Contract Marriage with My Secret Partner in Crime
Chapter 126: Beneath the Experiment

Chapter 126: Beneath the Experiment

[114 Days Left to Live]

The following day, Kendrick found himself standing in front of the door to his art studio. The key turned with a familiar click. The door creaked as he pushed it open. Dust lingered in the corners of the high windows. The soft smell of dried paint and wood polish greeted him. It had been a month since he last stepped inside.

He had no intention of returning any time soon, if he was being honest. But Zephany had insisted, her concern visible in her eyes. She had gently nudged him to go outside and take a break from being holed up in his room. Her soft voice still echoed in his head.

"You should go to your studio today," she had said over breakfast. "It’s good for you to paint again, not just stay in the house all day."

He couldn’t say no. Not to her. That was how he ended up here, in a space that once felt like an extension of his soul, now strangely unfamiliar.

He walked slowly across the studio, trailing his fingers over the edge of the worktable. Canvases leaned against the walls, half-finished or forgotten. He sighed and moved to open the windows.

Then, he heard a knock. Before he could answer, the door pushed open.

A man stepped in, tall, well-dressed in casual black. His face was calm, his expression unreadable.

Kendrick straightened, eyes narrowing slightly. "What can I help you?"

The man looked around the studio, taking in the art that filled the space. His gaze then landed squarely on Kendrick.

"I’m here to buy paintings," he said plainly. "Are these on display for sale?"

Kendrick frowned slightly, eyes narrowing. Something about this man looked familiar, but he couldn’t place it.

After a pause, he nodded. "Yeah. You can look around and choose what you like."

The man nodded back and walked further into the studio. Kendrick, ever the polite host, gestured toward the walls.

"Those ones are new," he said. "I usually work in series. Abstracts, mostly. Emotions I try to translate into shapes and shades."

"They are impressive," the man said, his eyes scanning a collection of three large pieces hanging together. "I’ll take these."

Kendrick blinked. "All three?"

"Yes."

Kendrick moved carefully, removing the paintings from their frames and wrapping them with practiced precision. All the while, the man watched him in silence.

None other than Kaelion Voss.

Kaelion stood with his hands clasped behind his back, quietly observing the man before him. So this was him—Zephany’s husband. He had come too late.

He sighed to himself. Years. He had been searching for her ever since she vanished from the music scene. For a while, it seemed impossible. But then, a viral video changed everything.

Zephany playing the piano again. The comments called her a prodigy. Paired with a man named Kendrick, an equally talented martial artist. The video spread fast. It didn’t take long before the articles started labeling them as a perfect couple.

That was when he found out she was married.

Still, his dream of collaborating with Zephany had never faded. That was why he visited her workplace, introduced himself, and proposed a music project.

Sadly, Zephany still hadn’t given him a "yes."

He really hoped she would.

He was deep in thought when Kendrick’s voice cut in.

"They’re ready. You can take them now."

Kaelion reached into his coat and handed Kendrick a sleek black card.

"Here’s my payment. Ten million each. That’s thirty million in total."

Kendrick froze. "That’s too much. I usually only charge a thousand per painting."

Kaelion placed the card on a nearby table. "Just take it. I might buy more."

Without waiting for another word, he picked up the paintings and walked out.

Kendrick stood still for a long moment, completely stunned. His brain finally caught up.

"Wait a minute," he muttered to himself. "That guy..."

Then it hit him.

"Kaelion Voss. The superstar. If he promotes my work to his fans, I’ll be swamped. No! I can’t let that happen!"

He groaned and leaned back against the wall.

If only Zephany heard his words. She might punch Kendrick out of embarrassment, and maybe even anger. All her concern, all her efforts to lift him up, only to find out they weren’t needed. He didn’t even like painting that much. And he wasn’t struggling with money at all.

---

Across the city, Reynold and Jeric arrived at the lab they had previously visited during the Ted Frin investigation. The building stood quiet, the afternoon sun casting a long shadow across the pavement.

They pushed the door open and entered. A lab technician working at a console looked up and offered a polite smile.

"Reynold. Jeric. What brings you here?"

Jeric stepped forward. "We came to ask about the data from last time."

The lab technician’s expression fell. She lowered her head.

"I’m sorry. The files are gone."

Both men froze.

"What? Gone?" they asked at the same time.

She nodded, visibly troubled. "I input all the data on the computer and also created backup copies in a notebook. But when I arrived the next day, the lab door was slightly ajar. I always lock up before I leave. I’m sure of it."

She swallowed. "The notebook is gone. And the digital files were wiped."

Jeric’s expression darkened. "So someone wiped it out. And the worst part is they know us, they’re watching us, but we don’t know them."

Reynold’s fists clenched. He didn’t say anything. His jaw tightened.

Moments later, they stepped outside into the parking area. Reynold’s eyes narrowed.

"That car," he muttered.

Jeric followed his gaze.

"That’s Brent Diamond’s car," Reynold said. "I remember it from the ribbon-cutting ceremony."

They moved to approach, but just as they did, Brent emerged from a nearby building. The two men ducked behind a parked van.

Brent climbed into his car and drove away, never noticing them.

Reynold and Jeric looked at each other. They didn’t need to speak.

Their minds were racing in the same direction.

Reynold narrowed his eyes as he watched Brent’s car disappear down the street, his figure reflected faintly on the vehicle’s shiny black surface before it turned a corner and vanished. A gust of wind blew past him, rustling the trees and making the faded signboard above them creak.

Jeric followed his gaze and slowly looked up. "That’s... an old hospital, isn’t it?"

Reynold nodded. "Yeah. St. Marcellus Medical Center. It’s been shut down for years."

The two stood still for a moment, both staring at the worn-out building. Its facade was crumbling. The paint was peeling, and ivy had started to crawl up the corners of the outer walls. Some of the windows were broken, and a part of the second floor had boards nailed over it haphazardly. There was a rusted chain-link fence half-fallen near the entrance, and weeds had completely taken over what was once the driveway for ambulances.

"I heard the government is planning to tear it down," Jeric muttered. "Commercial complex, right?"

"Next year, I think," Reynold replied, still watching the building closely. "But what would Brent be doing here?"

"That’s what we need to find out." Jeric stepped forward and tugged at the broken part of the fence, carefully slipping through the opening. Reynold followed silently.

The ground crunched beneath their feet as they walked toward the front entrance. A faded ’Condemned - No Entry’ sign hung crookedly by the rusting doorframe. Reynold ran a hand along the splintered wood of the door as he slowly pushed it open. The hinges let out a protesting groan.

Inside, the air was thick with dust and mildew. It smelled of rot and chemicals, the kind that clung to old tiles and aging equipment. Sunlight streamed through the broken windows in angled beams, casting long shadows across the floor littered with fallen ceiling tiles and broken gurneys.

Reynold’s eyes swept across the abandoned lobby. "This place gives me the creeps."

Jeric exhaled slowly, his voice low. "Yeah, but something tells me Brent didn’t just come here to admire the architecture."

They moved further inside, the soles of their shoes echoing faintly. Everything was still. A broken clock on the wall read 3:15, its second hand frozen in place. Dust motes floated in the air.

Jeric stopped near the reception counter and crouched. "Reynold."

Reynold approached and looked down. Jeric pointed at a set of faint footprints leading behind the desk and down a hallway. Someone had definitely been here recently.

"Not old," Jeric whispered. "That’s at most an hour ago."

Reynold didn’t say anything but motioned for him to follow. They stepped carefully, tracking the prints. The hallway grew darker, and the flickering remains of ceiling lights buzzed weakly. Empty hospital rooms lined either side, many doors hanging off hinges or wide open.

"What are we even hoping to find?" Jeric asked under his breath.

"Anything," Reynold murmured. "Anything that tells us why Brent was here. If he’s tied to what happened to the serum records, then this place might be where he came from."

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