The Criswell's Curse

Earlier that day, Bradley’s journey to the Criswell’s mansion was quicker than usual as he ordered his coachman to ride as fast as he could. Even then, that greedy man forced him to wait for half an hour in the waiting room as if he was a mere guest.

“Duke Criswell, you look splendid.” Finally, he entered the room, followed by his so ever faithful servants.

“Thank you, Lord Bradley.” Gracefully, he sat down on the couch parallel to the young man’s divan. A polite yet fake smile resting on his lips. “I trust you’ve been well?”

Alvin knew the Trace’s son was unsatisfied with the wedding, anyone could tell just by glancing at him. However, his acting was truly polished, forcing the Duke to doubt his daughter’s judgment, momentarily.

“I’ve been well; until this morning, that is. I woke up with a terrible migraine.” Bradley’s polite expression turned bitter; his emerald eyes sharpened like a sword freshly crafted by a blacksmith. “Might you know anything about it, Duke?”

“What do you mean, My Lord?” He continued to play the role of a foolish man, as he had always done when necessary. “I thought you’d be thrilled with the good news.”

“Good news? Indeed, it seems Your Grace as yet to hear the news...” His voice became icy, forcing a shiver to run down Alvin’s spine. Something was not right. “How is your pottery business coming along? I heard it has flourished in the past months?”

“We are fortunate to have such exceptional employees, you see...”

Bradley quickly interrupted him, creating an extra layer of pressure on his shoulders. “Of course, that is the core of business, isn’t that so?” He leaned back on the couch, pridefully. “I’m sure the crown would agree with your work ethics, Duke.”

Reactively, Alvin coughed the tea he was drinking, forcing some runaway drops to land on the low wooden table, standing between them. Nerves ransacked his mind, forcing his hands to tremble slightly.

“Are you implying something?” With a fake, ticking smile, the cordial composure of the Duke crumbled, bit by bit.

Alvin had been careful, way too careful. No one besides himself and his most trusted servants knew about the scheme; he even got rid of any possible loose ends. He knew none of his people had opened their mouths, so there was only one option left: the documents.

There were two notebooks: the one with fake values delivered to the crown, and its twin, with the real revenue, reported directly to the Duke. It was possible he could have accessed the document through the communication route, but how did he know about it in the first place?

“Of course not. I wouldn’t dare.” Bradley leaned his body, placing two sugar cubes in his tea. “I’m just worried about your investment, Your Grace. We wouldn’t want your image to be damaged by the greed of some low life now, would we?”

“I guess it is only righteous to thank you for your concern... what would be an appropriate gift?” His back was between the sword and the wall.

The Trace’s son simply smiled. He had that old man right where he wanted. “I’m sure you’ll know in your heart what I most desire.”

So, I either cancel the engagement or I’ll have the crown on my back, is it...? Alvin placed the teacup on the table, feeling his frustration growing.

Amanda needed to marry Bradley, just like Ophelia needed to marry Terrel. It was the only way his plan would work. There was no way Amanda would accept switching places with her sister, not when her heart was already set on this noble man.

The sudden sound of hasted footsteps echoed through the hall before a powerful bang. This was enough to snap the Duke’s absent mind to reality. “Father!”

Amanda entered the room, obnoxiously loud, ungracefully, as she usually did. Spotting her beloved on the couch, her eyes sparkled with anticipation.

“My dear Amanda, please behave yourself.” Understanding how unfiltered his daughter’s feelings were, Alvin attempted to restrain them. He was sure Bradley wouldn’t be pleased if she began having one of her tantrums.

“Have you heard? They moved our engagement, dear! We’ll be married in just three months!” Lacking and tact and awareness, she lumped her body onto the couch, leaning her breasts on the noble’s arm. She knew how to seduce men; she had done so countless times, and this man was the finest of them all, the cherry on top of the cake, the last obstacle to her happiness.

“Let go.” Bradley’s voice rung through her ears, but she simply ignored it. Her grip became tighter, her breasts almost popping out of her dress. “I said, let go.”

She shuddered. His voice was bitter, his eyes were icy. Was this really the Bradley she knew? He looked at her as if she was an eyesore, a woman far below his status, an obnoxious being.

Immediately, she jumped back, feeling fear crawl down her back, right through her skin. This wasn’t her Bradley. This was someone else, someone she didn’t know, a stranger whose heart embraced darkness, nowhere close to an angel.

“I hope to hear your reply soon, Duke.” Bradley hastily got up without giving a second look to his fiancé, who stood there, sitting on the couch.

God knew how much the noble had restrained himself not to beat the woman up as he had previously fantasized. Her presence annoyed him far more than anything else in the world.

People like her are better off dead. Was the only thought in his mind as he returned to his carriage.