Chapter 19
19
Cecely
I reach out, my fingers brushing against Claudius’ hand.
For a moment, he stiffens, rigid beneath my touch. But then, slowly, his grip tightens around mine in a silent acknowledgment that says more than words ever could.
Across from us, the men wait, their gazes shifting between him and the open grave.
Claudius dips his head. The unspoken go-ahead.
In the distance, movement. A shadow moves swiftly toward us, blocked out by the sun.
“Agnes is coming,” I murmur.
He doesn’t answer. Doesn’t even react. Because right now? I’m not sure he even sees me. His gaze is locked on the dark, yawning hole before us where his brother’s body may or may not be. And in this moment, that’s all that exists for him.
“Sir,” Agnes calls as she reaches us, slightly breathless. “I thought you had work to do?”
Her sharp gaze immediately lands on me, suspicion flickering in her eyes, as if I’m the one who lured him out here. As if I control Claudius’ decisions.
He doesn’t answer.
“Sir?” she presses, her tone firmer now.
Claudius finally speaks, his voice low but resolute. “I need to be out here, Agnes.”
Something unexpected happens.
Her glare softens, shifting into something closer to concern. For the first time, she looks genuinely worried about him.
And then, just as quickly, her focus turns to me.
Her gaze pleads—for what, I have no idea. Help? Understanding? Convincing him to leave?
She tries again, gentler this time. “Sir, you should go inside. You don’t need to see this.”
But we all know the truth. He does.
“I’m staying and if you have a problem with it, then perhaps you should return to the house!”
She flinches at his tone, but nods. “Of course, sir.”
I expect Agnes to turn back toward the house. What I don’t expect is for her to step closer, her hand brushing against my arm.
“Ms. Blight? May I speak with you?” Her voice is measured, but there’s something urgent beneath it.
I glance at Claudius, but his attention is elsewhere, lost in whatever storm is raging inside him.
Agnes leans in, dropping her voice to a whisper. “Please.”
Something in the way she says it—not demanding, not scolding, but pleading—makes me nod. Dipping my head, I follow as she leads me a few steps away.
Once we stop, she wastes no time.
“Ms. Blight, I know you and I have had little time to get to know each other, but I’ve seen the way you look at Mr. Irons.”
I part my lips to shut that thought down and tell her she’s lost her mind, but she rushes on before I can.
“I, too, care for him, which is why we need to get him inside. Now.”
I exhale sharply, shaking my head. “Look, I get it. Seeing the body is going to be traumatic?—”
“It’s going to devastate him!” she hisses, her hands clenching into fists at her sides.
She draws in a shaky breath, casting a glance at Claudius before turning back to me.
“You weren’t here after… it happened. You didn’t see what he became. The mess he was.” Her voice wavers, just for a moment, but then she presses on. “This is going to destroy him, and I’m uncertain he’ll be able to pull himself back together this time.”
I look over at Claudius again. He’s still standing there, staring into the grave like it holds all the answers.
And for the first time, I feel the weight of what Agnes is truly saying.
“I can try,” I finally say, though doubt creeps in. “But I’m not sure he’ll listen.”
Agnes’ eyes flash with desperation. “Do whatever it takes. Pass out. Anything!”
Her frantic tone jolts me into action.
I turn back to Claudius, stepping up beside him and resting a hand on his arm. His body is rigid, every muscle drawn taut.
“Maybe we should go inside,” I suggest gently. “These men know how to do their job.”
His gaze cuts to me, sharp and unyielding. “No.”
“Claudius, this is?—”
“I said no.”
Well, crap.
I swallow hard, stealing a glance at Agnes. The men are using some kind of tool to lift the casket from the earth, gears grinding, metal groaning under the weight.
Time is running out.
My pulse kicks up, and without giving myself time to second-guess, I tighten my grip on Claudius’ arm and let my body sway.
“I’m… I’m not feeling so well.”
His attention snaps to me, the hardness in his eyes giving way just for a second to concern. But before he can fully react, a loud, jarring sound shatters the air.
We both turn.
The casket now rests beside the grave, its once pristine golden exterior tarnished with dirt and time.
The sight of it sends a chill through me.
And from the way Claudius’ entire body tenses beside me, I know whatever comes next will break him.
One man steps forward, hesitant. “Do we have your permission to bring the flatbed truck over? It may leave tracks in the grass, but it’s the only way to get the casket to the helipad.”
Claudius dips his head in agreement. “That’s fine, but I want you to open it before you move it.”
A pause.
“Sir?”
Claudius’ expression remains unreadable. “You heard me.”
The two men exchange a quick, uneasy look. Clearly, they hadn’t expected this request.
The other man clears his throat. “Sir, it’s not recommended?—”
“I don’t give a fuck what’s recommended. Open it.”
The demand hangs heavy in the air, the finality in his tone cutting through any argument before it can begin.
Agnes steps forward, touching his arm, her voice edged with quiet urgency. “Mr. Irons, listen to these men. Opening it?—”
“For fuck’s sake. I’ll do it myself.”
He shakes off her hold and strides forward, every step radiating purpose.
The men step aside instinctively, as if they already know that arguing with him is pointless.
He stops at the casket.
Just for a second.
A brief hesitation that’s barely noticeable.
Agnes turns to me, her eyes pleading, shaking her head just slightly. Begging me to stop him.
“Claudius—”
He turns at the sound of his name, our gazes locking.
For a moment, I see it. The anger. The grief. The sheer force of whatever is raging inside him. And I know. He’s not going to change his mind. So instead, I dip my head, giving him the smallest nod. Go ahead. Do what you need to do.
He turns back to the casket.
“How do I open it?”
One man exhales slowly. “There’s a lever right there, sir. Just push it in and lift.”
Claudius nods. And then he does just that.
The hinges creak, the sound sharp and unnatural in the silence.
I hold my breath. I don’t know if I want to see this, but I can’t look away.
Claudius’ entire body goes rigid as the lid lifts, his shoulders locked, his breath held.
And the sound he makes? A raw, guttural noise, somewhere between rage and devastation. I’ll never forget it.
“What in the fuck is this?” His voice is pure fury, snapping through the air like a crack of thunder. He turns on the men, eyes burning. “Is this some kind of sick fucking joke?”
The taller man pales, stepping back from the murderous rage radiating off Claudius.
“Sir, you were with us the entire time.” His voice is steady, but barely.
The other man nods quickly. “He’s right. We—we didn’t touch it.”
But Claudius isn’t hearing them. His fists clench, his entire body vibrating with barely contained violence.
A cold dread slithers down my spine. I have to see what’s set him off. I step forward, slowly closing the distance. And then I stop.
My hand flies to my mouth.
The casket is empty.
Except for one thing.
A single note, crisp white paper resting in the hollow space where a body should be.
I force myself to look at the words.
Here lies Gabriel.
The air suddenly feels suffocating.
Claudius stares at the note, his chest rising and falling in dangerous, uneven breaths. And in that moment, I realize one thing. Whoever did this wasn’t just taunting him. They were declaring war.
Agnes steps forward, her voice carefully measured, but there’s no mistaking the urgency behind it. “Sir, we should get you inside.”
Claudius doesn’t even glance her way. “I’m not fucking leaving until I get some answers.” He turns back to the men, eyes burning. “Dig deeper.”
One of them hesitates. “Sir?”
Claudius’ jaw tightens. “My brother clearly isn’t in this fucking casket, which means he’s somewhere in that hole. Dig.”
The taller man hesitates, shifting uncomfortably. “Sir?—”
A vein bulges at Claudius’ temple, and both men step back. The shorter one, braver or maybe just more exhausted, exhales hard and shakes his head.
“Sir, there’s nothing in this hole. You could dig all the way to the other side of the world and not find your brother.” His voice softens. “I’m sorry. Truly, I am.”
And then, without another word, he drops the shovel. The metal clatters against the dirt, loud in the stillness. He turns and walks away. The air is thick with silence. Claudius stands there, unmoving, shoulders rising and falling with heavy breaths.
“Get your ass back here and dig.”
Claudius' voice is lethal, each word edged with a dangerous promise.
The man doesn’t even look back. His partner hesitates for a fraction of a second but then, with a sharp breath, he drops his shovel and hurries after his friend.
“Fucking cowards,” Claudius snarls, his voice raw with fury. His hands curl into fists. “Fine. I’ll do it myself.”
Without another word, he stalks toward the grave, snatching up a shovel, his shoulders tight with rage. He mutters under his breath, a storm brewing inside him, dark and unchecked.
That’s when Agnes steps closer. Calm. Controlled. Calculated.
“Go after the men.” Her voice is low but urgent. “We’re going to need them.”
I blink. “What do you mean?”
She doesn’t answer. Instead, she reaches into her apron pocket and pulls out a syringe.
My stomach drops.
“Go!” she hisses before I can protest and demand an explanation.
She moves toward Claudius, the syringe hidden behind her back, her expression unreadable.
“Sir, you should take off your jacket before you get in the hole.”
Claudius stops. For the first time since opening the casket, he actually considers something.
His breaths are slow, measured. Then, with a tense exhale, he shrugs out of his jacket, turning just enough to toss it onto the empty casket.
And the moment his back is to her, Agnes strikes.
She steps forward, swift and precise, and shoves the syringe into the side of his neck.
Claudius lets out a deep groan, his body jerking for half a second before his muscles slacken. His grip on the shovel loosens as his knees buckle and then he slumps forward.
I stumble back, heart pounding.
“What the hell did you just do?”
Agnes doesn’t even glance at me. She’s already shifting, trying to brace Claudius’ weight.
“Go!” she snaps. “There’s no way the two of us can get him back to the house alone.”
I don’t move.
I can’t.
Because as I look down at Claudius, unconscious and vulnerable for the first time since I’ve met him, I realize Agnes just made it crystal clear whose side she’s on.