My Bratty Wife
Chapter 154 - Hundred And Fifty Four

Chapter 154: Chapter Hundred And Fifty Four

The carriage lurched violently, throwing Evan against the velvet cushions. He groaned, rubbing his aching head. Finally, the ride was over. He stepped out of the carriage, the crisp air biting at his face. The imposing silhouette of his manor loomed before him, a dark and brooding presence against the fading light.

With a chilling smile, Evan strode towards the entrance, his footsteps echoing through the silent corridors. He reached his study, a room draped in darkness, the only light emanating from the crackling fireplace. He sank into his leather armchair, the cold leather a contrast to the warmth of the fire.

He pressed a hidden button beneath his desk, a low hum resonating through the room. Moments later, a figure emerged from the shadows, bowing low. "My Lord," the aide rasped, his voice a chilling whisper.

"Phase two is over," Evan declared, his voice low and menacing. "The witness... eliminate him. Make it look like the murderer did it. Quickly. Before that fool opens his mouth and ruins everything."

The aide bowed his head, his eyes gleaming with a chilling intensity. "As you command, my Lord." He vanished back leaving Evan alone with his thoughts.

A triumphant grin spread across Evan’s face. Phase two was complete. The evidence was planted, the blame shifted. Now, the stage was set for the final act. He leaned back in his chair, savoring the anticipation.

"Phase three," he murmured, his voice a low growl, "has just begun."

He closed his eyes, picturing the chaos that would ensue. The whispers, the accusations, the fear that would grip the town like a suffocating shroud. He would watch from the shadows, pulling the strings, orchestrating the downfall of his enemies.

A chilling laughter escaped his lips, echoing through the silent study. The long awaited revenge had just begun, and there’s no escape for his enemies.

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The last crumb of dinner has long since been swept away, the clatter of dishes had subsided. The castle was silenced by slumber. Everyone had gone to bed.

The moon hung heavy in the velvet sky, casting long, eerie shadows across the castle grounds. Noah prowled the perimeter, his keen eyes scanned the darkness, ever vigilant for any sign of intrusion.

He noticed a familiar figure slipping out of the castle, a wisp of movement in the gloom. It was the maid, the one who always seemed to vanish without a trace.

Intrigued, Noah followed discreetly, his footsteps muffled by the soft earth. But the maid was tricking and careful, melting into the shadows, her presence fading like an extinguished candle.

"Where did she go?" Noah muttered, frustration gnawing at him. He searched diligently, his senses straining to pick up any clue, any sound, any scent. But the trail had gone cold. Defeated, he retraced his steps, returning to his post, a nagging unease settling in his gut.

Meanwhile, the maid reached an iron gate, its menacing spikes gleaming in the moonlight. A gruff voice boomed from within, "Halt! Who goes there?"

"I... I am here to see the Lord," the maid stammered, her voice trembling slightly.

" what for?" The gatekeeper asked.

"I have a message for him, just tell him I’m from Duke Ryan’s castle. He knows me." The maid replied, her breath uneven.

The gate creaked open, revealing a figure within. The maid hurried through, her heart pounding in her chest. She went through the corridors, her footsteps echoing through the silent halls. Finally, she reached the Lord’s study, a dimly lit chamber.

"My Lord," she began, her voice low as a whisper, "I... I require more tea bags. I have run out of the last batch you gave me."

The Lord, his face covered by a mask, regarded her with an unsettling intensity. "And what of her memories? Any changes I should be aware of?" he inquired, his voice low and menacing.

The maid recoiled, fear constricting her throat. "N-no, my Lord," she stammered, "I... I ensured they remain... dormant. She doesn’t remember anything. I’m sure of it."

A chilling satisfaction crept into the Lord’s voice. "Good," he rasped, extending a hand towards her. A small, leather pouch lay nestled in his palm. "Here, take this. Now, begone."

The maid bowed her head, her gaze fixed on the floor, and scurried from the room, relief washing over her, fleeting and fragile.

The Lord, however, was far from finished. He summoned a figure from the depths of the room. "Keep a close eye on her, something’s off with her," he commanded, his voice a silken whisper. "If she deviates from her duties, if she displays any... unusual behavior, eliminate her."

The servant bowed low, his face obscured by the shadows. "Consider it done, my Lord."

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The icy water clawed at Suzy, pulling her deeper into the abyss. Panic swelled in her chest, each gasp for air a desperate struggle against the suffocating pressure. She could see the moonlight illuminating her predicament. She thrashed about, limbs flailing wildly, but the relentless current dragged her down, down, down. She realized she’s back into Cassandra’s memories.

Through the swirling murk, she saw it again – the figure looming over the well’s mouth. But this time, something was different. The voice, though still filled with sorrow and remorse, was clearer, more distinct.

"I’m sorry," it whispered, "Please forgive me, Lady Cassandra. Please forgive me." Tears rolled down the figure’s cheeks.

The voice echoed in Suzy’s mind, a jarring dissonance in the chaos. That voice sounds familiar. That’s Cassandra’s murderer. Then, she saw the face. It was pale, gaunt, filled with a lifetime of suffering. And in that chilling recognition, the icy water finally consumed her, claiming her life, drawing her last breath.

Suzy jolted awake, gasping for breath, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. Sweat slicked her skin, the sheets tangled around her legs. The image of the face, the remose in the voice, the pleading eyes, haunted her.

"Doris," she whispered, the name tumbling from her lips, a desperate lifeline in the suffocating darkness of her fear.