My Bratty Wife
Chapter 131 - Hundred And Thirty One

Chapter 131: Chapter Hundred And Thirty One

Ryan, his expression serious, lowered his quill, his eyes fixed on Evan. "Enough with the pretense, cousin. Why are you here? What do you want?"

Evan, his face a mask of innocence, returned a wry smile. "Am I no longer welcome in Carleton?"

Ryan remained silent, his expression hardening. Evan’s smile faltered, replaced by a pretend hurt. "Have I been cast out of the Blackmore family, just like my mother?"

Ryan’s voice was cold. "You know exactly what I mean. Since your mother’s passing, you’ve been a stranger here, you stopped coming to Carleton. You only returned for Father’s funeral, and then vanished. It’s only natural that I’m suspicious of your sudden reappearance."

Evan’s sly grin returned. "Ah, Ryan, the uptight Duke. The man bound by tradition, rules, and regulations. A man who would follow them to his grave." He paused, his gaze turning pitying. "I hear a certain damsel has softened your rigid heart."

Evan chuckled, his voice laced with amusement. "The same perspective your father worked tirelessly to instill in you. The perspective he fought tooth and nail to ensure you would be like him, to inherit: the Grand Duke of Carleton."

A tense silence filled the room. The air crackled with unspoken words, the tension palpable. Ryan’s jaw clenched, his knuckles white as he gripped the quill.

Evan, sensing the shift in the atmosphere, leaned forward, his eyes glinting with mischief.

"Or perhaps," he drawled, "you are slowly drowning from the storm brewing in your own life."

Ryan’s eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint in his gaze. "What do you mean by that? What do you know about my life, Evan?"

Evan shrugged, a nonchalant expression on his face. "Oh, I know a thing or two. After all, I’ve been watching from the sidelines since childhood, haven’t I?"

Silence.

"I must say, she’s quite a feisty little thing. I never imagined you’d be interested in such a woman. When I first spoke to her, I realized how she’s managed to change your perspective. And to make matters worse, you’ve fallen deeply in love with her," Evan said, pausing and chuckling.

"What do you mean by that?" Ryan asked, his voice laced with confusion.

Evan’s smile widened. "You’ve fallen in love with the victim of your father’s crime. Does she know?"

"Enough," Ryan growled, his patience wearing thin.

"And you’ve taken her to bed," Evan continued, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I wonder how she’d feel if she knew she was touched by the son of her mother’s killer, the same hands that couldn’t save her."

Ryan stood up abruptly, his face flushed with anger. "I said enough!"

Evan leaned back, his expression turning smug. "Well, that’s none of my business. I simply came to visit my cousin’s wife, the woman who’s managed to soften your heart of stone. I came to see it with my eyes and I must say I’m impressed. You even changed some traditions for her."

The room was thick with tension. Ryan’s anger was palpable, and Evan seemed to revel in it. He knew he had struck a nerve, and he was enjoying every moment of it.

"You’re a cruel man, Evan," Ryan said, his voice low and dangerous.

"Oh, come now, Ryan. I’m just stating the obvious. You’ve always been a man of logic and reason. But now, you’re letting your emotions cloud your judgment. It’s quite pathetic, really."

Ryan clenched his fists, struggling to control his anger.

Knock.

Knock..

Knock...

Ryan, startled by the unexpected knock, sat back in his chair.

"Who is it?" His voice, though calm, carried a hint of irritation.

"It’s Davis, Your Grace," a voice replied, its tone respectful and hushed.

A brief pause, then a curt, "Enter."

The door creaked open, and Davis stepped into the room, his head bowed in a deferential gesture. A flicker of surprise crossed his face as his gaze swept over the scene before him. Evan is there.

"Your Grace," he began, his voice barely a whisper, "Lord Byron has returned from his travels and is on his way to see you."

A subtle shift in Ryan’s posture, a tightening of his jaw, signaled a renewed focus. "Very well, let him in," he commanded, his voice low and deliberate.

Davis nodded, his expression impassive. "Of course, Your Grace," he replied, before turning and silently exiting the room.

As the door swung shut, a tense silence settled over the study. Evan, sensing the shift in the atmosphere, sat up straight and turned to face Ryan.

"Byron has return," he mused, his voice barely a breath. "An interesting development."

Ryan remained silent.

A moment passed, heavy with unspoken words. Then, the door creaked open once more, and Byron stepped into the room. He was looking more handsome than Ryan remembered, his shoulders broader and his features more defined. Yet, his eyes still held the same warmth and kindness that Ryan had always admired.

"Ryan," Byron said, his voice filled with emotion. "It’s good to see you, brother."

Ryan stood up and embraced his brother, the warmth of the hug washing over him. "It’s good to see you too, Byron," he replied, his voice thick with emotion.

As they pulled apart, Byron’s gaze swept over the room, landing on Evan. A flicker of recognition, followed by a small smile crept across his face.

"Welcome home, Byron," Evan greeted, his voice laced with a hint of irony followed by a slow, menacing smile.

Byron’s smile faded, replaced by a scowl of pure anger. He turned to Ryan, his finger jabbing accusingly at Evan. "What is he doing here?" he demanded.

Evan scoffed, his eyes flashing with defiance. "Who has more right to be here, you or me? Or would you prefer to ask your mother?"

Byron’s face turned a deep shade of crimson. A low growl rumbled from his throat as he lunged forward, his fist connecting with Evan’s jaw. Evan stumbled backward, his head colliding with the edge of the table. A sharp pain shot through his jaw, and a warm trickle of blood began to flow from his lips.

With a grunt, Evan wiped the blood away with the back of his hand. "Typical," he muttered, his voice low. "Hitting me. You haven’t changed a bit. Still the same deceitful bastard you’ve always been."

Ryan, his face etched with shock and dismay, struggled to pull Byron away from Evan. "Byron, stop!" he pleaded, his voice rising in urgency. "This isn’t the way."

Byron, however, seemed oblivious to Ryan’s pleas. His eyes were fixed on Evan, a feral glint in his gaze. "You think you can just waltz in here and say nonsensical things?" he snarled. "You’re wrong, Evan. Very wrong."

Evan, nursing his wounded jaw, met Byron’s gaze with a defiant stare. "I’ll say whatever I want, Byron," he said as he turned to Ryan. "I’ll be sure to have another conversation with you again soon, cousin. After all, it’s always entertaining to watch a man unravel."

With a final, mocking glance, Evan stood up, turned and left the room.