Chapter 7: Entering the Afterlife Door, Do Not Ask About the Afterlife Path
When Veronica’s figure completely disappeared at the end of the rose garden, Lena finally reacted, abruptly releasing her grip on Reid’s arm.
The image of Veronica’s striking blue eyes flashed through her mind—eyes that clearly harbored a scheme.
Just like the way her mother pretended to care during family meetings.
Lena took two steps back, her chest slightly heaving.
Veronica’s appearance today was certainly not merely a simple invitation to a gathering; there must be a deeper conspiracy behind it.
But fortunately…
Lena glanced at Reid beside her, her gaze unconsciously softening considerably.
Reid’s performance just now had been surprisingly impressive, even leaving Lena a bit unfocused.
Clearly, I am his employer, but why do I feel like the one being led by the nose?
Yet Lena had to admit, Reid had indeed been a great help.
Even more disturbing was the way that man had acted just now.
Those intimate gestures, the pride naturally reflected in his eyes when he spoke of her, were simply…
Too real, sending chills down her spine.
“That was too risky,” Lena’s voice dropped an octave, “but your adaptability is impressive.”
Reid exaggeratedly wiped nonexistent sweat from his forehead, casually brushing a smug smile from the corner of his mouth with his sleeve.
Now was the time to put some pressure on Lena.
Pointing out errors without mercy when the other party makes mistakes is the only way to make her future days a bit more bearable.
This is what they call a sense of boundaries.
“You should have informed me of these details in advance.”
Reid’s expression returned to calm, his tone carrying a gentle reproach, like a seasoned gigolo facing a somewhat clingy client.
“Miss Veronica is evidently more difficult to deal with than you expected.”
“It was my oversight,” Lena’s gaze faltered a bit, “Tonight we must perfect your backstory, every detail, but—”
“How do you know about that book, ‘The Charge of the Light Cavalry’?”
“Reasonable deduction.”
Reid took his time straightening the wrinkled cuff that Lena had grabbed, a playful smirk lingering at the corner of his mouth that made her both love and hate him.
“I noticed the light cavalry badge at your collar the moment you walked into the parlor.”
“And what about the part concerning St. John Academy…”
“There was a time when patrons of the tavern greatly enjoyed the ‘fallen noble young master after defeat and capture’ trope.”
Reid shrugged, the setting sun casting a mosaic of gold on his eyelashes: “A popular role-playing character.”
Lena’s breath hitched slightly:
“So, all of that just now… was all an act?”
“Of course.”
Reid suddenly leaned in, close enough for her to smell the cedar and leather scent on him.
“Don’t forget my profession, dear; I make a living by deceiving others.”
Lena stumbled back a step, her sandal crunching the dry branches on the floor.
If Veronica saw this, she would surely cover her mouth with that damned feather fan and chuckle, wouldn’t she?
She excels in watching others make fools of themselves.
An inexplicable irritation welled up within Lena.
Yes, whether it was his gentle gaze just now or the spontaneous “dear” from his lips, it was all part of this guy’s carefully woven lie.
I should have known this from the moment I hired him.
“Thank you for your dedication that allowed us to dodge a bullet, Mr. Reid.”
Lena’s voice regained its usual calmness, but it couldn’t hide the slight tremor at the end:
“However, I am somewhat curious as to why a man of your intelligence would humble himself to work in a small tavern in the Port District?”
Reid certainly caught the sarcasm in Lena’s words, but instead, he flashed her a brilliant smile.
“In the Port District, intelligence serves only two purposes: to commit crimes or to be a victim of crime, and I—”
Reid stepped back half a pace, elegantly performing a standard gentleman’s bow:
“Dear employer, I simply chose the more interesting path.”
Although Reid concealed it well, Lena did not miss the fleeting shadow in his eyes when she mentioned the Port District.
Looking at this enigmatic man before her, Lena suddenly realized a terrifying fact.
She was beginning to lose track of which parts were his performance and which were real.
And what was even more frightening was that she found herself starting to care about the answer to that question.
—————–
Mephilis woke up languidly, having nearly slept face down on the table of the Afterlife Tavern for a day and a night.
Such patrons are common at the Afterlife Tavern, and the employees took good care of Mephilis.
Aside from the shoulder and neck soreness from sleeping sitting up, Mephilis sustained no other harm.
But she could hardly care about her physical discomfort at this moment; her brain was completely consumed by the anger of being deceived.
I spent two whole gold coins, yet I didn’t even touch the corner of a single bartender’s clothing!
Mephilis suddenly shoved open the ornate wooden door of Heloise’s office, the door slamming against the wall with a loud bang.
Her golden curls were messily falling over her shoulders, and the expensive silk hem of her dress still bore wine stains from last night.
“Where is Reid?”
Mephilis’s voice was hoarse from a hangover, but still carried the arrogance befitting a viscount’s daughter, “That damn bartender dare—”
Heloise slowly lifted her head from the ledger, her fingertips gently stroking the letter opener engraved with a siren’s emblem on the desk.
“Miss Mephilis,” Heloise’s voice was soft as if soothing a child, yet it sent a chill throughout the room, “Shall I remind you? This is the Afterlife Tavern.”
The Afterlife Tavern is located in the Port District, which is the most chaotic area of Gran City.
This was not a wealthy district with street patrols; it was a genuine, lawless area filled with all sorts of violent crime.
By all common sense, it wouldn’t be unusual for a young woman like Mephilis, dressed so revealingly, to wake up from a drunken stupor in a tavern in the Port District.
But the Afterlife Tavern was an exception.
A saying circulated among the people of Gran City:
“Enter through the Afterlife door, do not ask about the Afterlife path.”
The mere fact that Mephilis could stand before Heloise right now, unharmed, was a testament to the strength of the Afterlife Tavern.
Mephilis’s confidence instantly whittled down a few pegs, yet she still straightened her back: “My father is—”
“Viscount William Vislington,” Heloise interrupted her, leisurely flipping through a ledger on the table, “Last month in the Port District, he owed me 50 gold coins in gambling debts, but it seems he does not want your mother to know about this.”
Heloise lazily raised her eyes: “Should I send someone to your residence to collect the debt now?”
Mephilis’s face turned pale in an instant, and it was then that she noticed the siren emblem on the letter opener in Heloise’s hand.
That was a mark only the leaders of gangs in the Port District could use.
“I… I just…”
Mephilis’s voice began to tremble as her meticulously manicured nails dug deeply into her palm.
Heloise suddenly stood up, her high heels clicking crisply against the floor.
She stepped gracefully towards Mephilis, reaching out to straighten her disheveled collar, her movements gentle like a caretaker soothing a rebellious child.
“Dear,” her red lips brushed against Mephilis’s ear, her breath icy and sharp, “The rules of the Afterlife Tavern are very simple—”
“You can pay for a drunken night, but do not think of touching my people.”
She stepped back, taking two copper coins from her drawer and gently placing them in Mephilis’s trembling palm:
“This is a refund for your drinks; I suggest you go to the Rose Salon in the Upper District for entertainment, as the pretty boys there are more suitable for a noble lady like you.”
Mephilis clasped the coins, rushing out of the office without looking back.
She didn’t see the glimmer of amusement flash in Heloise’s eyes behind her, nor did she hear her softly murmuring to herself:
“That scoundrel Reid… has gotten me into trouble again.”
