My Unchosen Ex Chases Reborn Me (Soren and Fiona) novel Chapter 177

Chapter 177 Sorrow And Resolve

Chapter 177 Sorrow And Resolve

Xavier listened in silence.

Without warning. Meryl’s sobs ignited into raw fury.

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Beating her fists against Callum’s chest, she screamed, “If you never loved her, why didn’t. simply send her home? Why hound her until death felt kinder? Give my Fiona back to me! I have already lost my son–now your estate has devoured my daughter too!”

Xavier turned his head. The stately matron he once knew was gone; in her place crouched a broken woman, shoulders caved, pain carving deep canyons through her face. His hands curled into fists as he fought to contain the storm inside him.

A maid hurried forward, blocking her blows. “Madam, you’ve mistaken him. This is Mr. Callum, not Lord Soren.”

Callum steadied her trembling frame. “Madam, please… accept our deepest condolences.”

Meryl slid to the ground, tears raining onto the cold flagstones. “Soren, if you didn’t want Fiona, you should have sent her back,” she whispered, too consumed by grief to realize she was addressing the wrong man. “You discarded what was our family’s greatest treasure–my very life.”

After Fiona was laid to rest, Meryl clutched Soren’s sleeve, her smile twisted and desperate. “Soren, you must be pleased now that Fiona no longer burdens your heart, mustn’t you?”

Xavier tore himself from the memory, unwilling to drown in it any longer.

As he prepared to leave, he caught sight of Fiona in a riverside gazebo. She rose, brushed her skirts, and offered him a gentle smile.

Emotion surged inside him like spring thaw. He found himself smiling back, softer than he had ever smiled before.

She was alive–whole and radiant. In this lifetime, he vowed, he would guard that radiance with everything he had.

Fiona had assumed that after she suggested they give each other a chance, Xavier would seek her out often. Yet several days slipped by without a single summons to Clearsky Pavilion.

Back at Sweetbriar Academy, the ladies clustered in excited knots, chattering about the upcoming polo match. Their thrill lay less in the sport itself than in the promise of openly admiring noble young men–and, of course, the rare opportunity to enter the palace grounds.

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Chapter 177 Sorrow And Resolve

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Naomi waved Fiona over. “These are the practice solutions and sample problems my brother organized for you,” she said, sliding her seat closer. Jealousy prickled behind her smile; Soren had never shown such careful patience on her behalf.

Even when he was teaching mounted archery–a subject that demanded muscle memory and nerve–he rarely repeated himself more than a handful of times. If she still failed to grasp the trick, he simply grew impatient and left her to figure it out alone. Yet on the afternoon he tutored Fiona through her mathematics drills, every trace of that usual impatience vanished. He leaned in, spoke softly, and corrected her pencil strokes with an almost reverent care, as though the numbers themselves might shatter if he raised his voice.

Dorothy lifted her head, eyes bright with curiosity. “Naomi, would you mind letting me take a look as well?” she asked, the request light as birdsong yet edged with eagerness.

Naomi could not grant permission on her own. She glanced toward Fiona, deferring the decision to her elder cousin. When Fiona offered a small, approving nod, Naomi turned back to the circle of waiting girls. “All right, then–let’s work through it together,” she said, her voice airy but decisive.

Fiona welcomed the chance to share. Her own arithmetic skills were steady but unremarkable, and she knew several ladies here possessed sharper minds. If one of them managed a perfect score, it would bring honor to their entire class.

No lady, in living memory, had ever achieved that flawless mark.

“Soren has left Jexburgh,” Naomi remarked, speaking ostensibly to Fiona but loud enough for every lady at the table to hear. “He’ll likely return only a day or two before the polo match.”

Any mention of Soren acted like a dropped pearl–every gaze snapped to it at once. Naomi rarely spoke of her elusive brother, guarding news of his travels like state secrets. Her unexpected openness sent a hush of fascinated whispers around the room.

They say the prize for this year’s riding event is the last hairpin the late Emperor ever gifted the Dowager Empress, Dorothy chimed, cheeks flushed with excitement. “Imagine winning such a treasure and presenting it to the lady you admire! My brother is desperate to claim it and parade the thing before his wife.”

After all, what man did not yearn for the woman he loved to glance his way with renewed admiration?

A newly admitted lady–one whose name Fiona had not yet caught–leaned forward. “Your brother’s odds aren’t hopeless. Most of the skilled young lords without engagements won’t bother competing; a love token means little if there’s no sweetheart to receive it.”

Mindy nodded vigorously. “Exactly, Lord Soren, Mr. Callum, Mr. Xavier, even Mr. Vincent—

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Chapter 177 Sorrow And Resolve

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none of them are betrothed, so they’ll likely sit out. Your brother may well seize the moment if he trains hard enough.”

Naomi shot Fiona a sideways glance, but Fiona merely bent over her worksheet, pencil moving in measured, unhurried strokes, the entire conversation sliding past her like wind over still

water.

The morning they were to enter the Imperial Palace, Fiona woke before first light. Lilith, thrilled by her first visit to the palace grounds, spent half an hour slipping in and out of gowns, searching for the perfect shade of spring pink. By the time the two girls emerged from their chambers, the sun was already tipping toward mid–morning.

Outside, Vincent waited in a fitted riding jacket, shoulders squared, a quiet impatience coiled in his spine.

Fiona offered him a teasing smile. “You’re unusually invested in this competition. Tell me, who do you plan on giving the prize to, should you win?”

A fleeting shadow crossed Vincent’s eyes. He did have someone in mind, but he refused to keep stoking Harriet’s fading hopes–so the nature of the prize hardly mattered to him.

All that mattered was victory.

“The prize doesn’t interest me,” he said, voice flat as river stone.

Fiona studied him, her tone softening. “Titles and trophies mean little. If your heart is set on someone, then fight for it. Finding a person to cherish is rare, Vincent. A lifetime is long- carry a regret through all those years, and the weight never eases.”

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