My Bratty Wife
Chapter 216 - Two Hundred And Sixteen

Chapter 216: Chapter Two Hundred And Sixteen

(On the day of the hearing...)

Byron stood by the window, gazing out at the manicured gardens below, a frown creasing his brow, worry for being unable to find her. "Where could she be? Where would he be hiding her?" He thought to himself.

A sharp, hurried knock broke the heavy silence. Before Byron could respond, the door opened slightly and a young household servant poked his head in, looking flustered.

"My Lord, my Lord," the servant stammered, clearly agitated.

"What is it, Martin?" Byron asked, turning from the window, his voice laced with an annoyance born more of frustration than impatience with the servant. He’d been hoping for news, perhaps from his aide.

"Someone is here, My Lord," Martin replied, wringing his hands slightly. "In the courtyard."

Byron’s heart gave a slight leap. Had Ryan returned unexpectedly? "Is it my brother?" he asked, using the familiar term he often employed for Ryan, despite their lack of blood relation. "Is the Duke back?"

"No, My Lord," Martin said quickly. "His Grace isn’t back yet."

Byron’s brief hope deflated, leaving irritation in its wake. "Then who the hell is it demanding entry without an appointment?"

Martin swallowed nervously. "It’s... it’s Lord Evan, My Lord."

Byron froze. Evan? Here? The audacity was stunning. Why is he here? What does he possibly want? The questions raced through Byron’s mind. He had just instructed his aide to tail Evan, and now the man himself brazenly appears at his doorstep? Before Byron could formulate a response or decide whether to even grant entry, the study door was thrust open fully.

Lord Evan strode into the room as if he owned it, radiating an infuriating blend of arrogance and charm. James, the butler of the house, scurried in behind him, practically tripping over his own feet in his haste.

"My Lord! Please!" James pleaded, directing his words futilely at Evan’s back. "You should have waited! I needed to inform my master properly that you were here! My Lord Byron, I beg your pardon!"

The poor man stopped before Byron, shaking visibly, fear consuming him as he anticipated his master’s displeasure. "I tried to s...stop him, My Lord," he stammered, looking utterly wretched. "But he wouldn’t listen, he just..."

Byron held up a hand, cutting the man’s frantic explanation short. He kept his gaze fixed on Evan, his expression carefully neutral despite the anger simmering beneath the surface. "It’s alright, James. You may leave us." He extended the dismissal to the other servant who had informed him of Evan’s arrival. "Both of you, close the door behind you."

Relief washed over James’s face. He bowed hastily, along with the other servant lurking nervously in the hallway, and they quickly retreated, shutting the heavy oak door firmly, leaving Byron alone with his unwelcome guest.

Evan surveyed the study with a faintly mocking air, taking in the relatively modest furnishings compared to his own lavish tastes. He sauntered towards a comfortable armchair near the fireplace without waiting for an invitation and sank into it, crossing his legs elegantly.

"Let’s skip the formalities, Evan," Byron said, his voice cold and steady. He remained standing near the window, creating a physical distance between them. "You are not welcome here. What do you want? State your business, and then leave."

Evan chuckled, a low, unpleasant sound. "So harsh, Byron. And here I thought we might have a civilized conversation." He leaned back, feigning relaxation, though his eyes were sharp and assessing. "As for what I want..." He paused, a smug smile playing on his lips. "Will you give me what I want?" he asked, his tone dripping with taunting insinuation. "Because what I truly want, dear Byron, is to see the utter demise of both you and your precious ’brother,’ Duke Ryan. Will you be giving me that today?"

Byron’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, but he kept his voice level. The sheer malice in Evan’s words was chilling. "I don’t have time for your pathetic games, Evan. If you don’t have legitimate business here..."

Evan interrupted him smoothly, his smile widening. "Oh, but I do think we have something to discuss." He leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice conspiratorially, his eyes gleaming. "The Golden Goblet. Does that name ring any bells for you, Lord Byron?"

The name hit Byron like a physical blow. The Golden Goblet. The tavern massacre. Brook’s investigation had been successful, then. Evan knew. Or at least, he suspected enough to use it as a weapon. Byron struggled to keep his composure, to prevent any flicker of recognition or fear from showing on his face. He felt a cold dread seep into his veins. How much did Evan actually know?

The room fell silent for a long moment, the air thick with unspoken threats and calculations. Byron stared back at Evan, refusing to be the first to break the silence, his mind racing. He needed to be careful, extremely careful.

Just then, a distinct knock sounded at the door – four sharp raps. Byron felt a surge of relief; it was his aide’s signal. "Enter," he called out, his voice steady.

The door opened and his aide, stepped inside. He ignored Evan completely, walking directly towards Byron by the window. He leaned in close, whispering urgently into Byron’s ear, his voice too low for Evan to overhear, though Evan watched the exchange with narrowed, curious eyes.

"He knows, My Lord," His murmur confirmed Byron’s fear. "His aide have been asking persistent questions about the Golden Goblet incident. They know you were present that night. They don’t have proof linking you, not yet, but Evan clearly intends to use the suspicion itself." He whispered in Byron’s ears again this time giving another information.

Byron gave a barely perceptible nod, absorbing the confirmation. He straightened up as his aide stepped back, taking a position slightly behind and to the side of Byron’s chair – a silent statement of support and readiness. Byron slowly walked over and sat down in the chair behind his desk, deliberately placing the large piece of furniture between himself and Evan, reclaiming some control of the space.

Evan watched this silent exchange, his smug expression returning, laced now with mockery. "My, my, Byron," he drawled, looking at the young man up and down with disdain. "I didn’t realize you required an aide hovering at your elbow. Isn’t that usually Ryan’s privilege? Why doesn’t this fellow follow you about constantly like a loyal hound?"

Evan paused, his eyes narrowing further as he scrutinized the young man’s familiar, yet out-of-place features. A flicker of recognition sparked in his gaze. He snapped his fingers. "Wait a moment," he said slowly, realization dawning. "I know you." His gaze flicked between the aide and Byron. "You work... or you worked... for Ryan. Yes!" His voice gained certainty. "I’ve seen you before. You were that quiet librarian fellow! The one with the glasses. Always hovering around Cassandra, right? – bringing her stacks of books to read."

Evan stared intently at the aide, then back at Byron, the pieces clicking together in his sharp, devious mind. The smugness vanished, replaced by astonished, delighted comprehension. He suddenly threw his head back and let out a short, bark of genuine, hearty laughter.

"Oh, this is rich!" Evan choked out, wiping a tear of mirth from his eye. He leaned forward again, the laughter subsiding, but his eyes were wide with malicious glee. He pointed a finger first at the young man, then at Byron. "You absolute snake! You sent a spy to your brother’s household."

He stopped laughing abruptly, the amusement replaced by a look of stunning realization, as if the full implication had just truly hit him. He repeated the words, slowly this time, savoring the accusation, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that filled the suddenly tense room.

"You sent a spy into your own brother’s household." His voice became serious.