My Bratty Wife
Chapter 235 - Two Hundred And Thirty Five

Chapter 235: Chapter Two Hundred And Thirty Five

Eleanor, her fine clothes smudged with dirt from her hiding place, her carefully cultivated composure shattered, took a hesitant step towards Ryan, her hands still partially raised. A strange, almost beatific smile touched her lips, a chilling mismatch to the carnage surrounding them.

"I did it for us, Ryan," she said, her voice surprisingly steady, imbued with a delusional conviction. She pointed a trembling finger towards Suzy, who lay a broken figure near the rough crates, her breath shallow. "She was the impediment, don’t you see? She came between us, destroyed what we were building, what we had since childhood. You love me, Ryan. You know you do. You once said you always would."

Ryan stared at her, and the remnants of his shock morphed into a profound, visceral disgust. The woman before him was not the Eleanor he had once known, not even the broken woman he had sometimes pitied. This was someone unhinged, lost in a self-serving fantasy woven from old memories and twisted desires.

"If you move one step closer, Eleanor," he warned, his voice dangerously low, his pistol still steady despite the tremor of revulsion that ran through him, "I swear by all that is holy, I will blow your head clean off your shoulders. How dare you?" His words were like chips of ice. "How dare you invoke our past to justify this... this monstrosity?"

Just as Eleanor opened her mouth to reply, perhaps to plead or to further expound on her warped logic, a new commotion arose from the end of the quay. A group of men in the official dark blue uniforms of the Aldridge Port Authority, lanterns held high, their swords drawn, hurried towards the scene of the shootout, alerted by the gunfire.

"Hold there! In the King’s name!" their captain called out, his voice authoritative. He took in the scene – the dead and injured smugglers, the formidable Duke of Carleton standing armed, the distressed Duchess, and the disheveled Lady Eleanor. He immediately recognized the Duke and approached with a mixture of deference and official concern. "Your Grace! What has transpired here? We heard shots."

Ryan didn’t lower his weapon entirely but shifted its aim from Eleanor. "Captain," he acknowledged, his voice tight with controlled anger. "These men," he gestured to the fallen smugglers and the one groaning on the ground with a shattered leg, "are kidnappers and smugglers. They abducted my wife, the Duchess, and were attempting to sell her."

He then flicked his gaze, full of contempt, towards Eleanor. "And this... lady... was their accomplice. Their patron. She orchestrated the entire affair." He then turned to the injured smuggler. "Take that one alive, if you can. He may have information. The rest are beyond your concern. And arrest her." He pointed directly at Eleanor. "Take her into custody. Now."

Eleanor couldn’t believe her ears. Her head snapped towards Ryan, her eyes wide with shocked disbelief, her earlier delusional confidence crumbling. "Ryan?" she cried, her voice cracking. "You... you can’t be serious! You’re going to let them take me? After everything? For her?"

Ryan’s face was a mask of fury. He looked at her as if she were something utterly vile he’d found beneath a stone. "Be grateful, Eleanor," he bit out, each word dripping with contempt, "that I don’t kill you myself where you stand. That is the only mercy you will receive from me tonight."

A small, weak sound, barely a breath, drew Ryan’s attention away from the confrontation.

"Ryan..."

It was Suzy.

Instantly, Eleanor, the port authorities, the dead and dying – everything else faded from Ryan’s perception. He turned, his heart lurching, and rushed to Suzy’s side, dropping to his knees on the grimy cobblestones beside her. Her eyes were barely open, clouded with pain, but a faint, heartbreakingly weak smile touched her lips as she saw him. He gently gathered her into his arms, cradling her against his chest. She felt terrifyingly fragile, her body limp.

"You came," she whispered, her hand, cold and trembling, trying to reach for his face. "I knew... I knew you would find me."

Ryan’s throat tightened, a sob catching within it. "Wherever you are, Cassandra," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion as he pressed a fervent kiss to her bruised, blood-stained hand, "I will always find you. Always." He gently brushed a stray, tangled strand of hair from her forehead. "You did such a good job, my love, leading me to you. The hat, the gloves... every piece was a never ending hope."

Her eyes, though clouded, focused on his left arm, on the dark stain spreading across his coat sleeve. "You’re... injured," she breathed, a flicker of her old concern in her weak voice.

He glanced down at it as if noticing it for the first time. "It’s nothing, my love. A scratch. Don’t worry about me." He held her closer, desperate to infuse her with his own strength. "I’m so sorry, Cassandra. So terribly sorry I didn’t get to you sooner. That you had to endure this..."

She managed another faint smile, her fingers weakly touching his cheek, smearing some of the grime and blood from her own hand onto his skin. "Noah...?" she whispered. "Is he...?"

"He’s alive," Ryan assured her quickly. "Injured, but he’s receiving treatment. He’s a strong man; he’ll recover. He’s the one who told me which way you’d been taken."

A tiny sigh of relief escaped her. "And the children... at the orphanage...?" Even now, her thoughts were for others. "The jubilee... I hope they are safe... happy..."

"They are fine, my love," Ryan said, his voice choking. "Everything is fine. They are safe."

Suzy smiled, a genuine, peaceful smile this time, though it was heartbreakingly faint. "Good..." she murmured. "I’m... so tired, Ryan. So very tired." Her eyelids began to flutter.

"No, Cassandra, wait," Ryan pleaded, his voice suddenly sharp with terror. He gently shook her. "My love, don’t close your eyes. Stay with me. Please, stay with me!"

But her strength was gone. "I just... want to sleep..." she whispered, her voice barely audible, and then her eyes drifted closed, her head lolling limply against his shoulder.

"Cassandra!" Ryan cried out, his voice raw with anguish. "No! Cassandra!" He held her unresponsive form tightly, his face buried in her hair. The facade of the strong Duke crumbled completely. Great, shuddering sobs wracked his body as he knelt there on the cold, dark quayside, surrounded by the carnage of his own making, cradling his beloved wife, his heart shattering into a million pieces.