Chapter 175: The Estate Catches Fire

When Princess Aveline learned of Isolde's accident, she rushed over with Lord Garraway. She recounted everything that had happened to Isolde, from her time at Wolf Mountain to Matilda and Prudence's schemes and manipulations. She spared no detail, telling Garrett and Natasha everything she knew.

Afterward, the Princess turned her fiery gaze on Geoffrey. “That day, you asked me if Oliver had been harmed. I thought you were concerned about Isolde, so I told you the truth. But you used that as an excuse to declare Isolde a curse and send her away overnight. Geoffrey, you’ve truly disappointed me. You’re despicable.”

Geoffrey was silent, the weight of her words sinking in. Everyone was blaming him now, calling Isolde innocent. But had they seen her kill, seen her rage, seen her claws unsheathed? Would they still call her innocent?

Slowly, Geoffrey stood. He raised a hand in resignation and, with an almost indifferent expression, said, “Thank you for caring about Isolde, but… she isn’t worth it.” He turned and walked out.

Garrett, listening to the Princess’s account, had barely contained his fury. But when he heard Geoffrey’s dismissive words, his temper snapped. He grabbed a blade and lunged forward, ready to strike. But before he could, Natasha suddenly collapsed with a soft thud. She had been pushed to her limits, and the anger had taken its toll. Garrett dropped the blade in panic and rushed to catch her, pulling her into his arms.

Outside, the night air felt icy against Geoffrey’s skin. His feet felt heavy, each step more burdensome than the last. He left the estate gates, then slowly turned back. His gaze locked onto the grand entrance, his mind flashing back twenty-six years.

There, at that same entrance, he had ridden a white horse, dressed in a brilliant red wedding robe, to meet the woman he loved most. A matchmaker held a red umbrella over her as she walked toward the flower palanquin, her phoenix-patterned red silk embroidered with intricate designs—each thread a source of pure joy to him.

He stared at the gates, a foolish smile on his face, as if the bride were still walking toward him. But the smile faded, replaced by a deep emptiness. The scene before him was desolation—an autumn wind, dry and mournful, blowing through the air. Everything had changed.

With a heavy heart, he mounted his horse, but for the first time, he didn’t know where to go.

When he finally returned to the Duke’s estate, he saw flames shooting high into the sky. His mind snapped back to reality with a shock. He quickly dismounted and ran inside. Chaos reigned. He grabbed a servant by the arm, demanding, “What happened?”

“Geoffrey,” the servant stammered in panic, “Blesertin’s caught fire!”

“Blesertin?” Geoffrey’s heart skipped a beat. Without hesitation, he sprinted inside.

The fire at Blesertin raged out of control, its flames spreading faster than they could contain. The servants had called for the fire brigade, but they hadn’t yet arrived.

Prudence was carried to the edge of the building, surrounded by Priscilla, Matilda, and three attendants. She was crying desperately, her voice hoarse. “Hurry, save Braden! He’s still inside!”

Geoffrey’s chest tightened. He rushed to her side, asking urgently, “Mother, are you hurt?”

Prudence, seeing him, grabbed his hand with surprising strength, her sickly appearance gone. She spoke with her last breath, “Geoffrey, please, please call someone to save Braden. He’s still inside… he hasn’t made it out!”

Tears flooded her eyes as she sobbed uncontrollably. Priscilla, beside her, was wailing as well. “Braden! Braden…”

Without a second thought, Geoffrey jumped up, intending to rush into the fire. But Vance grabbed him, shouting, “Geoffrey, no! It’s too dangerous!”

Geoffrey looked at Vance’s soot-covered face, realizing he had already been inside. “Has anyone gone in to save him?”

“I went in with Clark,” Vance said, his voice strained. “I made it out, but Clark’s still in there. A few other servants are in there too. We need to wait.”

Just then, Clark and two servants staggered out, covered in soot. Clark’s clothes were burning, and he immediately dropped to the ground to roll and extinguish the flames. Vance rushed to help him up. His voice was frantic as he asked, “Did you find Braden?”

Clark shook his head grimly. “The fire in the bedroom was too fierce; we couldn’t get through. At first, we could hear someone calling for help, but… after a while, the sound stopped.”

Prudence, upon hearing this, went pale and fainted.

Priscilla let out a heart-wrenching scream, trying to charge into the inferno. Michelle and Martha held her back, desperately trying to keep her from running into the flames.

“Mother, please! It’s too dangerous!” Martha cried, hugging Priscilla as she sobbed uncontrollably.

Priscilla’s body trembled as she collapsed to the ground, crying out, “Braden! Braden! You were trying to save your grandmother, that’s why you couldn’t escape… Braden…”

Geoffrey’s face twisted with rage and heartbreak. He shoved Vance aside and rushed toward the flames.

The heat was unbearable. Each wave of scorching air felt like it was melting his skin. His face and body burned as the heat seared into his clothes. He soaked his shirt in well water and covered his nose before charging into the inferno.

The flames in the side hall were massive, threatening to collapse the beams above. Geoffrey knew he couldn’t go through there. Instead, he dashed around the outside, running through the corridor to the bedroom.

The fire was raging, its tongues of flame licking the air like hungry monsters. Geoffrey’s heart pounded in his chest as he desperately scanned for a way through. The Blesertin estate was a beautiful but deadly design; the fire spread with terrifying speed.

His damp clothes burned against his skin as the flames grew closer. He backed up several paces, then sprinted forward, covering his nose, and kicked open the bedroom window, diving into the room.

For a split second, he was engulfed by the inferno. He could barely see through the thick smoke, but in the brief moment he entered, he saw three figures lying on the floor, already ablaze. There was no time to help them.

He bolted back out, but as he did, the sound of collapsing beams rang in his ears. He leaped to safety, hitting the ground with a roll. Clark and Vance rushed in to fight the flames, but it was too late—Geoffrey’s hair and eyebrows were singed, and his face was burnt and blackened.

By the time the fire brigade arrived, it was too late to control the blaze. Despite their efforts with water hoses and sand, the fire could only be contained to the area it was already consuming. Blesertin was left to burn.

In the chaos, the bodies of three victims were carried out. The remains were barely recognizable, charred beyond belief. Their clothes were completely gone, and their skin was scorched so much that their faces could not be identified. But one of the bodies still wore a pendant. Although the pendant had been burned black, after some cleaning, the intricate design was still visible.

Priscilla collapsed to the ground, her body trembling with grief. For a long while, she could not make a sound. But then, with a primal cry, she screamed, “Braden…”

Vance, speaking to the authorities, heard her anguished wail and choked up. His voice cracked as he explained, “Because he was set to return to prison tomorrow, we had him keep watch tonight. For safety, we also sent two young servants with him. But when the fire broke out, they were all asleep. When the flames started spreading, they only woke up too late. My mother couldn’t walk, so Braden carried her out… those two servants were terrified, so Braden went back in to get them. We had just arrived when the fire grew much worse…”