She did not want people to pity her; she wanted them to fear her.

Rae's fate had nothing to do with Roland.

To be precise: when a furious Theresa dug out a fine necklace and a diamond brooch just hidden today from the seams of the woman's cabinet (evidently these were only a portion of the loot she hadn't yet had time to fence), the young heiress, smiling with cold rage, did not choose to have her handed over to the police.

Instead, she ordered a few strapping footmen to drag the woman away.

Toward the direction of the garden.

As she passed Roland, she was still kneeling on the ground, clutching at the hem of his trousers and begging for her life.

Roland merely stared at the silver candlestick on the table, or the flickering flame atop it, and leisurely dabbed the corner of his mouth with a linen cloth.

'I am very sorry, Miss Rae.'

Thus, the sinking woman in despair turned to plead with Randolph instead.

Her hysterical face gradually twisted into something ferocious and grim. When her words met with no response, her pleas quickly morphed into curses.

Against Randolph, against Beatrice and Theresa.

She complained that she had to take care of a 'fool', wiping her drool all day, changing her urine-soaked dresses, and getting smeared from head to toe with bright, stubborn paints;

She complained that Theresa was never satisfied with her, finding fault with this or picking on that every single day;

She complained that the moment Randolph came home, he only knew to care for his sister without sparing her a single glance...

Then, she began to threaten.

Babbling about how her family had some small standing, and how they would surely bring the police upon them...

None of that mattered anymore.

When a newly hired servant was wiping the window, he accidentally fell from the upper floor and broke his neck...

What could the police possibly say?

Merely a regrettable accident.

The maidservant's family of 'small standing' would receive a rather generous compensation from the Taylor household.

"Didn't you say you wouldn't get involved?"

" 'This is a family matter for Mr. Taylor', 'This is not the behavior expected of a guest', 'I ought not to meddle', 'It is unseemly'."

- I truly didn't meddle all that much.
- That was Beatrice speaking up for herself.
- Those servants needed to know, publicly know.
- Though the daughter of the Taylor family is a bit dim-witted, she is not someone just anyone can casually fool and bully.
- Her brother cannot accompany her all day, and Theresa perhaps harbors her own subtle schemes, not to mention that elderly folks are prone to mistakes.
- Beatrice must learn to protect herself; she has to show her face in person.
- In person, crude, frantic, vicious, and baring her claws.
- She must not be pitied.
- She must make them fear her.

"Those who say one thing and mean another will never grow tall."

- I shall grow as tall as a giant.
- "You are simply a cat-eyed, stinky, proud hypocrite."
- This is also meant to serve as a reminder to Randolph.
- He is far from being a competent guardian.

Such was Roland's opinion, and Randolph's as well.

After 'dealing' with Rae and concluding their meal, Randolph invited Roland to step into the study, where he expressed his gratitude for who knows how many times.

Naturally, this time it was not merely about thanks.

He displayed a fragility that a man 'ought not' to possess.

Inside the study, where the fireplace blazed brightly, the pale-faced man slumped into the sofa, the lingering terror still unvanquished in his eyes.

"...Betty has always disliked anyone disturbing her or following her around. Even Theresa irritates her, which is why I..."

- I had carefully selected that maid, and only then did little Betty barely accept her...
- I don't know, I don't know how such a thing could happen... She wasn't like this originally...

Randolph buried his face in his hands, his tone wracked with anguish: "Am I going to lose Betty soon, Roland... I am an incompetent brother..."

"Discovering it in time is what matters."

Roland did not linger on the debate of 'competence or incompetence', nor was he unaware that Randolph was not seeking comfort: "Mrs. Chloe has recently invited a very famous physician: Edward Snow. Have you heard of him?"

Randolph asked with reddened eyes: "That 'Ice' physician?"

"I can request Mrs. Chloe to have him examine Miss Beatrice..." Roland nodded slightly. "I hear he will not be staying here for long."

Of course, Randolph was more than willing.

It was not as though he could not afford a physician; the reason he agreed to Roland's suggestion was self-evident.

Such interactions served to foster deeper friendship.

"To be frank, there are no few people who keep their eyes on you." Randolph pressed his fingers against his temple, massaging it, his palm naturally shielding the corner of his eye.

He let out a long sigh, sniffed his slightly congested nose, and mused:

"But you stem from the Tribunal, which is different from the Oversight Bureau. Most people harbor reservations toward Enforcers—among them, cultists and those who have slain their own kin and comrades are not uncommon, so it is only natural that they keep their distance."

"It's not as though you people haven't committed such deeds."

No one wished to see their precious self or family members backstabbed one day by an Enforcer lurking nearby.

Those fellows had only cultists in their eyes.

Yet Randolph cared not a whit.

The Taylor family had been dealing with such people since the previous generation.

He could muster the patience to cultivate those lowly, provincial paupers who mastered parlor tricks and grew arrogant, tossing them a few crumbs to do his bidding.

Compared to that, however, he was far more willing to sincerely befriend a man like Roland Collins.

For this young man possessed views and methods toward many matters that were utterly distinct from the current trends—just as evidenced by his actions a moment ago: letting little Betty publicly display 'the demeanor a master ought to possess.'

This inevitably stirred a fervent wave of speculative hoarding within Randolph, the master merchant.

And certainly, even more so because Roland had repeatedly saved and aided his sister, alongside the sincerity—

Roland held toward Betty in his words.

Over the next few days, Roland successively received delivered gifts:

Several boxes of premium cigars presented by Randolph, and an invitation to a reception hosted by Cherry Chloe—ostensibly to celebrate his recovery from injuries.

At the reception, Roland inquired about the 'Ice' physician:

At least Mrs. Chloe appeared to have regained some of her spirits, which proved that the gentleman was no quack.

It was not that Cherry Chloe was reluctant.

She harbored neither affection nor aversion toward Beatrice Taylor herself, but the moment Roland was involved, the shrewd matron could not help but associate him with the old and young foxes of the Taylor household.

To say they harbored any specific malicious plot might be going too far, but despicable, unprincipled merchants attempting to entangle an Enforcer with their daughter was a certainty nailed in iron.

Utterly oblivious to the fact that she herself hailed from a merchant family, Cherry Chloe babbled on like a gentle yet nagging mother, circling round and round to whisper malicious gossip about the Taylor family into Roland's ear, especially employing that unreasonable tone of 'leaving facts aside, let us speak of conjectures', which unfailingly left Roland feeling both warmed and helpless.

"I can let Snow go, but you must promise me not to get close to that family's daughter ever again!"

There were not many people at the reception, especially given that it closely followed the recent 'reception assassination case.'

Most people were still haunted by lingering fear; they either feigned illness or dispatched the unfavored children of their households to attend instead, rendering the West End quite tranquil of late.

"Too close. It's bad for your reputation."

When Roland asked what kind of reputation an Enforcer could possibly have, he was met with a triumphant, merit-claiming smile from Cherry.

Clearly, his rescue efforts, coupled with his world-rare visage—and a certain matron's role in fanning the flames within high society—set Roland apart from other Enforcers who were held at arm's length.

Yet it was merely that.

- "I said those women's gazes toward you today looked rather amiss."
- "The maidens are simply curious about you."

Cherry lightly swayed her feather fan, radiant with spring-like cheer.

As she and Roland attended side by side, not a few matrons even stepped forward enthusiastically to greet him.

Roland bantered: "You neglected to tell me they were married 'maidens'."

Cherry's pair of pupils artfully surveyed the singing and dancing halls, dismissing it nonchalantly: "Where is it that easy? Do you think it's as simple as the cooper's wife having a clandestine affair with the broom-seller?" Her smile brilliant, she nodded in greeting to the gentlemen and ladies passing by, yet missed not a beat in chatting with Roland.

"How about being a guest at the Taylor house?"
"They are quite wealthy."
"Did that little fox not promise you something?"

Cherry Chloe understood Randolph's father, Bellows Taylor, and thus extended her view of the father onto Randolph himself.