Chapter 145 The Chase Through the Gardens
The first gunshot shattered the night like a thrown stone against glass.
It echoed across the estate grounds, sharp and unforgiving, followed by a ripple of panic that surged outward from the ballroom. Guests screamed. Guards shouted orders that overlapped and dissolved into confusion. Somewhere behind Cassandra, a woman fainted, her body crumpling as silk and jewels tangled on the marble floor.
Marcus Vale did not look back.
He tore free from the officers’ grasp with a strength born of desperation, elbowing one man hard enough to stagger him into a column. Before anyone could recover, Marcus lunged toward the tall glass doors that opened onto the rear gardens. His coat flared behind him as he ran, boots striking stone with frantic speed.
“Stop him!” someone shouted.
Cassandra reacted without thinking.
She ran.
Damian was already moving, pushing past stunned onlookers, his hand gripping Cassandra’s wrist for a split second as they surged together toward the exit. The glass doors burst open under Marcus’s weight, slamming back against the walls. Cold air rushed inside, carrying the smell of wet earth and rain.
Outside, the gardens stretched wide and dark, illuminated by scattered lanterns that cast uneven pools of light across hedges, gravel paths, and manicured lawns now slick with moisture. Rain fell steadily, turning the carefully tended grounds into a treacherous maze.
Marcus vaulted down the shallow steps and vanished into the shadows.
Cassandra’s shoes slipped on the wet stone as she followed, her breath already burning in her chest. Damian was beside her, his pace steady, his focus absolute.
Behind them, guards poured out of the estate like a broken dam, boots pounding, voices rising in a chorus of pursuit. Lanterns bobbed wildly as men fanned out across the grounds.
“He’s heading west!” someone yelled.
Another voice answered, “Cut him off at the hedgerow!”
The gardens, once designed to impress and soothe, now worked against them all. Tall hedges twisted into narrow corridors. Decorative statues loomed out of the darkness like silent witnesses. Low walls and flowerbeds forced sudden turns that broke momentum.
Marcus knew the layout.
He ducked into a hedge corridor, branches whipping at his face, mud splattering his trousers. He ran with the certainty of someone who had planned this escape long before the night began.
Damian cursed under his breath as they followed, thorns snagging his coat. Cassandra lifted her skirts just enough to keep from tripping, ignoring the sting as wet leaves slapped against her legs.
A second gunshot rang out.
This one struck stone somewhere nearby, sending a shower of chips into the air. Cassandra flinched instinctively, but Damian pulled her sharply to the side, pressing her against the hedge as another shot cracked through the night.
“Down,” he hissed.
They crouched low as guards surged past them, weapons drawn, shouting contradictory orders. Marcus’s accomplices had revealed themselves now, firing from behind hedges and garden walls to slow pursuit.
Rain soaked Cassandra’s hair, plastering it against her face. Her heart hammered so loudly she feared it would give them away.
When the gunfire paused, Damian glanced at her. “Can you keep running?”
“Yes,” she said without hesitation.
They broke from cover and sprinted again, following the direction Marcus had taken. Ahead, the gardens opened into a broader lawn bordered by towering hedges and ancient trees. Moonlight filtered through clouds, pale and uncertain, reflecting off puddles that dotted the grass.
Marcus emerged into view for a brief moment, his silhouette stark against the lighter sky. He glanced over his shoulder, eyes wild, then veered toward the far end of the grounds where iron gates led to the outer road.
“Marcus!” Cassandra shouted.
He did not slow.
Damian surged ahead, closing the distance. His longer stride gave him an advantage, but Marcus was fueled by panic. He fired blindly over his shoulder, the shot going wide, then stumbled as his foot caught in a hidden dip in the lawn.
He recovered quickly, but the moment was enough.
Damian lunged, tackling Marcus from behind. They crashed to the ground in a tangle of limbs, rolling through wet grass. Cassandra skidded to a halt beside them, breath tearing in and out of her lungs.
Marcus lashed out, striking Damian across the jaw. Damian grunted but held on, grappling for control of Marcus’s arms.
“You think this ends tonight?” Marcus snarled. “You have no idea what you’ve started.”
Damian drove his fist into Marcus’s ribs, knocking the breath from him. “It ends when you stop running.”
Marcus laughed hoarsely, blood on his teeth. “Men like me never stop.”
A whistle cut through the air, sharp and urgent.
Elias emerged from between two hedges with Rowan close behind, both of them soaked and breathing hard. Elias carried a pistol trained steadily on Marcus.
“Do not move,” Elias said. “It is over.”
Marcus’s eyes flicked to the weapon, then to Cassandra. Something calculating passed across his face.
“It is never over,” he said again.
He twisted suddenly, wrenching his arm free long enough to shove Damian off balance. Marcus rolled to his feet and bolted once more, this time toward a narrower path that led deeper into the grounds.
Damian swore and gave chase again, but the delay had cost them. Marcus disappeared into a section of garden thick with decorative arches and climbing vines.
The pursuit splintered.
Guards flooded the area, lanterns swinging wildly, voices overlapping in confusion. Orders were shouted, then contradicted. Rain intensified, turning the paths slick and treacherous.
Cassandra stood for a moment, scanning the chaos, forcing herself to think.
“He is not heading for the gates,” she said aloud. “He knows they will be guarded.”
Damian wiped rain from his eyes. “Then where?”
“The south gardens,” Elias said grimly. “They back onto the old service road.”
Rowan nodded. “And the outer wall is crumbling there.”
They moved together, cutting away from the densest cluster of guards. Cassandra’s lungs burned, her muscles screamed in protest, but she did not slow.
The south gardens were darker, older, less carefully maintained. Ivy choked stone walls. Lanterns flickered weakly, some already extinguished by rain. The air smelled of rot and wet earth.
A figure darted ahead.
“Stop!” Damian shouted.
Another shot rang out, striking a lantern and plunging part of the path into darkness.
Cassandra stumbled, catching herself on a stone bench slick with moss. Damian grabbed her arm, steadying her without breaking stride.
They burst into a clearing just as Marcus reached the outer wall. He scrambled up the loose stones with frantic speed, boots slipping, hands bleeding as he clawed for purchase.
Elias fired, deliberately missing but close enough to force Marcus to duck.
Marcus cursed and dropped back down, turning just as Rowan tackled him from the side. They hit the ground hard, rolling toward the base of the wall.
This time, Marcus did not escape.
Guards closed in, weapons raised. Elias kept his pistol trained on Marcus’s head as Rowan pinned his arms.
Marcus lay panting, rain streaming down his face, mud streaking his clothes. His eyes burned with fury and something else now, something like fear.
Cassandra stepped forward slowly.
“It is finished,” she said.
Marcus laughed weakly. “You think you have won because you caught me?”
She met his gaze. “I think you have lost because you cannot stop lying.”
He spat blood into the grass. “You still do not understand. I am not the end of this.”
Before Cassandra could respond, a sharp whistle cut through the rain.
Another man emerged from the shadows near the wall, hands raised, face pale. One of Marcus’s accomplices.
“Do not shoot,” the man said quickly. “I will talk.”
Elias shifted his aim to the newcomer. “On your knees.”
The man obeyed, sinking into the mud. His hands shook violently.
“They were never meant to escape together,” the man blurted. “Vale planned it that way. If he was caught, the rest of us would vanish.”
Rowan tightened his grip on Marcus. “Vanished where?”
“The docks,” the accomplice said. “Another meeting. Foreign buyers. Same as before.”
Cassandra’s stomach clenched.
“When?” she demanded.
“Tomorrow night,” the man said. “At the old warehouses by the eastern quay. He promised them the ledgers. What is left of them.”
Marcus glared at the man. “You idiot.”
The accomplice flinched. “I am done. I want out.”
Damian exchanged a glance with Cassandra. The truth settled between them, heavy and inevitable.
Marcus had been planning this escape all along.
The guards hauled Marcus to his feet, binding his hands tightly. He struggled briefly, then went still, his expression once more carefully blank.
“This changes nothing,” he said quietly to Cassandra as they dragged him away. “You will never be free of what you have uncovered.”
Cassandra watched him disappear into the darkness, rain swallowing his words.
Around them, the gardens lay in ruins. Trampled flowers, shattered lanterns, broken hedges. The cost of the chase was written plainly in the mud.
Elias approached Cassandra, his face grim but resolute. “The accomplice is telling the truth. The docks again.”
Damian exhaled slowly. “Then that is where this ends.”
Cassandra looked out toward the distant glow of the city, barely visible beyond the estate walls. Somewhere beyond the rain and the dark, the river waited, carrying secrets toward the sea.
“This time,” she said quietly, “we finish it properly.”
The rain continued to fall as guards escorted Marcus away and lanterns were relit one by one. The estate, once a symbol of wealth and control, stood exposed and shaken behind them.
And Cassandra knew, with a clarity that cut through her exhaustion, that the chase through the gardens had only been the beginning of the final reckoning.