The Brothel Maiden: A Sold Girl's Rise to Prominence Through Reasoning Chapter 11

Chapter 11

They erged from behind the fishern’s hut to find a narrow staircase spiraling underground.

“This used to be a warehouse for storing water barrels for ships,” Serge explained as he led the way down. “Now it’s a hideout for thugs.”

Josée followed close behind, stepping carefully to avoid slipping on the damp, unlit stairs. The air grew colder and thicker the deeper they went.

Voices floated up from below. They stopped just outside a heavy wooden door.

Serge raised his hand and knocked—three sharp raps.

The door creaked open, revealing a hulking brute of a man holding up a lantern. He squinted at them, sizing them up with suspicion.

“What business you got in a place like this?”

Serge didn’t hesitate. “I need a corpse. One that matches my build.”

Josée held her breath. His delivery was flat, almost cold—perfectly calculated. The man’s eyes flicked over their clean-cut clothes, tracing the lines of their coats.

“W-well... co in,” he grunted at last, stepping aside. Maybe he assud they were wealthy scum with dirty secrets—nothing unusual in these parts.

“Coming here with a request like that... must be urgent,” the man muttered, leading them inside.

“I’m supposed to be dead and out of this country. I need a body that could pass for mine.”

Josée swallowed hard.

(Serge... is acting...?)

She stayed quiet, watching the thug’s reaction.

“What about the woman?” the man asked, jerking his chin toward her.

Josée shrank back, feigning nerves. Better to keep quiet than risk saying sothing that didn’t match Serge’s story.

“She’s coming with ,” Serge said without missing a beat.

“Lovers, huh?”

“Yeah. I’m taking her abroad.”

The man gave a knowing nod. “So, you’re a spy too. This country’s gone to hell.”

“‘Too’?” Serge echoed, eyebrow twitching.

The man gave a crooked grin. “Don’t play dumb. The one who ordered those headless corpses the other day—he was a foreign spy, wasn’t he?”

“No need to answer that,” Serge said coolly.

“Hah. Sa line the last guy used. Alright, what’s your na? Got the advance?”

Before Serge could respond, another door creaked open. A thin, rat-like man poked his head out, eyes darting.

“Hey! There’s too much noise out here. You sure this guy ain’t a decoy cop?”

Serge stiffened. Josée quickly cut in.

“He’s not—”

“No way,” the giant interrupted. “We’ve paid off the cops well enough. They won’t touch us.”

He sounded more amused than concerned. Serge bit his lip at the blatant corruption.

“Still... this guy’s got ‘busted’ written all over him,” the thin man sneered.

The giant considered that. “Hmm. Just in case, let’s play it safe. You two are leaving.”

He pressed sothing cold into Serge’s back. A gun.

“...!”

“Sorry, no deal. Keep your mouths shut. You—girl—move.”

There was no ti to react. The barrel stayed locked on Serge as they were marched back toward the stairs.

“Easy now. Just walk up and get out.”

They climbed slowly, the silence thick with tension.

Then—Josée’s hand flew to her thigh. In one swift motion, she drew a pistol and fired at the ceiling.

*Bang!*

The shot cracked through the air like thunder.

“Now!!” she shouted.

At her command, officers stord in from all sides. Serge grabbed her and pulled her to the wall as a flood of n in uniform surged past them.

“Gah! What the hell—?!”

The traffickers barely had ti to reach for their weapons before guns were trained on them from every angle.

Josée watched from Serge’s arms, her expression calm.

The police couldn’t afford to let the suspects die—too many questions, too much public scrutiny. But that didn’t change the fact that these sa officers had been bribed to look the other way until now.

One by one, the traffickers were disard and bound with thick ropes.

Then, the officers surrounded Josée and Serge.

“What the hell is this?”

“Running off like that—are you insane?!”

Josée lifted her chin, eyes defiant.

“Would you have ever arrested this trafficking ring if we hadn’t?”

The officers faltered. So looked ashad. Others just confused.

“We want to clear our nas. We want justice. More than you ever did.”

Her voice rang with conviction. Then, like flipping a switch, she slipped back into her elegant madam persona and strode up the stairs. Serge followed, a little less gracefully.

The full-scale raid had begun.

“We’ve got multiple n and won down here!”

“There’s more rooms—hidden passages!”

As the shouts echoed behind them, Josée whispered a silent prayer: *May even one less person suffer because of this.*

At the top of the stairs, beneath the flickering lantern light, stood Detective Bernard, watching.

As she passed him, Josée murmured, “Let’s et again. At Representative Fédor’s funeral.”

“Wait,” Bernard called after them.

They turned. The usual sharpness in his gaze had softened.

“Tell more about the traffickers,” he said. “Do you have ti now?”

Josée and Serge exchanged a glance—then nodded together.