“Is finding just one girl really this difficult?!”
The furious voice of an uninvited guest stormed in, rattling the old, frost-clouded window. James, who had been processing an invoice sent by an employee dispatched north to search for that man’s daughter, let out a deep sigh and put down his pen.
Burhin—a place infamous even in Roden, the capital of Riverton, for its lowlifes, gamblers, and drunkards. It was laughable to even discuss the caliber of clients who came looking for a detective agency tucked away in the back alleys of such a place, but this one was especially unbearable.
“How many nineteen-year-old women from Pudshire do you think there are? If only you at least knew your daughter’s name, progress would’ve been much faster.”
Indeed. This pathetic man didn’t even know the name of the daughter he was trying to find.
One might think such a heartless and shameless father was shocking enough—but it was too soon for that. His true motive for searching for the daughter he had abandoned for over a decade was far more despicable.
Victor Haywood, the second son of a minor viscount family, had inherited little wealth—and even that had been squandered through failed investments and gambling, leaving him drowning in debt. Naturally, he neither had the ability nor the will to work and repay it.
Last summer, in a desperate gamble to turn his life around, he invested everything he had—and more—into a gold mine development project. It failed spectacularly, pushing him to the brink. Unable to secure funds from banks, the repayment deadline for a loan he had taken from Marcus Cobb, Burhin’s infamous loan shark, was only months away.
Having spent his days trembling at the thought of being dragged off as a slave to colonial mines, Victor suddenly reappeared on the streets two weeks ago, strutting about with renewed vigor.
“Well now, turns out I’ve got a long-lost daughter. That girl’s going to save my neck soon. Viscount Dawson promised to pay off my debts in exchange for marrying her. And if I’m lucky and she takes after me, maybe someone will offer even more than that old man.”
Victor Haywood was the very embodiment of irresponsibility and lack of duty. Nearing fifty and still unmarried, he had long maintained a mistress, though they had no children.
So when people saw him swaggering around, reeking of alcohol, they assumed he had finally lost his mind, crushed by his miserable reality. But even James couldn’t fully dismiss him as insane—not when Victor had presented something rather convincing as proof.
A faded envelope stamped with an old postmark. Inside was a letter from the woman Victor had once been involved with, informing him of the birth of their child. At the bottom were the woman’s name and a date from nineteen years ago.
That was the only clue to Victor’s nameless daughter.
“That’s what I hired you for! If all you’re going to do is spout useless nonsense, return the money you took. There are plenty of detectives in Roden who could replace you!”
James felt the urge to throw the pitiful advance fee back in Victor’s face and spit at him—but he had his reasons for holding back.
“Keep Victor Haywood occupied until further notice. We’ll be sending someone regularly to check on progress. The slower the investigation moves, the better.”
A week ago, a young man with an intelligent appearance and gold-rimmed glasses had visited and made that secret proposal. He had also promised that compensation would increase the longer James cooperated.
The man, presumably a retainer of some wealthy noble, had not revealed his identity. James hadn’t bothered to ask. What use was a name that might not even be real? In this district, the only reliable guarantee was money.
And so, without hesitation, James accepted the advance the man offered. He didn’t even need to calculate which side was more profitable—Victor or the mysterious client.
Suppressing his irritation as he thought of the additional payment due tomorrow, James finally spoke.
“I’m not blaming you, sir. I’m simply explaining why the investigation is slow. It’s only been ten days—perhaps a little patience would help. My employee is currently tracking down the house your daughter moved to after birth. We should have news soon. If you switch detectives now, you’ll only waste more time starting over, won’t you?”
Persuaded by the calm reasoning, Victor reluctantly softened his expression. Even if he got his meager advance back, he had no better options—that much he knew.
Sighing, he ran a hand through his glossy blond hair.
“I suppose I raised my voice unnecessarily. You know my situation isn’t exactly… good.”
“Of course, I understand. When it comes to one’s child, any parent would move heaven and earth.”
“Exactly! Think about it—if she takes after me, wouldn’t men be lining up for her? I can’t sleep at night worrying that my only daughter might ruin her life by choosing the wrong man.”
It was an absurdly shameless thing to say for someone who had never acted as a father for even a single day, yet James couldn’t entirely disagree.
For someone with absolutely nothing…
Victor’s appearance was strikingly beautiful—so much so that it was hard to imagine him as a destitute man. His delicate, refined features gave him an almost ethereal charm, and his careful grooming made him look five or six years younger than his age.
If his daughter inherited that beauty, she would undoubtedly captivate countless men.
The irony, however, was that the man worrying about her future was precisely the kind of man who would ruin it.
On a spring morning where the fading chill hinted at the changing season, Maylily’s steps were as light as if she were walking on clouds as she crossed the garden, where fresh green shoots had begun to awaken from winter’s sleep.
It was the day of the stage rehearsal for the spring season repertoire. Though not a formal performance, the thought of finally stepping onto the stage of the Roden Opera House—a dream she had long cherished—filled her heart with excitement. Her pale blue eyes sparkled with anticipation as she entered the theater.
The second-floor dressing room was already bustling with chorus members preparing for rehearsal. Removing her thick fur gloves, Maylily nodded politely to a few who made eye contact.
As always, no one returned her greeting.
Letting out a quiet sigh, she placed her scarf and gloves into her cabinet.
“Oh my, did you come dressed in your stage costume?”
Vanessa Fritz had approached her unnoticed and was now scanning her outfit. The navy dress, its only decoration being the front buttons, had faded from repeated washing.
“No, this is my own dress.”
It was hardly a humorous answer, yet the group behind Vanessa burst into giggles.
“Oh really? It looked so tacky, I thought it was a costume. You’re such a country bumpkin.”
The role of a country girl that Maylily played was from a different production, not today’s rehearsal. But she knew Vanessa wasn’t referring only to that role—so she stayed silent.
Country bumpkin. It was the nickname Vanessa’s group used for her behind her back.
“Where do you even buy clothes like that?”
“Maybe she inherited them from her grandmother?”
“No way… she can’t be that poor.”
Leaving Maylily without a response, Vanessa and her group laughed as they returned to their seats. The other members watched the rude commotion in silence.
Vanessa was the niece of Martin Fritz, the director of the Roden Opera Company. Backed by her uncle’s authority, no one dared to stand up for Maylily.
The bullying had started last summer, when Maylily first joined the company.
Most members of the Roden Opera Company were elite graduates from prestigious music academies—the finest in Riverton. In contrast, Maylily had graduated from a small rural music school and worked her way up from a provincial opera troupe, earning recognition through effort and talent.
Vanessa likely believed that someone like Maylily, who hadn’t followed the traditional elite path, lowered the company’s prestige.
Fortunately—or perhaps unfortunately—Maylily had grown accustomed to such treatment.
“I heard her mother isn’t even her real mother, but her aunt?”
“No wonder she has a different surname from her siblings.”
“They say her mother died right after giving birth. No one even knows who her father is.”
Having lived her life branded as an illegitimate child, hardened by scorn and neglect, this level of hostility was nothing new.
More importantly, the path Maylily had walked—though different in form—was nothing to be ashamed of.
So don’t shrink back. A singer proves herself not by her background, but by her voice.
Though she was still an unknown singer, she believed she would one day stand at the very top of the stage and be recognized for her talent.
And someday, she surely would.
Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Maylily began changing her clothes as if nothing had happened.
