Welcome to the Rose Mansion - Chapter 145
Rogéros and Rose
“…So it’s ‘Rose’.”
Her grip on the diary tightened as if it might shatter in her hands.
Unaware of the soft creaking coming from the cover, Richelle repeated the name once more.
“Rose…”
The answer had been closer than she’d thought. Rose. Rose’s Mansion.
She recalled the phrase written in Bertrand’s rules.
[ Welcome to the Rose Mansion ]
It hadn’t simply referred to the name Neil Otis drunkenly gave it. Bertrand was, in truth, Rose’s mansion.
Her heart raced, pounding as if it would explode at any moment. The thrill surged, even greater than solving a complex math problem she’d spent sleepless nights on.
Richelle reopened the diary, quickly scanning through it with a precision only satisfied by multiple reads. Her habit of confirming things two or three times, her innate tendency. The pages fluttered rapidly under her fingers as she sped through, but gradually, her pace slowed as she neared the last page, lingering for a while on the final lines.
Only after committing every small character to memory did Richelle close the diary.
“Time to go back.”
Time to return and put an end to this.
She slipped the golden locket from the box around her neck, tucking it beneath her clothes. She tucked the diary into her waistband, hiding it under her outer garment. Being small and thin, it didn’t cause much discomfort.
She hesitated briefly, considering if she should truly take these items, but in the end, no one else would come to this place. Richelle carefully placed the now-empty box back in its original spot.
“I’ll save Otis… no matter what.”
She spoke, whether to Charlotte, to all the Otises who had passed through this ‘Master’s Chamber’, or perhaps as a vow to herself.
After a respectful bow to the box, she turned away. The red canopy bed immediately caught her eye, with Rick Otis lying on it, his eyes closed as though resting.
Richelle bit her lip. Charlotte had said that as the Otis heir grew, the head of the family would gradually die.
Though she didn’t know his exact birthday, Alan was nearly of age, which meant Rick Otis’s time was running short. Even if she could drive Rose away, it was doubtful the earl’s deteriorated body would return to normal.
In the end, there was nothing she could do for Rick Otis…
With a heavy heart, she bowed to him. Even as she tidied the curtains around his bed, Rick Otis’s eyes never opened.
Dragging her feet, which felt weighed down, Richelle left the room. Before stepping out, she looked back one last time at the Master’s Chamber. Still red, so overwhelmingly red.
But the eerie, fearful atmosphere that had once oppressed her was gone. Now, all she felt was the overwhelming sorrow and despair that past Otis heads had shouldered, pressing down on her.
Bearing that weight, Richelle quietly shut the door and stepped into the corridor.
The endless red hallway that had once seemed boundless now appeared as an ordinary corridor. Neither too long nor too short. Candles lined the walls at regular intervals, casting a gentle light.
Richelle walked through it, each step precise and deliberate. Her steps were straight, light, and dignified. She kept her stride steady, her back straight, and her chin slightly raised, embodying elegance. Her gaze was firm, unshaken.
By the time she regained her poise, she had reached the end of the corridor.
She reached out and opened the door.
“Hello, Richelle.”
The man with eyes as beautiful as gathered starlight—as red as blood—spread his arms in greeting.
“It feels like it’s been ages since we spoke like this. Don’t you think so?”
An impossible breeze tousled his jet-black hair gently.
The dense scent of roses pressed in, heavy and overwhelming. His crimson lips curved in a smooth, seductive smile, as if they had only ever known sweetness.
He stepped forward, his voice a low murmur.
“I missed you dearly. I wonder if you felt the same?”
Richelle gazed calmly at him. She had anticipated his presence and was not surprised.
She closed the door behind her and faced him fully. His blood-red eyes, now completely unveiled, met her gaze without hesitation.
“You seem to have a lot to say, Richelle.”
“…Where are the children?”
“Ah, those little roses you cherished so much.”
The man clapped his hands with exaggerated delight and waved his hand. Two unbloomed roses appeared, resting in his palm.
He handed them to Richelle.
“Take them. For you, Richelle.”
Like a magician offering candy conjured from flames to children, his expression was almost childlike in its innocence.
“Give me that beautiful smile again, Richelle. Aren’t you happy? You got what you wanted, didn’t you?”
“……”
“Standing on the sacrifice… of those children who adored you.”
