My Unchosen Ex Chases Reborn Me (Soren and Fiona) novel Chapter 31

Chapter 31 Tension Beneath Silk

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Naomi approached Fiona that day, yet the warmth that once danced in her eyes had cooled. She paused at a polite distance, voice clipped. “Thank you,” she said, nothing more.

Gone was the affectionate form of address, the easy familiarity they once shared. In its place. lingered a formality that pricked like early frost.

Fiona understood at once. Word of the meeting between Hannah and Alexander at Frostenden Temple had clearly reached Naomi, where they were scheming about Soren and Roxanne. In Naomi’s mind, Fiona must have seemed an interloper between childhood sweethearts.

A flicker of annoyance rose in Fiona. From beginning to end, the affair had nothing to do with her, yet here she was cast as the villain of someone else’s romance.

Still, she could not fault Hannah. Her grandmother loved her sincerely, although duty to the Niven family often forced her to make broader calculations.

From Hannah’s view, an alliance with the Zonfrillo family might shore up the family’s fortunes–but only if Soren’s heart could be won. Otherwise, any betrothal would be a hollow

show.

Naomi’s smile snapped back into place as she turned to Roxanne. “Roxanne, that embroidered pouch you gave me? I passed it to Soren. When will you make me another?”

At once, Fiona recalled her earlier collision with Soren. The pouch had swung at his waist- Roxanne’s handiwork, no doubt. She was no fool; Naomi’s words were aimed squarely at her.

If Fiona had any discernment, she would never wedge herself between a pair of inseparable childhood friends.

Great heavens, I’ve been wronged! Fiona’s heart cried. My future husband is already chosen in my mind. I have never, ever measured Soren as a bargain husband, let alone plotted to steal him.

Roxanne gave a gentle nod. “If you like, I’ll stitch another the moment I return home. Did you tell Lord Soren I was the one who made the pouch?”

Naomi had, in fact, claimed the needlework as her own. Yet before Fiona, she could not admit it. She lifted her chin. ‘Of course, I told him.”

A blush crept up Roxanne’s neck. “Then… What pattern would you like this time?”

Naomi launched into a lively list–colors, knots, tassels, even the exact shade of silk thread. Roxanne listened carefully, committing every detail to memory.

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14:43 Fri, Oct 10

Chapter 31 Tension Beneath Silk

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Finished, Roxanne turned back to Fiona with unfailing courtesy, “Fiona, you must be tired of standing. Let’s find a place to sit.”

Fiona’s opinion of Roxanne climbed another notch. Whatever the undercurrents, Roxanne never allowed anyone to feel excluded.

As for Naomi–straight–spoken, not malicious–Fiona harbored no grudge. Besides, antagonizing the prince’s sister would be foolish.

She let her gaze travel around the garden and finally settled on Harriet Fuller, the merchant’s daughter.

In her past life, Vincent and Harriet had weathered endless twists before securing an engagement–only for Vincent to die in battle and Harriet, unwilling to remarry, to end her own life. Fiona silently wished them a long, peaceful union this time.

The Fuller family now stood among the most prominent in Jexburgh. Speak of wealth, and most minds leaped first to their name. From silk and emerald for the Imperial Palace to tea and cloth for roadside travelers, their fingers touched nearly every trade.

Yet Duflana prized farmers above merchants. However rich a trader might be, he rarely entered an official’s regard.

Harriet’s invitation that day owed partly to her remarkable talents–enough to earn admiration even in aristocratic circles–and partly to Alexander’s gratitude. The Zonfrillo army’s provisions had benefited from Fuller coffers, and he was not a man to forget a favor.

For their part, the Fullers needed a powerful ally to safeguard their fortune. Mutual advantage, neatly aligned,

Fiona had not come to the Zonfrillo Estate that day simply to enjoy Naomi’s birthday festivities.

A few days earlier, she had floated the idea of leasing just two storefronts, yet Meryl had declined without even blinking. If two shops were already too much in her aunt’s eyes, asking for more was pointless. Still, Fiona could not abandon her plan. The Niven family bled silver on every side–not only because Joanna mismanaged the household accounts, but because Vincent’s future campaigns would soon demand resources no one had yet set aside.

Fiona carried plenty of money–making ideas. What she lacked was a partner–someone bold enough to turn those ideas into tangible profit. In her mind, Harriet, the quick–witted daughter of a merchant household, fit that role better than anyone.

She drifted to Harriet’s side, skirts brushing the painted tiles, and settled onto the lacquered bench as though it were the most natural destination in the world. “Harriet,” she said, pitching

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Chapter 31 Tension Beneath Silk

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her voice softly so the surrounding chatter would swallow the words before they could travel.

Harriet looked up, surprise flickering across her eyes before she mastered it with practiced grace. A controlled smile lifted the corners of her mouth. “Ms. Fiona,” she replied, inclining her head in a polite greeting.

Because of Vincent, Harriet had always nursed a quiet hope of drawing closer to Fiona. Fiona’s sudden interest, therefore, felt less like a coincidence and more like an unexpected door swinging wide.

For a moment, the conversation paused. Across the courtyard, an armored officer strode toward Naomi. The birthday girl’s entire face lit up, her joyous cry ringing clear. “Tristan!”

That man was Tristan Zonfrillo, the eldest son of General Sebastian, who was the Prince’s elder brother. Though already past thirty, he had rushed back from the frontier solely to celebrate Naomi’s coming–of–age, a gesture that proved how tightly the younger generation of Zonfrillos still clung to one another.

Fiona watched the reunion with a pang of memory. In her previous life, Soren and Tristan had shared only chilly nods, the distance between them as sharp as a drawn blade. Soren back then had been colder–fond of Naomi and Penelope, yes, but sparing with every syllable, every smile.

She could not say what trials had etched that frost in his bones, yet the image hovered in her thoughts like breath on winter glass.

With a thoughtful tilt of her head, she murmured to Harriet, “Naomi’s cousins adore her, every one of them.”

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