My Unchosen Ex Chases Reborn Me (Soren and Fiona) novel Chapter 297

Two weeks slipped quietly away. The household lanterns were just beginning to glow faintly as supper drew near when another letter arrived, its envelope marked with Zephyr’s seal. The paper was damp, evidence of a long and arduous journey, sweat still clinging to its surface.

“If you want to understand who Spencer truly is, ask Cornelius. He has a way of charming people. As for me, I’m not as close to Spencer as Cornelius is.”

Fiona’s eyes narrowed at the biting tone of that sentence. It was clear now—Spencer had once served Zephyr, but now, somehow, he was aligned with Cornelius. The bitterness in Zephyr’s words was unmistakable, like smoke curling from a dying fire.

She continued reading, but then paused, her gaze snagged on the next line of ink.

“Soren’s body has been taken to Broadmoor. Who would have thought the lady of Havenford Estate would show such unwavering strength? The very night she heard of his death, she mounted a horse alone and rode north.”

That lady was none other than Hillary.

The mention of Hillary yanked Fiona’s thoughts back to Dasshire, to the memory of Soren’s unexpected kiss—gentle, almost innocent, yet etched into her mind with the precision of an artist’s chisel.

If closeness can exist without desire, perhaps that was why the memory was so vivid.

She found herself pondering how this new twist of fate might either bind or sever the fragile connection between Soren and Hillary.

Only after digging through her recollections did she recall the rumors that had circulated in the capital—whispers that Hillary had indeed ridden to Broadmoor around that time. Yet in her previous life, she had never linked that journey to Soren’s supposed death.

A woman willing to risk her reputation and safety to follow a coffin must love with a fierce, unyielding determination. Still, just as before, the Zonfrillo family had silenced every murmur of Soren’s passing; the world remained oblivious, exactly as it had been in the past.

Meanwhile, Southmere treated Fiona kindly. Her father retained his position, a circle of protectors surrounded the household, and the gnawing hunger she had known in her former life never crossed the threshold.

Occasionally, Xavier would slip through the side gate for a secret visit. Their conversations never touched on romance but rather on the subtle maneuverings of court politics—quiet chess moves played beneath the ornate brocade of noble life.

On a few evenings, Fiona thought she caught glimpses of Soren in the twilight beyond the peach trees. She would blink, steady her breath, and find only shifting shadows. Was it memory, longing, or a ghost? She couldn’t say for sure.

News of Emperor Aldric’s illness arrived on a night shattered by rain. Thunder rumbled over the tiled roof while messengers splashed mud across the courtyard stones.

After dinner, Fiona wandered along the covered walkway with Meryl when Nicholas Baldwin, their house steward, hurried toward them, escorting a peddler. “Ms. Fiona, this man has brought the tea you requested from the Fragrant Leaf Teahouse.”

The peddler bowed low. “Ms. Cierra asked me to deliver the first roast of the season.”

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