If You're Going to Sell Yourself, Sell It to Me - Chapter 63

The villagers, helped by the Rivern family, brought buckets of water and tried to extinguish the fire, but the massive wooden mansion fueled the flames, which refused to die down easily. Only after there was nothing left to consume did the fire finally begin to shrink on its own.

When the last embers were extinguished, almost nothing remained of the mansion’s structure. The people who had tried to put out the fire collapsed onto the ground, exhausted. Locke, barely regaining his senses, walked unsteadily among them.

He searched through the crowd of ash-covered people, but there wasn’t a single familiar face.

All the servants, including his parents, had vanished like smoke. It was the worst possible fire—no evidence, no bodies to recover.

The funeral was grand, organized by the Navy.

Soldiers and villagers who had respected his father’s character gathered, forming a massive crowd. The wreaths they brought formed a small hill.

After the funeral, Raymond wept for days in sorrow, while Locke, without sleep, searched for clues.

The soldiers who investigated concluded it was a simple fire, but Locke trusted his instincts.

After a year of pursuit, he found evidence that high-ranking Navy officers were involved in the fire. The superiors had ordered it, fearing his father might eventually support the independence forces.

After several failed attempts, Locke painfully realized that, on his own, he couldn’t touch any of those involved.

Although he inherited both the estate and the title, he could do nothing within the military.

He stole critical secrets and walked directly to the independence forces’ headquarters.

There was widespread distrust of him—a former Imperial soldier—but with the approval of their leader, Rossmann, he joined the independence forces and began avenging his parents.

He never looked back.

He became so devoted to missions and operations that he earned the nickname “mad dog married to the military.”

Except for one person.

He couldn’t help but smile in front of Angela, his niece who had been born a few years ago.

She was like an angel.

Kind-hearted and beautiful, like Raymond and his wife Veronica. Angela cherished everything in nature. She would often offer Locke pretty flower petals or faded leaves as gifts.

Seeing Locke accept such gifts with a large, awkward smile, Raymond would often clutch his stomach, laughing.

When Veronica died in an accident a year ago, Angela was the only reason Raymond managed to hold on.

Before, Locke had visited his niece a few times a year, but after Veronica’s death, the visits increased. Unless he was on a distant mission, he stayed at Raymond’s estate.

He had no desire for a home of his own, but purely to be near Angela, he even bought a house near Raymond’s estate.

Angela would often ask Locke to tie her hair or stroke it.

Her actions were unconscious attempts to fill the void of affection, and Locke would awkwardly pat her head.

He had no interest in anyone other than Angela, but that began to change as he spent time with Georgiana.

Ironically, Georgiana wasn’t the type to seek attention from others.

Of all the people Locke had known, she was the least dependent.

Other than the time they escaped from Willow, she never sought his help and quietly did her own thing.

Because of that, he found himself drawn to her, curious about what she was doing.

It always seemed like she was doing the same thing, yet it never got boring to watch. The focused look when she read, the savoring expression when she ate, the gentle smile when she looked out the window.

Day after day, her routine was like a preserved painting, yet she never seemed tired of it. On the contrary, whenever she had to go somewhere, she would quietly show her discomfort by tucking her hair behind her ear.

Whenever Locke saw Georgiana, he thought of Becky, the cat Raymond kept at his plantation.

Becky, like Georgiana, had golden fur and green eyes, with a proud demeanor. The more Locke watched, the more they seemed alike.

Unintentionally, his interest in her grew.

When she opened up to him and confessed her feelings, his heart pounded as if it would burst. But he couldn’t respond to her because his mission wasn’t over.

Even if he died, he wanted Georgiana to move on, to live her life. He planned to give her a proper answer once his mission was complete.

But…

‘Have I completed my mission?’

A sudden sense of deja vu stopped his thoughts.

His memories seemed jumbled, as if his mind were malfunctioning.

Georgiana’s shocked face, the scene of him shooting Edmund, the moment he fled the deck with Henry—all flashed before his eyes.

The surge of memories made his head throb painfully.

Recalling the searing pain in his back right after being shot, Locke’s eyes shot open.

Before he could adjust to the blinding light, he saw familiar brown hair—very close to him.

His reflection was visible in the round, black pupils.

“Captain! Are you awake?”

“Henry?”

It must have been a long time since he’d spoken; his mouth was so dry it felt rough.

“Yes, it’s me! It seems your memory is intact since you weren’t hit in the head.”

“Move your head.”

“Yes…”

As Henry stepped back from the bed, Locke finally noticed the bandages wrapped around Henry’s left arm.

They started at his shoulder and crossed all the way down his arm, indicating the severity of the injury.

But Locke remembered shielding him.

“You’re hurt?”

“Just a little.”

“A little? You nearly lost your arm!”

The man who had just entered through the door clicked his tongue at Henry instead of Locke.

“Anthony?”

“Awake, are we? I was worried that after so long, your head might be messed up, but you seem the same.”

Anthony inspected Locke with his usual clear expression.

“How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine.”

His back still ached, but for a gunshot wound, it wasn’t too bad. He could breathe without discomfort and move most parts of his body.

“Like superior, like subordinate. You almost had your heart pierced. Why didn’t you push Henry into the water instead of using your back as a target? You teetered between life and death for a week.”

“It’s been a week?”

Locke, surprised at the mention of a week, tried to sit up but lacked the strength and fell back down.

“Yes, you’re lucky it missed your heart and organs, or you wouldn’t be here. Your ribs will heal, so don’t worry.”

More than his condition or the lost time, Locke was concerned about Georgiana’s whereabouts.

There was no sign of her in the room.

“Where am I?”

“My villa. My family rarely visits, so you’re safe here.”

“So, you helped us?”

Both of them were injured, so they couldn’t have made it here without Anthony’s help.

“More or less. I managed to smuggle both of you out. To be honest, I’m against slavery myself, and I can’t stand the Empire’s exploitation any longer. So I helped—don’t feel too burdened by it.”

“Thank you. Then… did Georgiana come with us? I sent her to shore first.”

“Well…”

At Locke’s question, Henry lowered his head apologetically.

“You were both at death’s door—how could anyone look after anyone else? Henry got shot protecting Miss Limberton and only woke up two days ago.”

“So no one knows where Georgiana is?”

Locke’s face turned pale.

“I sent someone to where we last parted, and she definitely made it to the Northwest. But after that, her whereabouts are unknown. She left a letter with the inn’s address for Sarah, but she had already fled by the time we got there. The police are everywhere—it’s impossible to search now.”

Anthony handed Locke a newspaper, sensing his confusion.

Locke opened to the front page, his eyes widening as he struggled to sit up despite the pain.

“A wanted bounty?”

A huge article featured drawings of him, Henry, and Georgiana. Seeing the word “bounty” written beneath them, Locke clenched his jaw.

“The Empire is desperate to find the three of you. Senator Edmund isn’t dead, but he’s barely conscious. This is the highest bounty ever in the New World.” Anthony shook his head.

“So people are chasing Georgiana as well?”

“Of course. The bounty is enormous. Even Western gunslingers are flocking to the East to hunt her down. But she’s still evaded capture. Miss Juliana, or rather Lady Georgiana, must be quite something.”

Reading the article again, Locke’s vision darkened.

Unlike him, whose name and surname were aliases, and Henry, who only used a fake last name, Georgiana’s real name was fully exposed. He wondered how the information had leaked.

He writhed in guilt.

It was he who had placed the label of a criminal on her—a woman who couldn’t harm even an insect. How terrified must she be now?

He had to find her immediately.

“Ugh…!”

Pressing his palm against his chest, Locke tried to rise, but both Henry and Anthony stopped him.

“You need several more weeks to recover. Moving now will only cause your wound to fester.”

Anthony restrained Locke, who was thrashing about. Pushing Anthony’s hand away, Locke shouted.

“No, I have to go now!”

“Where? You don’t even know where she is.”

“I have to go find her.”

“If you go now, you’ll only get caught and tortured. I’ll try to find her—just stay put until you recover.”

Anthony’s words made sense. After all, there was a bounty on his head too.

But unless he knew she was safe, it felt as if he would die. A burning pain spread from his heart.