted a request to visit Ludvik Rex at the detention center purely out of spite.
Earlier, he had called his maternal aunt under the pretense of a casual greeting. As the conversation gradually revealed his true intentions, his aunt mentioned that the Duchess was planning to take Vivienne to the art museum. When he asked if he could accompany them, the Duchess refused, saying she actually had something to discuss regarding Edmund and Vivienne.
The thought that the woman might have already given herself to his cousin made his blood boil. The arrogance—how dare she! Unable to redirect his focus elsewhere, Kingsley, forced to change his destination to the police station, ground his teeth along the way.
He had no desire to clumsily insert himself between Edmund and Vivienne. But then the image of the young lady’s fiancé—who might very well be a strategist for the underworld—popped into his mind.
Most locals would have been cautious in such a situation, but Kingsley Sheldon, used to ruling his own territory like a king, was ignorant of the delicate intricacies of the capital’s political landscape. Naturally, he believed his request for a meeting would be accepted, and without much thought, he made his way to the police station.
Ludvik Rex emerged into the visitation room like a lion starving for blood, glaring at him as if daring him to speak. Beside him was the ever-obsequious Inspector Dinkel, who looked on attentively. Judging by his appearance, Ludvik seemed not to have suffered in the slightest while in custody.
Kingsley’s plan to swagger with words like, “You’re supposed to be a strategist for the underworld, right? I happen to have a lawyer acquaintance in your circle…” had long since fizzled.
What kind of person radiates danger like that?
Muttering a string of vulgarities internally, Kingsley nonetheless managed to bring up the reason for his visit—though he couldn’t bring himself to say a word directly to Ludvik.
When Ludvik’s expression hardened, indicating he might not even listen, Kingsley eagerly exaggerated the story he had heard through his aunt, embellishing each detail.
“Cigarette,” Ludvik said to the inspector.
Dinkel carefully produced a cigarette from his pocket and handed it to him. Ludvik placed it in his mouth and lit it, and the inspector even brought over an ashtray, tilting it for him with utmost deference.
“You claimed it’s certain my woman was involved with Count Colt, Baron Sheldon,” Ludvik said, his red eyes shifting from the inspector back to Kingsley.
Kingsley stiffened under that gaze. When he resumed his babbling, Ludvik lazily scanned the opposite window before blowing smoke in his direction.
By the time Kingsley finished his story, Ludvik was snickering. His smile alone was terrifying. Kingsley shrank inwardly, mumbling to himself, then began hiccuping when their eyes met.
Come to think of it, the mourning procession for the actress he had seen on his way here was also that bastard’s doing. He had heard that this very man had brutally killed the actress’s followers.
The actress herself had been driven to suicide by the shock.
And yet, here he was, still sitting calmly in this detention room, as if waiting for something.
The man looked at Kingsley and asked,
“What is it that you want?”
That you don’t kill me…
Kingsley nearly blurted out the thought in his head but instead hesitated and proposed a substantial sum of money.
Yes. He decided to claim it was about money. If he had tossed out some pitiful excuse like jealousy, he could have vanished overnight, labeled a follower of the fiancée or something.
“If it’s just about some petty cash, I can hand it over right now. My lawyer will contact you shortly, Sheldon.”
“Y-Yes…”
“Are you just going to sit there foolishly? Too bad for you—I’m not interested in men.”
Kingsley quickly got up, muttered “Then…”, and made his exit.
From behind came the sound of his chilling laughter.
Just then, an unexpected figure approached from across Kingsley.
Wow, that badge… that’s the Chief of Police.
Had he misseen it?
But no—Kingsley had seen correctly.
The Chief of Police stood before the empty chair Kingsley had vacated, hands clasped behind his back.
“Seems like things are running smoothly at the police station,” he said.
Inspector Dinkel stared at him, stunned, dropping the ashtray. A faint sneer crept onto the Chief’s lips.
The Chief knocked his fist against the glass separating him from Ludvik and Kingsley. “Can you hear me?” Ludvik’s expression stiffened further. “Yes, I hear you,” as if he were a wild beast trapped behind bars.
The Chief spoke.
“Unfortunately, I’ve come into possession of undeniable evidence that means you can’t be released for lack of proof.”
“……”
“However, due to a promise I made to an ‘anonymous informant,’ I must release you… for now.”
As Ludvik rose from his seat, the Chief clicked his tongue.
“Young man, such impatience. There’s one condition.”
“And what would that be?”
“A clean, trouble-free annulment with Miss Mergoville.”
“Hah. Looks like the boss has a taste for lower-ranking women too. You read the newspapers carefully, I see.”
The sarcasm dripping from Ludvik’s voice was unmistakable, clearly directed at whoever was behind the Chief of Police.
“Did you bring the contract?”
Ludvik’s sharp voice followed.
