Welcome to the Rose Mansion - Chapter 27
Richelle couldn’t comprehend what she had just heard.
“…I beg your pardon?”
“You’re the valedictorian of some prestigious school, aren’t you?”
Alan Otis stood up. Wearing only a thin shirt, the movement exposed his well-defined bone structure and the ripple of muscles beneath drew one’s gaze.
“What do you think, Teacher? If I jump from that window, would I die?”
Finally, his pale face, previously obscured by the shadows of the trees, was fully visible.
There was a fresh bruise on his left cheek, and his lip was split, bleeding. It looked like he had been struck. Judging by the condition of the wound, it wasn’t old.
Richelle glanced back up at the third-floor window.
“…Perhaps, if you’re lucky.”
“Lucky? So, to you, death also falls under the category of ‘fortune’?”
“It’s better than being disabled or getting stuck in a coma, becoming a burden to your family.”
Their gazes locked for a moment before Alan Otis was the first to look away.
“It seems you haven’t had the smoothest life either. Well, who among us here hasn’t?”
His faint voice was lost in the breeze. Was the slight self-mockery at the end just her imagination?
“Anyway, I’ve taken your opinion into consideration. It seems better to hold off on that method. Luck has never been on my side from birth.”
As if he had finished his business, Alan Otis dusted himself off and stood up. Richelle quickly reached out to follow suit.
“Are you alright? Can I help you with anything…”
“Cut it out. I don’t need your help.”
Alan harshly brushed off Richelle’s outstretched hand. Her face flushed with embarrassment, but her concern outweighed her shame.
“But you look pale. Were you lying down because you felt dizzy? If my presence is bothering you, I can call someone else…”
“It’s fine! I was just lying down because—”
Irritation marked his face as he looked up at his bedroom window again.
“It was a rehearsal. I was curious about how it would feel.”
To inquire what exactly the rehearsal was for, or to ask about the cause of the bruise on his face?
Even if she really asked, would he even answer?
While Richelle hesitated, Alan Otis brushed off the leaves stuck to his clothes. Grass stains were all over his white shirt, but he seemed unconcerned.
A chill early spring wind blew between them, lifting the boy’s thin blond hair, which shimmered like a wide wheat field under the evening sun.
Brushing back his tousled hair, Alan turned to Richelle.
“You should go too. You’re looking for the twins, aren’t you?”
“How did you know that?”
“They ran off towards the man-made forest down that way. Go find them and bring them back.”
“Ah, the man-made forest!”
So they were there after all! Richelle’s face brightened.
“Thank you for telling me…”
“And.”
A shadow fell over her. Alan Otis, now standing close, looked down at her.
Richelle involuntarily inhaled a fresh, slightly tangy scent mixed with the oxygen. It was his scent.
Not the rose scent she had become accustomed to over the past month, but something unfamiliar and yet familiar.
Richelle knew what it was.
“This…”
Without a doubt, it was the smell of disinfectant.
The scent of disinfectant pervaded from him so much that one could mistakenly think it was his inherent body scent.
Unintentionally, her gaze shifted towards his chest. Through his wet shirt that clung to his skin, faint scars streaked across, barely visible.
Such scars, why?
Who would dare to harm the heir of the Otis family?
“Maybe you should drop that kind of nosy sympathy.”
She looked up abruptly. The young man’s eyes, once as clear as the sky, were now clouded in darkness.
“Pretend that you do not know. That is, if you want to survive in this place.”
“What does that…”
Before she could articulate her confusion, Alan walked past her indifferently.
He added softly, almost to himself, “Well, you’ll end up the same anyway.”
The young man then disappeared from sight. What remained were the roses, a powerless tutor, and the lingering scent of disinfectant in the air.
Richelle stood dazedly for a moment before carefully sitting down where he had lain. Almost lying down herself, she craned her neck to look up at the third-floor window of the mansion.
Suddenly, she thought, if someone were to throw themselves from that window, they might land about here.
