Mary looked down at the two tickets in her hand.
"The Lady of the Camellias…" she murmured the title of the play, her slender fingers tracing the golden letters.
"Yes, Miss."
Mel nodded, though her voice still trembled slightly.
"That was the plan for that day… I hope you remember what I said."
"Of course."
Mary placed the tickets back into the envelope, carefully put them into the drawer, then turned around and gave Mel a light smile.
"Thank you, Mel."
The girl's eyes looked very gentle, as though overflowing with affection. Those blue eyes were filled with genuine gratitude.
"This is truly important to me. Thank you for helping."
"I… I was just doing what I was supposed to do."
Mel lowered her head. Whether it was from guilt or fear, even she didn't know, but she couldn't bring herself to meet the other person's eyes.
"Alright, you can go rest now."
Mary spoke gently. "Don't worry. Leave the rest to me."
"Yes… Miss."
Mel felt as though she had been granted amnesty and practically fled from the room.
When the door closed once more, Mary was alone in the room again.
She turned around and once again faced her reflection in the mirror. The gentle smile that had been on her face disappeared in an instant, as though it had been nothing more than a fleeting illusion.
"The Lady of the Camellias…" she murmured, propping her chin on one hand while lightly tapping the vanity with the other.
She almost wanted to laugh.
Was this a coincidence, or was it deliberate sarcasm?
A socialite woman who had struggled in high society had given up everything for so-called true love, only to fall ill in a faraway land and meet a tragic end.
Was this the man's way of warning her?
By giving her tickets to The Lady of the Camellias, was he telling her that if she continued to be lost in her delusions, she would end up like Marguerite—losing everything and ultimately being destroyed?
"That really… took quite a lot of effort."
Mary muttered to herself, a faint trace of contempt appearing in her eyes.
Unfortunately, she was not Marguerite, and Russell was not the cowardly and incompetent Armand.
And Arthur Morstan could not continue playing the role of the arrogant and omnipotent baron father forever.
However, now that the script and the stage were already set, how could she possibly ruin this enjoyment?
Let's consider this Mary Morstan's final performance.
…
The following days were no different from any other.
Or perhaps it would be more accurate to call it the calm before the storm.
On the campus of Imperial College, the signs of winter were growing stronger. All the leaves had fallen from the trees, leaving only bare branches swaying in the wind.
In this kind of weather, it wouldn't be surprising if snow fell at any moment, yet as though God Himself was hiding something, no snow fell at all.
Russell and Mary continued as usual, attending classes together every day and spending time in the empty classroom after lessons.
Their interactions hadn't changed. There was no longer any excitement, but their relationship was filled with an intimacy that no one could interfere with.
Every morning, Mary would look at him with a gentle, affectionate smile and ask if he had stayed up late the night before or if he had eaten breakfast properly.
Russell would respond to her concern as usual, sometimes teasing her back and making her blush slightly.
Everything seemed normal.
It was so normal that Russell had almost forgotten the promise Mary had made to him. He even harbored a faint illusion that they were (at least in the eyes of others) just an ordinary university couple enjoying a carefree campus life.
The betting odds had already been settled, and it seemed the students who had bet on Mary Morstan had won.
This caused the students who had bet on Charlotte Holmes to become indignant, arguing that even though Holmes herself hadn't acknowledged anything, why had the betting window been closed?
When someone mustered the courage to personally ask Russell, the answer they received was:
"I'm not talking about it. I really won't talk about it."
And so the two groups began arguing, which eventually reached the principal's ears, and they were, of course, punished.
The two people at the center of the storm remained completely detached, as though none of it had anything to do with them.
After all, since they couldn't receive a share of the profits, not having to manage the betting was already quite relaxing.
On Thursday afternoon, pale sunlight lazily streamed onto the desks in the empty classroom.
Mary sat on Russell's lap, eating the sandwich he had made himself while enjoying the sunlight.
Russell couldn't remember exactly when this posture had started.
It felt like it had been last week, or perhaps only a few days ago.
At first, she had only sat on the edge of the desk next to him, swinging her slender legs while listening to him talk about interesting stories he had read in the newspaper recently.
However, the early winter wind blowing in through the slightly open window hit Mary, who was sitting closest to it, directly.
The girl was originally sensitive to cold, and the wind made it even worse. So, like a cat seeking warmth, she lightly slid down from the desk and naturally nestled into Russell's arms.
She sat sideways on his lap, wrapping both arms around his neck and resting most of her weight on him.
Russell instinctively reached out, using one hand to support her slender waist and placing the other on the edge of the chair so that even if he lost his balance, he wouldn't fall to the ground in an undignified manner.
The dark-colored uniform skirt hung down over Russell's legs like scattered black camellia petals.
Through the fabric, he could clearly feel the softness and warmth of the girl's thighs, and he was almost drowning in the overwhelming scent of white camellias drifting right beside him.
"I heard from the people outside," Mary said, gently resting her chin on Russell's shoulder. Her silver hair brushed against his collarbone, creating a slightly ticklish sensation.
Her voice was languid, carrying a hint of teasing and a probing nuance.
"Someone came to ask you about our relationship, but you answered that you haven't talked about it."
"How could I possibly talk about something like that?"
Russell let out a helpless sigh and lowered his gaze to the beautiful earlobe right beside him.
"They're making money off it, but they're not giving me a single cent."
"Hmm." Mary pondered for a moment before speaking in a slow tone.
After a while, she took out a brand-new ticket from her pocket. It was still warm and carried the girl's scent.
"Here, take it."
Russell paused for a moment, then looked down at the ticket Mary had handed him.
In the pale sunlight streaming through the window, the exquisite golden letters sparkled faintly, spelling out the three cursive words: La Dame aux Camélias.
"What is this…?"
He raised one eyebrow and looked back and forth between the ticket and Mary's face.
"Next Friday's opera performance at the Royal Opera House, second-floor private box seats."
Mary spoke in a calm tone, a gentle smile appearing in her blue eyes.
"It took quite a bit of effort to get these."
As she spoke, she leaned even closer against Russell's chest, like a cat seeking praise.
"Next Friday night?"
Russell thought for a moment.
"Why did you suddenly want to watch an opera?"
"I just want to go."
Mary tilted her head back, her tone carrying just the right amount of coquettishness.
"Is that not allowed?"
"Of course it is," Russell nodded, then asked, "But won't there be a problem with your father?"
"Don't worry. He's going to a banquet. It's an industry association event. Otherwise, I wouldn't have chosen this time."
Mary blinked, a mischievous light appearing in her eyes.
Hearing this, Russell's gaze returned to the ticket.
"The Lady of the Camellias…" He paused. "Isn't that a tragedy? Do you like tragic love stories like that?"
"I hate them."
Mary answered immediately.
"Then why did you choose this one?"
"Because there was no other choice."
The girl said it as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
"..."
Russell was momentarily at a loss for words. It made perfect sense.
"Besides, if you were in Marguerite's position, what would you think after seeing her sacrifice everything for love, only to meet such a tragic end?" Mary added.
She raised her face and stared straight into Russell's eyes with clear pupils, as though trying to see through his soul.
"Do you think she was foolish, or do you feel sorry for her?"
Seeing the girl's expression, Russell was momentarily speechless.
"I haven't seen it… I've only heard the story."
Russell said.
"Besides, this is just a play. In reality, there aren't that many tragic love stories that end in separation or death, right?"
"It seems that way."
Mary gave an ambiguous smile and once again buried her face in his chest.
"But sometimes reality is more absurd than drama."
She said quietly.
Russell glanced down at the girl in his arms, who seemed to be lamenting the end of spring and the arrival of autumn, and thought she was simply reminiscing about the plot of the play.
"Alright, next Friday night it is? I'll go with you."
He reached out and ruffled Mary's hair, then slipped the ticket into his inner pocket.
Hearing this, a satisfied smile finally appeared on Mary's face.
"Then it's a deal."
She said this and closed her eyes, leaning against Russell's chest, feeling his warmth and breathing, as though she wanted to preserve this moment forever.
The sunlight streaming through the window glass enveloped the two of them in its glow. At that moment, it felt as though time had stopped.
Everything was peaceful and beautiful.
It was like the calm before the storm.
It was unclear how much time had passed, but Mary finally moved.
She got up from his lap, straightened her wrinkled skirt, and then looked down at him.
"It's almost time for class to start."
She said.
Russell nodded. Just as he was about to stand up, she pressed down on his shoulder.
"Don't move."
As she spoke, she leaned down and gently kissed him on the forehead.
The kiss was so light that it felt like a snowflake drifting down onto his skin, disappearing in an instant.
"This is for today."
She straightened up and smiled as she said this.
"Alright, let's go."
…
221B Baker Street.
Russell opened the door to his room, took out the ticket, carefully placed it on the table, and weighed it down with an ink bottle.
Just as he was about to go to Charlotte's room to see what she was doing, a rustling sound came from the bedroom.
Russell stopped and withdrew his hand from the doorknob.
There was someone in his room, but that wasn't particularly unusual.
In the entire 221B Baker Street, there was only one person who could randomly appear in his bedroom.
Russell sighed and walked straight to his bedroom, pushing open the half-open door.
Someone was lying on his bed. Or rather, sitting while leaning against the headboard, holding a book in her hands.
Charlotte was wrapped in his blanket, holding a psychology book, and wearing an oversized hoodie that was clearly several sizes too big.
Russell recognized it at a glance. It was his own clothes.
She had casually rolled up the wide sleeves to her elbows. The collar hung loosely to one side, revealing the smooth, rounded line of her shoulder and delicate collarbone.
Russell felt a surge of helplessness and pinched the bridge of his nose.
Just as Mary had sat on her lap, Charlotte had unconsciously begun treating his bedroom as her own private space.
At first, she would only occasionally lie on his bed, ostensibly to make up for lack of sleep.
Later, she began openly going in and out of his room as though "your bed is my bed."
Mrs. Hudson had either turned a blind eye or was actually pleased about it.
Every time Russell tried to protest, Charlotte would casually say, "You can stay in my room too, I don't mind at all."
In the end, Russell had no choice but to leave her be. At the very least, Charlotte was only interested in the bed and didn't try to touch anything else.
"Reading in my bed again, I see."
Russell walked over and stood beside the bed.
Charlotte didn't look up. Her gaze remained fixed on the pages of the book.
"The bed is very comfortable, and the natural light is good too."
Charlotte said flatly.
"That's because, unlike other people, I tidy up every day."
Russell said.
"You can find whatever you need over there."
"My clothes. Do you like them?"
"They're not dirty."
"Then wash them."
"Mrs. Hudson went out."
"You can't do it alone. You really can't."
Russell suddenly felt a sense of relief.
He leaned against the wall and watched Charlotte curled up on the bed like a cat.
"Alright, get up."
"It's dinnertime," Russell said.
"Oh."
Charlotte responded but showed no sign of moving.
"You don't seriously expect me to bring dinner here, do you? I absolutely do not allow anyone—including myself—to eat in bed."
Russell's expression was unusually serious.
"I wasn't planning to do that."
Charlotte pulled the blanket tighter around herself, wrapping her body even more securely.
"Is dinner ready?"
"Not yet."
"Then I'll stay here a little longer. Call me when it's ready."
"Why?"
"This is also an essential part of data collection."
…