Chapter 154: Chapter One Hundred-Fifty-Four: The Price of Exile
//CLARA//
The world blurred.
I didn’t remember leaving the Velvet Noose. Just the carriage, and the blood on my palms.
Gary’s blood.
He lay across the bench seat opposite us, his head on a cushion Hattie had jammed beneath him. His breathing was too shallow.
Hattie sat on the floorboards beside him, her hands trembling violently as she pressed a handkerchief against the split flesh of his temple.
A large hand settled over mine.
I looked up through the shadows of the carriage. Casimir was staring out the window. He wasn’t looking at me, but his fingers tightened around my small, dirt-caked hand.
The carriage slammed to a halt, the horses whinnying loudly outside.
"Get him inside," Casimir barked as soon as the door flew open.
The mansion’s footmen were already waiting, their faces pale with shock. Before I could even process that we were back at the estate, two strong men hauled Gary out, moving as quickly and gently as they could manage.
"Take him to the second-floor guest wing," Casimir commanded, stepping down from the carriage and lifting me out by the waist in one seamless motion.
My feet barely touched the gravel before he was pulling me along.
"And get Dr. Varga here within the hour. If he isn’t at the door in ten minutes, drag him out of his bed by his throat."
"Yes sir," Higgins stammered, rushing toward the foyer.
We moved up the grand staircase like a whirlwind of chaos.
The servants scurried out of the way, whispering in the shadows, their eyes wide as they took in my disheveled state—my tangled hair and bloodstained skin.
My eyes were locked on the back of Gary’s head as the footmen carried him down the corridor and into a lavishly decorated guest room.
They laid him on the silk sheets of a massive canopy bed. Within minutes, Dr. Varga burst in, his breath hitching at the scene.
He didn’t ask questions. One look at Casimir’s lethal expression was enough to tell him that his life depended on the survival of the man on the bed.
"Clear the space," Dr. Varga muttered, unbuttoning his waistcoat and pulling out a pair of gleaming shears.
"Fetch me hot water and clean linens. Quickly."
One of the attending servants scrambled out of the room. I stepped closer to the bed, my heart hammering against my ribs. I couldn’t look away from Gary’s face.
Please, I prayed silently, the words repeating like a mantra in the silence of my mind. Please don’t die on me you fucking jerk or I’ll fucking kill you myself.
Suddenly, the double doors slammed against the wall with a thunderous bang that made the crystal sconces rattle.
"What is the meaning of this absolute outrage?!"
Aunt Cornelia marched into the room, her face twisted into a mask of pure venom. She looked at the blood on the sheets, and then her gaze zeroed in on me standing by the bedpost.
Her chest heaved with indignation. She took a sharp, aggressive step forward, her finger lifting to point directly at my face.
"You!" she shrieked. "You ungrateful little wretch! I knew you were an insolent creature, but to bring this... this circus into our home? Look at you! Disheveled, filthy, smelling of the gutter—"
She didn’t get to finish the sentence.
Casimir stepped directly into her path. He moved so quickly he seemed to materialize out of the shadows, his massive frame completely blocking Cornelia from my sight and forcing her to take a startled step backward.
"Keep your mouth shut, Aunt Cornelia."
Aunt Cornelia blinked, her features contorting in shock. She drew herself up, trying to summon every ounce of authority she had left.
"Casimir, you cannot possibly be defending her!" she sputtered, pointing an accusing finger toward me.
"Look at what she has done! Gallivanting through the worst districts like a common whore! And for what? To bring this filth into our house?"
She gestured wildly toward the bed where Dr. Varga was actively cutting away Gary’s bloody shirt.
"A hoodlum!"
Aunt Cornelia spat, her lips curling in disgust.
"A common, filthy street rat, sullying the Guggenheim estate! The neighbors will hear of this by morning! She is actively destroying the family name, and I will not stand by and allow this insolence to pass without a severe—"
"I said," Casimir interrupted, "keep your mouth shut."
Aunt Cornelia’s mouth snapped shut mid-word, her eyes widening as she finally noticed the unhinged, predatory fury radiating from her nephew.
"Let us discuss what occurred in this house the moment I left," Casimir said, his jaw clenching so hard the muscle leaped beneath his skin.
"Let’s discuss why Bartholomew felt so comfortable violating my ward under my roof."
A sharp, collective silence fell over the room. Even Dr. Varga’s shears paused for a fraction of a second before continuing their work.
Aunt Cornelia’s face went entirely pale, the color draining from her cheeks until she looked like a corpse under the gaslight.
For a moment, a flash of panic flitted through her eyes. But she recovered quickly, her expression hardening back into a defensive, arrogant sneer.
"Is that what she said?" she scoffed, waving her hand dismissively, though her fingers trembled slightly.
"She is lying to you, Casimir! The girl is a master of deceit. She is concocting these wild, ridiculous fabrications merely to escape her rightful punishment! She knew she was facing isolation for her behavior, so she invented a foul slander against a respectable gentleman to garner your sympathy. She wanted an excuse to run out into the slums, and look what she has brought back—a filth!"
She took another step, trying to peer around Casimir’s shoulder to glare at me.
"She is a manipulative little viper, Casimir! She has you fooled with her tears and her fragile acts, but she is nothing more than a ruined, rebellious child who needs to be broken and taught her place! If you do not allow me to handle her, she will bring this entire house down in scandal!"
I watched her from the shadows of Casimir’s stance, my fingers tightening around the fabric of his coat. I couldn’t speak, but I didn’t need to.
I saw the way Aunt Cornelia’s chest was heaving, the desperate, shrill edge to her voice. She was terrified. She knew she had lost her grip on the narrative, and she was clawing at the walls trying to drag me down with her.
Casimir didn’t yell. He simply looked down at her with absolute contempt.
"Are you finished?" he asked quietly.
Aunt Cornelia blinked, thrown off by his suffocating calm.
"Casimir, I am only trying to protect your name—"
"You will start packing your things tonight," Casimir cut her off firmly.
Aunt Cornelia froze, her entire body locking up as if she had been struck by lightning.
"What... what did you say?" she faltered.
"You leave for the countryside estate at dawn," Casimir said with a terrifying finality.
"Permanently. You are retired from your duties in this household, Aunt Cornelia."
"You cannot do this!"
Aunt Cornelia completely lost her wits, her composure shattering into a million pieces. She lunged forward, her hands clawing at Casimir’s shirtsleeves.
"I am your aunt! A Guggenheim! I have run this household since your mother passed! I built the social standing of this family! You cannot dismiss me to the countryside like a nuisance!"
Casimir didn’t even flinch. He simply reached down, took her wrists, and removed them from his sleeves with an effortless, bone-crushing grip that made her gasp.
"I can," Casimir whispered. "And I am. If you are not out of this house by the time the sun clears the horizon, I will have my men throw your trunks into the street and bar the gates. Choose your exit wisely, Aunt."
Aunt Cornelia staggered backward, her breath coming in ragged, undignified gasps. She looked at Casimir, searching his face for any sign of familial loyalty.
But she found nothing.
Slowly, her gaze drifted past his shoulder. She looked directly at me.
I couldn’t voice the triumph roaring through my veins, but I let her see it in my eyes. I let her see the cold satisfaction that filled my soul.
Serves you right, dusty bitch.
Aunt Cornelia’s lips trembled, her hands clenching into tight, white-knuckled fists against her skirts.
"You think you’ve won, don’t you?" she spat, stepping closer, her eyes burning with malice.
"Enjoy your little victory tonight, girl. Because I promise you, on everything I hold holy, the wheel will turn. One day, you will lose his favor. And when that day comes, you will grovel at my feet, begging for mercy."
She turned on her heel and marched out of the room, slamming the door behind her.
Hah! You wish, you dusty old bat. If only you knew I’m already Mrs. Casimir Guggenheim.
The words practically clawed at my throat, begging to be shouted, but I swallowed them down. Not yet.
This wasn’t the time to expose our secret. No matter how badly I wanted to watch her stroke out right then and there.
I let out a long, shaky breath I hadn’t realized I was holding, my knees suddenly feeling weak.
The satisfaction was there, sweet and heavy, but the exhaustion was heavier.
