Placing the diary back exactly where he had found it, Noctis turned toward the door, ready to leave.
But before he could—
The door opened.
It wasn’t him.
“Uh… I can… explain,” Noctis said, his voice stiff, a thin line of sweat forming on his forehead.
Ilya stood there.
Clarisse beside her.
Their expressions were unmistakable.
Betrayal.
And something colder.
Disdain.
Before either side could properly react, a sharp pain erupted inside Noctis’s head. His vision blurred, then darkened.
“Shit… I can never get used to this,” he muttered through clenched teeth.
And everything went black.
He woke up in his room.
Again.
This time, there was no confusion.
If he wanted to convince Ilya, he needed to understand the accident that had taken Celina Vexwood’s life.
That was the fracture.
That was where everything changed.
But where was he supposed to start?
“How am I going to find out about the accident?”
Noctis lay back on the bed, eyes closed, thinking.
After a moment, he pulled out his phone and began searching.
News articles.
Local reports.
Anything.
“As expected… there’s no information about a child’s involvement. Or anyone else, for that matter.”
His fingers slowed.
Of course there wouldn’t be.
He lowered the phone and stared at the ceiling.
“If I can’t get it from outside… then it has to be from inside.”
He sat up and began pacing the room.
“Would anyone other than Ilya or Ian Vexwood know anything?”
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His steps slowed.
“If so… who?”
He stopped.
Realization struck.
“…Clarisse.”
Without wasting another second, Noctis rushed out of his room.
He moved quickly down the hallway, hoping he wasn’t too late.
He wasn’t.
There she was.
Still arguing with the head chef.
Resolving the dispute between Clarisse and the head chef had almost become a routine by now. Noctis handled it quickly, efficiently.
Once that was done, he turned toward her.
After briefly explaining his revised approach, Clarisse agreed to listen.
But this time, the destination wasn’t Ilya’s room.
“Then we should immediately give this news to mi—”
“No,” Noctis interrupted calmly. “I don’t think that’s going to work.”
Clarisse frowned slightly.
“And why is that?”
“First, I have no clear understanding of the relationship between Miss Ilya and Sir Ian. Second, from what I’ve observed, they’re not exactly fond of each other. Forcing this through her right now might only make things worse.”
Clarisse’s brows drew together.
“Then what are we supposed to do? We’ve already struck a deal with the head chef.”
“That’s where you come in,” Noctis said, a faint, controlled smile appearing on his face.
“Huh? What do you mean?” she asked, taken aback.
“Clarisse, you’ve been by Miss Ilya’s side for years. You know things about her that no one else in this mansion does. I don’t intend to pry into her life. But if we’re going to convince her to cooperate… and possibly mend things between her and Sir Ian… I need to understand what happened.”
His voice remained steady.
“That’s only possible if you’re willing to help me.”
Clarisse pressed her fingers against her forehead and closed her eyes, thinking.
Noctis watched her carefully.
After several seconds, she opened her eyes.
“Fine. I understand,” she said quietly. “But I have one condition.”
“A condition?” Noctis narrowed his eyes slightly.
“Yes. Whatever you learn about the Vexwoods… or about young Miss… you cannot tell anyone. No matter what.”
“No matter what.”
The words echoed.
Again.
“No matter what.”
The tone did not change.
The expression did not shift.
The repetition felt unnatural.
For a brief moment, Noctis felt the air grow heavier.
He had almost forgotten where he was.
This mansion was not normal.
And perhaps neither were the people inside it.
But fear was useless now.
He adjusted his glasses and nodded.
“I understand. I promise I won’t tell anyone.”
Clarisse studied him for a moment longer before crossing her arms.
“Fine. Ask what you want.”
“But let’s move somewhere more appropriate.”
They walked toward the garden.
The afternoon light filtered through the trees, casting long shadows across the grass.
Noctis led her to one of the benches near a flower patch.
Once they sat down, he began.
“So… what kind of relationship do Miss Ilya and Sir Ian have?” he asked, his gaze steady.
“It wasn’t always like this,” Clarisse replied. “But after certain events, everything changed. Sir Ian barely even looks at her anymore. He stays in his office. Or his bedroom.”
“So he hates her?” Noctis asked. “Does he not care about her at all?”
“It may seem that way,” Clarisse admitted, “but he does care. Even though he never goes to see her himself, he keeps track of what she does every week.”
“Then why doesn’t he try to fix things?”
“The past holds him back,” she said softly. “The loss he experienced was too great. But it didn’t begin with just one loss. He lost most of his family within a single year.”
Her hands tightened slightly in her lap.
“He couldn’t contain the emotions building inside him. And he let them spill onto Miss Ilya… unintentionally. After that… there was no turning back.”
Noctis frowned.
“Even if he lost his family, shouldn’t he be trying to protect what’s left? Or did something else happen that changed him completely?”
Clarisse’s eyes narrowed slightly. Her lips pressed into a thin line.
“Yes,” she said. “Something did happen.”
Silence lingered between them.
Noctis spoke again, more carefully this time.
“What was it?”
“It happened on February 23rd,” Clarisse answered quietly. “That day, an accident took place. And it changed everything in this mansion.”
She lowered her gaze.
“It was the day Miss Ilya and Madam Celina had planned a trip to Waterela.”
Noctis remained silent.
Listening.
The sun had been unusually bright that morning.
Footsteps echoed through the hallways.
Light.
Quick.
Excited.
It was Ilya.
She was hurrying toward her father’s office, unable to contain her anticipation.
The day that would end everything that had begun like any other.
