Hongqiao District, No. 13 Mel Street.
After dinner, Detective Herman Hughes, unable to persuade his good partner Peanut to wash the dishes, had no choice but to do it himself.
“Stupid bird, stupid bird!!”
Ignoring Peanut, who kept repeating his words, Herman closed the bedroom door.
He shifted his gaze to the bookshelf beside the bed, walked over, and raised a hand.
Second shelf, the eleventh book.
Herman pulled out the book and glanced at the title.
The Substitute Wife of the Dark Night Count.
Herman: “……”
It seemed like a bestseller recommended by the bookstore; he hadn’t paid much attention and just bought it along with a few other books.
He flipped through it casually, and a thunderclap of a scene hit him.
The Dark Night Count’s pitch-black eyes were adorned with a trace of scarlet, like the setting sun, burning with desire and destroying reason.
He pressed down on that delicate softness, his hoarse voice betraying an uncontrollable haze of passion.
“Woman, you shall not escape.”
Truly worthy of the Dark Night Count — effortlessly voicing the words he himself could not say.
Herman quickly flipped through the entire novel and found a folded paper tucked inside the book.
He took out the folded paper and glanced at it.
It was in his own handwriting.
“To pass the review, I decided to delete some memories.”
“All memories related to cooperation with Loxy Morton have been deleted.”
“All memories related to Loxy Morton’s abnormalities have been deleted.”
“Below are the deleted memories from the Mirror Castle and the points of doubt.”
Herman was not surprised.
After the Detective’s Promotion Ritual on the Path, one of the abilities of a Path 8 Fraudster was to proactively delete parts of their own memories.
Sometimes, to deceive others, you must first deceive yourself.
What surprised him was that he had once decided to delete almost all memories related to Loxy Morton.
Herman furrowed his brows and, from a third-person perspective, reviewed the events he and Loxy Morton had experienced.
Nothing was left out, not even the moment when she ‘fell’ onto him.
Dialogues, expressions, actions—every single detail was intact.
After finishing the entire manuscript, he picked up a pen and spun it twice in his hand.
Then, placing the paper over The Substitute Wife of the Dark Night Count, he wrote several notes.
One: Why do Loxy Morton’s words and actions differ so much from what he knew about the ‘social butterfly’?
Two: Why did Loxy Morton show clear signs of fear when seeing her portrait?
Three: Why did Loxy Morton conceal her ‘cooperation’ with him? With official personnel present, wouldn’t the best choice be to reveal everything and seize the opportunity to ask for the antidote?
After listing the three questions, Herman tapped the pen tip on the paper, leaving several ink dots, then wrote his conclusions.
One: Loxy Morton is hiding something.
Two: Is Loxy Morton even really Loxy Morton?
Having sorted out the questions, Herman put down the pen and brought the paper close to a candle, setting it ablaze until it was reduced to ashes.
Then, he shifted his gaze to the nearby desk cabinet.
There lay all the Spiritual Materials required for a Fraudster’s Promotion Ritual to Executioner.
The Promotion Ritual.
Deceive your enemy, then grant him the most magnificent execution to fall the curtain on his performance.
Ha, I really have to thank you, Sandyk—no, Mr. Sanbieke.
A slight curl appeared on his lips, his brown eyes full of mockery and derision toward fate and his enemies.
West District of Glen City, Queen Street, Delqun Viscount Family Residence.
Inside the bedroom, Loxy felt a wave of dizziness.
There were never any coincidences; fate had revealed its fangs to her.
Morton’s death was no accident—it was a premeditated plan.
Hannah Carter’s so-called betrayal, Dennis Sandyk’s change in attitude when alone with her, his newfound respect.
And the revolver and dagger in the bedroom—who had prepared those in advance?
The answer was obvious.
It was ‘herself’, it was ‘Loxy Morton’!
Morton was not a pawn; she was the player.
The eyeless woman she met in the classroom was not just a lookalike—she must be Morton herself!
Why? What was the grand purpose behind Morton’s elaborate schemes?
Loxy’s mind throbbed painfully.
Anger, fear, helplessness—an array of chaotic emotions swirled inside her, forming a pitch-black vortex that made it hard to breathe.
The evening breeze brushed her cheek, its coldness helping Loxy regain some composure.
Feeling the wind sneak inside her collar, she lowered her head and saw a towering figure from an unfamiliar perspective.
That’s right—she was no longer ‘Lin Yu’, no longer a high school boy.
Thanks to Morton, she was now the Miss of the Delqun Viscount Family of the Kingdom of Soth.
Loxy tugged at the collar of her nightgown, a smile curling at the corner of her mouth.
She shifted her gaze to the full-length mirror; the mist-blue eyes of the girl reflected a touch of madness and determination.
“Do you think you’ve underestimated me too much?”
“Loxy Morton.”
If anyone saw her now, they would surely think she was a split-personality patient suffering from severe mental illness.
Loxy grabbed her diary and tore out the page dated May 25th, then tossed it into the toilet and flushed it away.
“Meow~”
Only Miko the cat remained, stepping on the edge of the toilet, meowing.
She sat on the edge of the bed, holding her hands in front of her eyes, and the thought she tried to suppress began to stir.
Was Morton merely temporarily asleep deep within this body? Would she eventually return one day?
If so, then let her be buried by her own hand.
“Welcome home, the new me?”
Screw you.
There’s no place for you in this home anymore, Morton!
Still, the gentle and refined Loxy couldn’t help but mutter a greeting.
Loxy took a deep breath and slowly exhaled.
It seemed the path of laying low and steady growth was impossible.
Morton was a volcano ready to erupt at any moment; what she needed to do now was race against time.
Moreover, she suspected Morton was likely a believer in some dark deity.
Perhaps there were other cultists watching her in secret, and she couldn’t report to the authorities.
After all, she herself was the greatest ‘cultist’, crazy enough to sacrifice ‘herself’.
Taking these two points into account, becoming an official ‘Secret Covenant Holder’ was actually the best choice.
Plans really can’t keep up with changes.
Physically and mentally exhausted, Loxy collapsed onto the soft down comforter.
She grabbed a pillow to cover her face, then began shaking her head from side to side, her small feet moving up and down with the motion until one slipper flew off.
Annoying, so annoying aaaahhh—
She had only been here a few days and had already been deceived by Hannah Carter, then by Loxy Morton.
Why were all the women so terrible?
No, wait—there was also the old trickster Herman Hughes; he almost got her too.
Loxy threw aside the pillow; her cold tea-colored hair was messy, covering her eyes.
She raised a hand, clenched it, loosened it, clenched it again, repeatedly performing the meaningless motion.
New thoughts surged into her mind.
Perfect timing—tomorrow she would go find that fraudster for the antidote and see if she could squeeze a few words out of him, learn more about this so-called ‘Secret Covenant Holder’.