Azalea Rosenthal’s face did not flinch. Indeed, she remained as composed as ever.

“Escort the guards into a vacant room. There is no need for the guests to see them; it might spark unnecessary rumors,” she exhaled almost imperceptibly. “I shall join you shortly.”

As soon as Ophelia departed to carry out her instructions, Azalea put on a carefree smile, returned to her guests, and politely maintained social conversation for a couple more minutes. Only after ensuring her absence would not draw unwanted attention did she calmly head toward the exit.

“Where are Hansen and the uninvited guests?” she inquired softly of the manager who had rushed up.

“In the small reception room, Lady Rosenthal,” he respectfully indicated the direction with his hand and escorted her to the door.

Only at the very threshold of the room did Azalea suddenly feel as though the air had turned thicker, an invisible vise beginning to tighten around her throat. To be sure, she felt neither warmth nor affection for her now-deceased father, but the mere thought of his sudden death stirred a dull, anxious wave from the depths of her soul.

Stepping inside, she squared her shoulders, instantly suppressing that strange, improper feeling, and the mask of cold composure returned to her face.

“Good evening, gentlemen. My assistant relayed that you are here regarding a rather... delicate matter,” she pronounced in an even, commanding tone.

The elder guard immediately took his cap in hand and snapped to attention. He nudged his younger colleague with an elbow unnoticed, and the latter hastily replicated the gesture.

“Lady Rosenthal, we offer our sincere condolences and beg forgiveness for disturbing you on such a festive evening. However, we are here on important business - to investigate the death of your father.”

“An investigation?” Azalea voiced genuine surprise, raising her eyebrows. “Then this man’s demise was not accidental? He was murdered?”

“Indeed so, milady. Violent death,” the elder officer nodded.

The younger guard, meanwhile, was observing the hostess’s bold trouser suit with obvious, barely restrained curiosity, as it plainly broke with customary notions of social etiquette.

“Ophelia, arrange for tea and light refreshments to be brought to the gentlemen,” Azalea said without looking at her subordinate.

“There is no necessity for that, we shall not stay long...” the elder hastened to decline.

“I shall grant you precisely fifteen minutes, after which I shall be forced to return to the hall. Leaving guests in the height of such an evening is unforgivable bad form, and in the coming week I shall not have a single free minute for such visits,” Azalea cast a glance at her assistant. “Have them bring strong black tea and some of Paul’s desserts.”

Ophelia nodded and hurried to the exit, leaving the door ajar - the manager was still on duty in the corridor, awaiting further orders.

Azalea lowered herself smoothly into a deep armchair and, with a light gesture, indicated the sofa opposite for the men. They exchanged glances and awkwardly sat on the edge.

“Are you certain the deceased is indeed Berthold Moonforest?”

“Yes, milady. The identity of the slain man has been confirmed, and later his status was verified by his lawful wife,” the younger guard answered firmly.

Azalea froze for a second, stunned by what she had heard. Her father had a wife? She had not the slightest inkling of this detail.

“Under what circumstances did this transpire?” she inquired dryly.

“He was stabbed late in the evening near one of the capital's entertainment establishments,” the guard explained, attentively watching the young lady’s reaction. “According to preliminary data, the attacker might have been someone to whom he owed a substantial sum, or random drinking companions from a card game. Prior to his death, the deceased boasted in the drinking house that he had procured a large sum of cash - allegedly having received it from his own daughter.”

Azalea’s lips curved into a cold, mirthless smile.

“What a remarkable imagination. I did not give him a single copper coin,” she stated firmly, looking her interlocutor straight in the eyes. “Furthermore, Berthold Moonforest has been officially blacklisted as an unwanted person both in my own residence and on the premises of the auction house, where I have spent these past days. The last time I saw this man was strictly during an official reception attended by numerous representatives of the nobility. The conversation was brief. His Majesty can confirm this.”

At these final words, both guards tensed visibly, exchanging glances with far more serious and anxious expressions.

As soon as the guards departed the auction house, Azalea instructed her assistant to learn everything about her father’s wife, while she herself returned to the hall to her guests.

Previously, Azalea von Berge had thought that when the day arrived on which her father was no more, she would shed at least a solitary tear. However, right now she did not care in the slightest. As though an invisible slab that had been weighing on her shoulders all this time had suddenly vanished, leaving behind only a faint sense of liberation.

Elena could not fail to notice the striking shift in her niece’s mood. She approached and smiled softly. She needed to ask no redundant questions - for some intuitive reason she comprehended what had transpired immediately, and merely offered a reassuring squeeze to the girl’s hand.

“Come, I shall introduce you to an interesting person,” Elena Rosenthal said with a warm smile.

Leaving the guests in Marcus’s care, Elena led her niece backstage. Here, far from the dazzling sheen of crystal chandeliers, it smelled of stage makeup, old dust, and the nervous tension prior to going on stage. Performers who had just finished their performance were conversing softly in the semi-darkness.

Naomi, the golden-haired actress who merely ten minutes ago had forced the entire hall to hold its breath at her singing, was just taking down her stage look and neatly packing her props. Up close, the girl appeared even more fragile, and in her large eyes read the deep weariness of a person accustomed to constant, pressuring attention.

“Your performance was truly flawless, Naomi,” Elena said, approaching her. “My dear Azalea and I wished to get to know such talent more closely.”

The actress startled in fear and bowed hastily upon recognizing the mistress of the house.

“Thank you, Lady Rosenthal... It is a huge honor for me to perform at the opening. You should not have entered the dressing room in person - had you sent a servant, I would have come myself at the first call.”

The girl was clearly nervous. Azalea shifted her gaze with curiosity to her aunt, who merely offered a mysterious smile in response.

“Your acting is indeed mesmerizing,” Azalea said, bowing her head slightly. “I do not know if you have happened to hear, but the Rosenthal family engages in patronizing talented individuals. I have a business proposal for you. The auction house shall soon hold its first bidding session, and I need a face capable of flawlessly conveying the essence of our primary lots. I want you to become our model.”

Naomi raised her eyes in surprise. In this harsh world, she rarely happened to hear proposals for honest work - far more often there rang out only demands, caprices, or unambiguous insinuations. The actress swallowed nervously, and then her gaze unwittingly fell upon a person who had frozen near the ajar door of the dressing room. Her fingers clenched convulsively.

“You are not obliged to give an answer this very minute, Naomi. Consider it. And when you resolve, I shall await you in Rosenwald or here,” Azalea added.

Stepping out of the dressing room already, Azalea cast a quick glance at the dark corner of the corridor and once again noticed that same person hastily retreating into the shadows. No, this was definitely no coincidence. Over the course of the evening, she had seen him several times. And every time in dangerous proximity to the actress.

“So that is the matter.” Without turning her head toward her aunt, Azalea spoke softly.