My Bratty Wife

The carriage finally rolled to a stop in front of a grand, imposing castle. "Carleton," Cassandra heard someone murmur, though she wasn’t sure who. She stepped down from the carriage, her legs a little shaky. A man with a neatly trimmed beard and a kind smile approached them.

"Welcome to Carleton," he said warmly. "His Grace has been eagerly awaiting your arrival. I am Bradford, his Grace’s butler."

Count Edmund, Cassandra’s father, returned the smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "Thank you, Bradford. We encountered a small mishap on our journey here, but nothing of consequence."

Mr. Bradford nodded politely. "I’m glad to hear it. Please, come this way. His Grace is expecting you in the drawing room." He gestured towards the castle entrance.

They followed Mr. Bradford through the massive oak doors and into the castle. Cassandra’s eyes widened slightly as she took in the grandeur of the interior. The entrance hall was vast and high-ceilinged, with a gleaming marble floor and walls adorned with portraits of stern-looking men and women in elaborate outfits. A magnificent staircase curved upwards, disappearing into the shadows.

Mr. Bradford led them down a long corridor and into a room that took Cassandra’s breath away. It was the drawing room, and it was even more beautiful than she could have imagined.

Sunlight streamed through tall windows, illuminating the rich, deep red of the thick carpets and the soft, creamy white of the walls. Ornate furniture, covered in plush velvet, was arranged around the room. A large crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, sparkling like a thousand tiny stars. There were paintings everywhere, landscapes and portraits in gilded frames. A fire crackled merrily in the hearth, casting a warm glow on the scene.

Countess Helene’s eyes gleamed as she took in the splendor of the room. She ran a hand lightly over the arm of a velvet chair, a calculating look on her face. If it weren’t for the age gap and the Duke’s... reputation, she thought to herself, Isabella would have been perfect for him. But Cassandra will do. She’s quiet, obedient, and no one will care what happens to her. She’s the perfect sacrifice. She glanced at Cassandra, who was standing quietly near the doorway, her expression unreadable. A small, cruel smile played on the Countess’s lips.

Mr. Bradford turned to them. "Please, make yourselves comfortable. I will inform his Grace of your arrival." He bowed slightly and then left the room.