My Bratty Wife

Brook entered Evan’s study. "My lord," he announced, his voice calm and professional.

Evan, seated behind his ornate desk, looked up, his expression expectant. "What news do you bring?" he asked.

Brook handed him a folded letter. "I have word from our intel," he replied.

Evan took the letter, unfolding it and reading the contents with a keen eye. A slow, predatory smile spread across his face. He crumpled the letter and tossed it into the fireplace, watching as the flames consumed the paper.

He turned to Brook, his eyes gleaming with a dark amusement. "Make a move tonight," he instructed, his voice low and decisive.

Brook bowed his head. "As you command, my lord," he replied. He then paused, adding, "Lady Eleanor has eyes on the Duchess."

Evan laughed, a short, sharp sound that echoed in the study. "That woman is so persistent," he remarked, his amusement laced with a hint of annoyance. He paused, his laughter fading, and continued, "And Cassandra?"

"The Duchess suspects," Brook replied, his voice neutral.

Evan’s smile widened. "As expected of her," he said, his eyes sparkling with a dark anticipation. "Let’s see who wins. I’m actually rooting for Cassandra, what about you?"

Brook remained silent, his expression carefully blank. He knew better than to answer such a loaded question, to offer his personal opinions on his master’s twisted games.

Evan looked at him, his amusement turning into a mock exasperation. "Ugh, you’re such a spoilsport," he said, waving a dismissive hand. "Be gone."