My Unchosen Ex Chases Reborn Me (Soren and Fiona) novel Chapter 113

Chapter 113 Silent Embers

必零

45 Free Ceine

After trudging down from the mist–clad mountain, Fiona slipped into her bath. Warm water and jasmine steam curled around her, and the crimson welt along her skin melted away the moment the skin brightening pill dissolved on her tongue.

Toweling her hair, she bounced onto the bed. “Cecilia, you’ve been hiding miracles. Why didn’t you hand me that wonder sooner?”

Guilt flickered across Cecilia’s eyes; she could hardly admit the bottle had arrived from that young lord of the Zonfrillo Estate. Still, she marveled at Soren’s extravagance. A single skin- brightening pill cost enough to purchase a townhouse. He had sent an entire bottle without blinking.

Cecilia leaned in, her voice as soft as the brush of silk. “Tell me, do you think Mr. Xavier would ever agree to be the other man for you?” Everyone knew Soren would sooner shatter than bow to such a role, yet Xavier–with his steadier temper–might just entertain the notion.

Fiona had long ago grown accustomed to the winding lanes of her cousin’s thoughts, so she let the question float past without stirring the surface of her composure.

Some weeks later, Xavier passed through Yondale while escorting captured mountain bandits. Finding a spare hour, he called, and Cecilia–never one to miss her cue–posed the very same tease to his face.

“Ms. Fiona, tell me–should I accept being the other man?” Xavier’s words were for Cecilia, yet his dark, unwavering gaze belonged only to Fiona. The steady weight of that look made the hearth–fire crackle as though the room itself held its breath.

Fiona hurried to smooth the moment. “Cecilia is only teasing you, Mr. Xavier.” Her tone was light, but a faint flush traveled from collarbone to cheek.

“No,” Xavier said, calm yet immovable. “I will be the principal–and the only–husband. Nothing less will do.” The quiet certainty in his voice landed with the finality of a seal pressed

into wax.

Fiona considered him, a wistful note slipping into her voice. “A man is naturally his wife’s only spouse, yet a woman is seldom allowed to speak the word ‘only‘ before her husband.” Each syllable carried the weary knowledge of custom.

In this world, men openly planned extra wives, concubines, even mistresses, and society rewarded their ambition. Should a woman ask for exclusivity, the same society labeled her envious, small–minded–unfair was too mild a word.

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Chapter 113 Silent Embers

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“Because I wish to be the only one,” Xavier answered, “I will spend this lifetime with only one partner–no rooms left over for others.” His vow seemed to steady even the restless shadows on the wall.

Fiona’s eyes flickered, emotions crossing like clouds over water. Fine words could shift with the wind, and yet–just now–they rang beautifully true.

“If you can hold to that, your future wife will rejoice,” she said, voice courteous, measured.

Today we speak only of ideals, Mr. Xavier–no offense meant.”

“I understand, Ms. Fiona.” A faint smile touched his mouth, more gratitude than mirth.

Xavier had paused in Yondale only while transferring bandits to Jexburgh. Even so, he returned with his arms full of neatly bundled timber–the sort of cuts a craftsman might covet.

“Mountains grow dull between skirmishes,” he explained, placing the fragrant wood at her feet. “I found these finer pieces and thought you might pass an idle hour carving them.”

“I’m curious,” Fiona said, fingertips brushing the bark. “How did you discover I enjoy such little projects? Not even Mother noticed that.” Wonder gleamed behind her composed exterior.

Only after her marriage, when the days stretched unbroken, had she taken up wood–carving— first to tame boredom, then to calm the heart.

Xavier hesitated, as though tugging a memory into the light. “At the autumn hunt,” he said at last, “I saw you crouched alone, shaping a scrap of wood whenever conversation lagged.” His voice softened, respectful of the secret pastime.

She had tried to carve a rabbit that day, but abandoned it when the blade slipped. Xavier’s attentive eye, now revealed, added a silent measure of warmth to her regard for him.

“I have enjoyed your tea,” he said, preparing to depart. “Business calls. I shall visit again, Ms. Fiona, when duty loosens its grip.”

As he turned, Fiona’s gaze traced polished armor plates that caught the lamplight. She remembered the robe he had worn before–darned, a shade too thin, speaking of frugality more than pride.

The Luthor Estate, she guessed, spared little coin for him, and his official stipend likely flowed back home instead of into his own pockets.

He might not mind, but in the halls of power, he would meet sharp eyes that weighed cloth

before character.

“Mr. Xavier, would you tell me your measurements?” Fiona asked, tone careful, as though

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Chapter 113 Silent Embers

handling something fragile yet important.

Understanding dawned in Xavier’s eyes, turning them gentle. He listed his sizes–shoulder. chest, sleeve–each detail offered without reserve, like trust laid bare.

“So. Fiona, do you plan to sew for Mr. Xavier?” Cecilia laughed, delighted. When a lady’s heart was stirred, it was always stitches and silk, or a handkerchief embroidered in secret.

Fiona had agreed to Xavier’s request only because it would make future dealings easier. Yet the moment Cecilia tossed that teasing remark into the air, a warm flush spread up Fiona’s cheeks before she could stop it.

“Thank you, Ms. Fiona.” Xavier clasped his hands in a courtly salute. He did not argue. He simply accepted the favor as though the arrangement were the most natural thing in the world and strode off down the corridor, boots whispering across polished stone.

“Cecilia, honestly. Men never bother with such pecking orders. Say things like that, and people will start gossiping about the Princess Royal’s family.”

“Gossip? About the Princess Royal’s estate?” Cecilia laughed–a low, musical ripple that set the light in her eyes dancing. “Who would dare? Besides, have you never wondered what it is like to keep a handsome companion? Henry was Grandmother’s gift to you. How you choose to… entertain him is entirely in your hands.”

“Why would you say something like that, Cecilia?”

Cecilia only smiled, a secret curving on her painted lips. Her fingertips brushed the corner of her own mouth as though checking for a forbidden taste. “Because I picked Henry for you myself.”

A dull throb gathered behind Fiona’s temples. She understood now. In Yondale, Cecilia sat high above the crowd–beautiful, adored, accustomed to men showering her with admiration. The way she had glanced at the fading kiss marks on Fiona’s skin, utterly unruffled, proved she viewed such intimacies as casual trifles.

Had it been Lilith who walked in and found those marks, the poor girl would have gone sheet-

white with horror.

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