My Unchosen Ex Chases Reborn Me (Soren and Fiona) novel Chapter 104

Chapter 104 Name One

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Fiona lifted her tea cup, letting the warmth steady her nerves before she spoke again. “As for Serena’s abrupt departure from Jexburgh, I fear the Fourth Prince secretly pressured Mr. Prescott as well.”

Soren, seeing she had pieced together more than most, merely refilled her empty cup with fresh tea. He offered no further comment.

After a reflective pause, Fiona warned him gently, “Lord Soren, you would do well to guard yourself against the Fourth Prince.”

“You have been frail lately,” Soren replied, ignoring the political caution. “This is Pearl Jasmine Tea. It nourishes the blood and is good for your health.”

Fiona set the cup down with care. “Roxanne may yet decide the Fourth Prince suits her.”

Soren’s eyes narrowed. “If I wish to marry Ms. Roxanne, I hardly need your reminder.”

To him, her remark felt like someone joking about his own woman consorting with another–a needle slipped under the skin.

Fiona straightened, hands folded in her lap, and chose silence.

Soren pressed his fingertips to his brow. “The Zonfrillo Estate and the Thankerton family are not linked in the way you imagine.” He left the details unspoken; after all, Fiona remained an outsider.

Accepting the boundary, Fiona let the matter drop. She had no wish to linger. “I should be going,” she said, rising with quiet grace.

“I will escort you,” Soren answered at once.

“Please see to your own affairs, Lord Soren. I know the way,” Fiona replied, politely but firmly.

He stood anyway, composure smooth as marble, making it unmistakably clear that refusal was not an option.

Fiona let the argument die on her lips and fell into step beside him, the previous spark between them snuffed out.

They walked under a screen of winter–bare poplars, silence so heavy their footfalls seemed muffled, as though the air itself refused to disturb their uneasy truce. Lost inside circling thoughts, she missed a loose flagstone. The ground lurched, her balance slipped–then a firm

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Chapter 104 Name One

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hand closed around her elbow, heat seeping through cloth as Soren pulled her back from the

brink.

“Thank you.” His palm lingered, warm against the inside of her arm, yet Fiona kept her gaze fixed on the ground, unwilling–or unable–to meet his eyes.

“That day.” Soren said, voice suddenly calm, “I pushed you away and told you to wait for the antidote. You clung to me instead, begged me to ease the fire first, and now you pretend none of it happened?”

The sudden chill in her answer–or lack of one–scratched at Soren’s pride. He had never imagined she could despise him so quickly, and the realization burned like salt in an open cut.

After all, it had been she who reached for him that night, she who whispered desperate pleas into his mouth. The memory refused to loosen its grip on him.

Fiona halted, then continued walking without a single syllable of defense.

That night had unfolded in a fever–dream haze. It began with Fiona sliding into his arms, cooing, her lips brushing his, coaxing his tongue until the taste of her erased coherent thought. She pressed him backward, urging him onto the mattress, breathless laughter lacing her plea that he help her, that he be kind, that he relieve the ache tearing through her veins.

More than once, he had tried to refuse, shaking his head, but each denial died when she murmured “Hubby” again, voice sweet as wine and just as intoxicating.

At last, their bodies knit together in a long, blazing kiss. Only when her fingers slid to the knot of his belt did sense return, and he caught her wrists.

“Hubby, please–give me,” Fiona whispered, eyes shining with tears, every syllable tremulous with need. The sight cut straight through him, yet he tightened his grip. Dreamveil had an antidote; surrendering would only drag them further past propriety, a mistake he refused to

repeat.

He had never known a woman could wield desire like that–eyes shimmering, voice breaking -until blood surged into his own cars. Even so, he anchored himself to resolve, refusing to lose the last scrap of restraint.

Fiona said quietly, “What else can I do? Must I force you to marry me and make you miserable?”

“I was fully conscious,” Soren replied, meeting her gaze. “I chose every touch I gave you. If responsibility must be taken, it should be mine–and the choice of what happens next rests with you.”

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He was not the sort of man who dared act yet shrank from consequence.

The instant their lips met, he had considered where that path might end.

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In the life before, she had already belonged to him, and the notion of taking her as his wife had never repelled him.

Sometimes he even imagined a child–an echo of their shared blood–laughing between them, and he found himself wishing that child could cross the gulf of fate into this lifetime.

“The man I marry must, first, love me with his whole heart and never abandon me for profit. Second, no other woman may stand at his side. Third, he must treat the Niven family sincerely -take my father, my brothers, and my grandmother as his own and shield them as I would.”

She did not list the terms idly. She was prepared to meet them herself, and so she expected no less from the partner she entrusted her life to.

Yet she knew–perhaps too well–that Soren could not grant those things.

Soren’s brows drew together, surprise flickering across his face. He had not imagined anyone could remain so naïve in a world that constantly demanded compromise.

Soren had never believed the world overflowed with fairy–tale devotion. Life, as he understood it, was simply two people sharing the same roof, finding the other bearable, and counting that small mercy as fortune. Yes, a trace of fondness tugged at him when he looked at Fiona, colored by dim memories of a former life. But to call it unshakable love–no, that would be a lie he refused to utter.

And as for staking his own future for the Niven family’s gain—that was a sacrifice far beyond his present willingness. He might add polish where it cost him nothing, but to bleed beside them in hardship? Impossible—at least for now.

He let go of her wrist, fingers falling away like snowmelt from stone. “Everything you have asked for,” he said, voice flat as still water, “is a promise I am unable to give–at least today.”

Fiona lowered her lashes, the gesture as quiet as a sigh. “Then, Lord Soren, you owe me nothing. I never intended to demand accountability. Once married, unraveling the knot is no simple task–it only breeds resentment.”

Soren’s mouth curved, half scorn, half curiosity. “Tell me–how many people can live up to such purity?”

“Someone can,” she replied without hesitation. She remembered how, in the life she once forfeited, love for this very man had made death and duty feel weightless. In this life, she would grant that same fierce loyalty to her future husband. Someone, somewhere, must feel as

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she did.

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“Name one.” Soren countered, every word sharp as flint. “Point to a soul so hopelessly devoted.”

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