Russell drew in a sharp breath.
"There was nothing that could be done. With the medical technology of that time, her illness was incurable. All we could do was delay the worsening of her condition."
"But in the end, the disease took her away. Unable to accept that fact, her mother chose to commit suicide on the same day.
Her blood had stained the luxurious Persian rug in that grand bedroom, like red roses blooming in the snow."
Mary spoke quietly.
"That arrogant man lost the two people he loved most in a single night."
As the music on stage gradually reached its climax, the dim lighting inside the box flickered faintly in time with the rise and fall of the music.
Russell instinctively tightened his arms, pulling the girl even closer against him.
He could feel the faint trembling coming from her body. It wasn't from the cold, but from the horrifying past buried deep in her memories.
"And then what happened?"
Russell asked quietly. There was a trace of pity in his voice that even he himself hadn't noticed.
"After that…" Mary's voice caught. "After that, he made an unthinkable decision."
She said.
"He kept that fact a secret. Except for a very small number of loyal servants, no one knew that the real Mary Morstan had died, or that his wife had committed suicide out of grief.
He only announced that his wife had died of illness and that his daughter needed a long period of rest due to deep sorrow.
Therefore, during that time, the girl was not allowed to appear in public at all."
The girl's fingers gently touched Russell's cheek. The cool sensation surprised him slightly.
"About a year later, he set his eyes on that girl."
"His eyes seemed to have already overcome the grief of losing his loved ones. There was no longer any sadness in them—only a chilling madness."
"He said: From today onward, you are Mary Morstan."
Russell's pupils suddenly contracted.
"I spent eight years learning how to become the perfect noble heiress."
"I had to imitate her smile, the tone of her voice, and even the way she held a teacup exactly like her.
The reason I wore those nauseating blue contact lenses was none other than because the real Mary Morstan had clear blue eyes."
"The reason I dyed my hair silver was simply because the real Mary Morstan had silver hair.
In any case, very few people pay attention to a person's eye color."
"As for hair color, I could just make the excuse that it turned white due to deep sorrow, and I might even gain a reputation as a filial person."
Mary's fingers slid down to Russell's jaw and gently stroked it.
"Actually, at first, I was motivated."
"After all, I had taken her life. Or rather, it would be more accurate to say that I filled the emptiness she left behind."
"Since I was enjoying the wealth and luxury she would have received, as well as the glory and praise she would have gotten, I should endure all of this for her sake."
"But later… I gradually realized that I was wrong."
Mary's voice turned cold.
"That man molded me into a perfect mold."
"He made me live wearing a mask and, in his heart, turned me into an obedient, immortal daughter—but he never had the feelings a father should have for a daughter.
He treated me like a bargaining chip he could use for his own benefit, a soulless puppet."
She suddenly stopped there.
The story on stage was approaching its climax.
It was a fierce argument, accompanied by an ear-piercing, sorrowful violin melody, as though it was tearing the audience's hearts apart.
The atmosphere inside the box was suffocatingly heavy.
"Russell!" Mary suddenly called his name.
"Hm?"
"If the real Mary Morstan were still alive, what do you think she would do?" She stared straight at him.
Russell paused for a moment, then slowly opened his mouth. "She would probably… resist."
He said.
"She's also a human being. She has her own thoughts and desires. Why would she willingly live her life at someone else's mercy?"
"Yes… Of course she would resist. Because she is the real Mary Morstan. During the few days I spent with her, I felt that she was a very strong person."
"She would never have disliked the idea of me acting as her substitute. On the contrary, she would have begged me to tell her stories about the outside world. To her, I was her other half, her eyes, and her legs."
"It was only then that I truly understood the meaning of family. She didn't treat me like a thief who had stolen her life and identity. Instead, she felt guilty that I was bound by her name."
Mary's lips curved slightly, as though reminiscing about a beautiful memory.
"But in the end, she died."
The girl's voice gradually faded, like a candle flame flickering in the night wind.
"She died, and because that man erased my past and turned me into her."
"So, I'm no longer the real Mary Morstan anymore?"
This rhetorical question rang loudly in Russell's ears like a morning bell.
He looked at the girl in his arms. Her emerald green eyes, having shed their mask, shone brightly in the darkness. A storm raged in his heart.
If a person's past was completely erased and forcibly crammed into another person's body—
Then who exactly was she?
She was a nameless weed that had been abandoned in an orphanage.
Was she still the heiress of that arrogant Morstan family, basking in everyone's envious gazes?
"Now that I had become Mary Morstan, did she really want me to live this kind of life?"
The girl's voice finally broke the silence.
She slowly straightened her body, wrapped her arms around Russell's neck, leaned forward slightly, and pressed herself against him.
"Why do I have to do that?" She pronounced each word clearly. Her warm breath touched Russell's face.
"Why can't I pursue the life I want?"
She looked up. In the flickering light, her delicate features appeared captivating and alluring.
"I don't want to be someone else's substitute anymore."
She said.
Mary declared this in a faint, almost whispering voice, yet with her entire being, and gave Russell no chance to speak further.
She lowered her head and slowly closed her exceptionally bright emerald green eyes, which shone dazzlingly in the darkness.
Then, her cold lips pressed firmly against Russell's with a resolute sense of despair.
It was different from the hesitant, clumsy, fleeting kiss Charlotte had given him on the Thames Bridge or in the private box.
Mary's kiss was like a storm that had been planned for many years. It was the complete explosion of a soul that had been suppressed for nineteen years.
Her kiss was forceful, even carrying a hint of impatience, and inexperienced. Her lips touched Russell's teeth, sending a faint pain through him, but she didn't flinch. Instead, she sucked in his breath even more intensely.
The originally delicate white camellia scent became intensely strong at this moment, as though it had caught fire, leaving Russell breathless.
Russell was momentarily stunned by the shock, but he quickly regained his composure.
He didn't push Mary away or try to comfort or calm her down. Instead, following his instincts, he reached out and firmly wrapped his arms around the girl's slender, soft waist.
Feeling Russell's reaction, Mary's body trembled violently.
An uncontrollable sob escaped the girl's throat like a cry, and the elegant, dignified mask of a noblewoman completely collapsed.
She grabbed the collar of Russell's coat tightly with both hands, straddled his lap, and deepened the kiss without hesitation.
Their lips met, and their hot breaths violently mingled in the space between them.
Russell tasted the faint sweetness of the rose-colored lipstick remaining on her lips and the bitter, salty taste spreading in his mouth from the tears rolling down her cheeks.
Those were her tears.
In this narrow space, there were only the two of them, and Mary had completely succumbed to temptation.
She pressed her body against Russell's broad chest, feeling the powerful, steady beating of his heart.
The warmth of Russell's hands gradually seeped into her skin through the thin, pure white velvet dress, making her feel as though her entire body was weakening.
An unprecedented impulse surged through her bloodstream.
When emotions ran high, reason had long since turned to ash.
If she could, she would have even wanted to offer everything to the person in front of her right now, in this dimly lit small space, on this red velvet chair.
She wanted to be completely dominated by him, to leave her mark on him, to use the most primal method.
To prove that she was a truly living being, not a ghost who could be replaced at any time.
With trembling hands, she wrapped one arm around Russell's neck and slid the other down his neck, roughly pulling at the bow tie that had once been neatly tied.
As the two became entangled, her pure white skirt rode up, creating messy folds like a white camellia flower mercilessly torn apart by a storm. A large expanse of translucent, delicate skin was exposed, pressed tightly against Russell's dark gray suit trousers.
Meanwhile, the tragedy on stage finally reached its end.
Marguerite breathed her last in Armand's arms. Her sorrowful aria echoed through the dome of the Royal Opera House like a crying nightingale, then suddenly stopped.
The violinists of the symphony orchestra played one final long, mournful note. The rumbling of the cellos was like a sigh of fate.
Immediately after, the stage lights went completely out.
After a brief silence.
Smack—!
The theater's massive, dazzling crystal chandelier lit up instantly like a sun that had fallen to earth, illuminating the entire theater as brightly as daytime.
"Bravo!!"
"Wonderful!"
In an instant, thunderous applause erupted, and cheers and whistles swept through the hall like a storm.
The symphony orchestra played its most grand and magnificent finale, with the sound of brass instruments ringing high in the air.
The second-floor private box was partially blocked by thick curtains. The dazzling light from outside was divided into several thin rays.
In the interplay of light and shadow, Russell and Mary were tightly embraced, passionately kissing.
They shielded themselves from the tragic events happening outside and from the noise of London.
No one noticed this dark corner, nor did anyone know that a shocking and unconventional intimate act was taking place there.
However, the deafening cheers and applause, along with the moving symphony, miraculously overlapped perfectly with the pounding of their hearts at that moment.
Meticulously prepared formal attire, thunderous cheers, magnificently blooming flowers, and beautifully moving music.
It was as though the entire world was endorsing them. Or rather, as though it was blessing and praising their intimate relationship.
Amid hundreds of people and thousands of noises, they were secretly and passionately loving each other.
It was unclear how long the kiss lasted.
Nothing happened until everyone in the opera house had left and it had fallen completely silent.
Their breaths had become incredibly hot. The oxygen in their mouths had been squeezed to the limit. A faint silver moisture appeared between their parted lips before finally breaking.
Mary collapsed weakly against Russell's chest, breathing heavily. Her emerald green eyes shone with a captivating, entranced brilliance.
Her dress had slipped off one shoulder, revealing her rounded shoulder and delicate collarbone. Her chest rose and fell violently, like a spring pool that seemed about to melt at any moment.
Russell's eyes were also slightly red, and his breathing was rough. His hands were still firmly wrapped around the girl's slender waist, gently stroking her back with affection.
"Russell…"
Mary murmured his name and unconsciously reached for the strap of her dress with her fingers.
Knock, Knock.
A polite and restrained knock sounded like a sharp blade, abruptly cutting through the romantic atmosphere that had been hanging in the private box, on the verge of igniting.
"Dear guests, the performance has ended."
The waiter's voice came from outside the door. "Shall I arrange for a carriage to be waiting for you at the side entrance?"
The polite and restrained knock sounded particularly abrupt in the quiet private box.
Mary's fingers were still touching the velvet strap of her dress. Her body stiffened at the sudden interruption.
The girl's eyes, as clear as a summer forest, still held traces of confusion and longing, but now they were filled with even more bewilderment and panic.
She instinctively looked toward Russell, as though a drowning person grasping at a final straw.
Russell gently patted Mary's shoulder and signaled with his eyes for her to relax.
"Understood. Thank you for your assistance. We'll be out shortly."
Russell's voice was calm as it came through the thin door panel.
The sound of the waiter's footsteps gradually faded from outside the door and eventually disappeared into the depths of the thickly carpeted corridor.
The private box fell silent once more. Only the two of them remained, with only the sound of their hot breaths rising and falling in the air.
Mary was still straddling Russell's lap.
The girl lowered her head slightly. Her once neatly styled silver wavy hair now hung messily over her snow-white shoulders.
The velvet dress, as though made from the first snow, had one shoulder strap slipped down to her waist, exposing smooth, glowing skin and her delicate collarbone that trembled with each breath.
Having nearly exhausted all her strength from the almost frenzied demand and release, she now leaned weakly against Russell's chest, her chest rising and falling violently.
The slightly smudged rose-colored lip gloss from their repeated kisses left a breathtakingly disheveled beauty at the corners of her originally pale, pure lips, like scattered red plum petals on snow.
Russell did not continue at this point.
He gently raised his hand, pinched the slipped velvet shoulder strap with his fingertips, and slowly pulled it back up along the girl's rounded shoulder, covering the alluring sight.
Mary felt the warm sensation on her shoulder and trembled slightly.
She looked up. Her emerald green eyes, now free of the deep blue covering, were still moist with tears.
The redness at the corners of her eyes and her disheveled lips made her look both like a child who had done something wrong and was awaiting judgment, and like a fairy who had devoured the essence of a human.
"If we go out like this…" Russell lowered his head and gently wiped the redness remaining at the corner of her mouth and the undried tear stains on her cheek with the pad of his thumb, speaking in a gentle voice.
"Everyone in the theater will know what you did to me in the private box."
"The daughter of the prestigious Morstan family will become a major topic in Fleet Street tomorrow."
Hearing his slightly teasing words, Mary couldn't help but let out a small laugh. There was a strong nasal quality to her laughter.
"Then let them write about it."
She murmured softly like a spoiled cat and rubbed her cheek against Russell's palm.
"Well, I don't care anymore."
"We can't do that."
Russell cupped her face with both hands and gave a faint smile.
"I'm relying on your support."
Those words were like a magical incantation, instantly dispelling the heaviness and sorrow that had lingered in the private box.
Mary paused for a moment, then suddenly laughed.
"Understood."
She answered quietly. Her hands naturally rested on Russell's waist. She looked up, and there was a hint of self-righteous arrogance in her tone.
"Then I'll hide you in a mansion where no one can find you. I'll only allow you to make my breakfast and coffee every day."
"If anyone looks at you twice, I'll gouge their eyes out."
"That sounds like the words of a tyrant."
"So even if you regret it later, it'll be too late."
Russell only smiled helplessly and didn't answer.
He stood up, helped the girl who was still lying on his lap to her feet, and straightened her wrinkled skirt for her.
After Mary fixed her messy silver hair and draped the velvet mantle with the white fox fur collar over her shoulders, Russell opened the door of the private box for her.
The two left the noisy place and exited through the side entrance of the opera house.
When they pushed open the thick antique wooden door, a cold wind carrying snow rushed out forcefully.
The first snow that had begun falling in London showed no signs of stopping. Instead, it continued to fall even harder.
The accumulated snow danced violently in the dim light of the gas lamps like goose feathers, coloring the entire city like a solemn yet quiet funeral, while also resembling a pure rebirth from the ravages of time.
A black carriage was quietly parked at the corner. The horses snorted in the cold air, exhaling large puffs of white breath.
"Sir, Madam."
The coachman opened a large black umbrella to protect them from the wind and snow, then opened the door of the crested carriage for them.
Russell supported himself on the top of the car door and helped Mary enter first, then got in himself.
When the car door closed with a dull sound, the wind, snow, and noise outside were completely shut out.
The carriage slowly began to move, the wheels crushing the snow as it made its way back along the quiet street.
As soon as Mary sat down, she happily removed her hood.
Her slightly messy silver curls cascaded down like a waterfall. Like a bird that had finally returned to a safe nest, she unhesitatingly nestled back into Russell's arms.
Russell didn't stop her. It was only natural. He reached out and pulled her into his embrace.
In this small, swaying yet warm enclosed space, their breaths once again mingled.
Mary closed her eyes and clung tightly to Russell's chest, listening to the steady, powerful beating of his heart.
She was unusually quiet at that moment, simply leaning against him silently, like a child who had finally received candy.
"Are you feeling better?"
Russell asked quietly.
"Mm."
Mary buried her face deeply in the collar of his coat and inhaled his scent greedily, so her voice was muffled.
After some time had passed, she suddenly called his name softly. "Russell."
"I'm here."
"What time is it?"
Russell paused for a moment, then freed one hand and took a silver pocket watch out of his vest pocket.
With a light "click," the watch cover opened.
"10:15"
He said.
"10:15…" Mary smiled faintly in the darkness that Russell couldn't see.
Judging from the timeline, that luxurious study should have already been reduced to ashes along with that arrogant man.
In just a few minutes, when the carriage stopped in front of the Morstan residence, she would have to put on a completely different face.
She would become the saddest and most helpless daughter in the world, desperately collapsing in tears in front of the ruins, and naturally, with a pitiful attitude, completely capture the heart of the man beside her.
This was the most perfect final performance of her life.
"Whoa!"
Along with the coachman's sudden shout and the horses' long neighs, the carriage came to an abrupt stop.
The tremendous inertia caused Mary's body to lurch forward, but Russell reacted quickly and reached out to wrap his arm firmly around her waist, pulling her close.
"What's wrong?"
Russell furrowed his brows and looked out the car window.
"Sir, Madam!"
The coachman's voice came from outside. There was obvious panic and trembling in it.
"There seems to have been an accident up ahead!"
Mary's heart leapt.
She lowered her head and desperately suppressed the almost pathological ecstasy that had risen in her eyes, then pulled up her hood. She covered most of her face with the thick white fox fur collar, also hiding her emerald green eyes, which were not yet disguised in blue.
When she looked up again, there was just the right amount of panic and anxiety in her voice.
"What happened? Russell…"
Russell didn't answer immediately. He pushed open the carriage door and jumped out first.
Ice-cold snowflakes mixed with a biting wind rushed in instantly, but before he could even feel the cold, the first thing that assaulted his five senses was a strong, pungent burning smell.
It was different from the usual scent of coal smoke that drifted on snowy days.
It was a nauseating odor of wood, carpet, books, and some kind of meat that had been scorched at high temperatures.
Russell's gaze pierced through the drifting snowflakes and stopped on the familiar mansion in front of him. His deep black eyes suddenly narrowed.
The gate of the Morstan residence was wide open, and the once quiet courtyard was now in chaos.
Several horse-drawn steam fire engines bearing the London Fire Brigade logo were parked on the lawn, with thick hoses snaking through the snow like giant black serpents.
In the study on the second floor of the mansion, although the flames had almost died out, thick smoke continued to rise from the charred window frames, dissolving into the dark night sky.
Amid the chaos of rushing firefighters and panicked servants, several black carriages bearing the Scotland Yard crest were conspicuously displayed.
"Don't move! Seal off that area!"
"No one is allowed near that pile of ashes without my permission!"
A familiar but irritated voice cut through the wind and snow and clearly reached Russell's ears.
It was Inspector Lestrade.
"What happened? Did something happen at home?"
Mary's weak, helpless voice came from behind him.
She lifted the hem of her pure white velvet skirt and stumbled out of the carriage into the snow.
"Mary, don't look!"
Russell instinctively turned around, trying to block Mary's view.
But it was already too late.
The girl stood frozen in place, her gaze fixed on the burning mansion, an expression of disbelief on her face.
"What is this… What on earth is this…?"
Her body shook violently, as though all her strength had drained away, and then she collapsed forward.
From an angle that others couldn't see, the corners of the girl's lips involuntarily curved upward.
….