My Unchosen Ex Chases Reborn Me (Soren and Fiona) novel Chapter 93

Chapter 93 Scarlet Boutique

Chapter 93 Scarlet Boutique.

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“I might gain another inch or two, but nothing drastic,” Fiona answered, measuring her own height against the doorframe in her mind.

“Height is the lesser concern. I am far more worried your bodice will refuse to fasten.” Her glance flicked to the gentle curve beneath her daughter’s bodice, frank as sunlight.

Heat flooded Fiona’s cheeks, turning them the color of summer peaches.

“The embroiderer expects us today,” Meryl went on. “Come with me and let her take your measurements properly.”

Among noble families, gowns were almost always commissioned from Scarlet Boutique. Fiona had visited once with Harriet and remembered how the floor manager’s gaze lingered a second longer than courtesy required–recognition dawning.

At their arrival, the manager bowed low. “Mdm. Meryl, Ms. Fiona, this way, please.”

The deeper one ventured into Scarlet Boutique, the more opulence unfolded: vaulted ceilings painted like dawn skies, crystal lamps showering gold light, and rows upon rows of seamstresses whose needles flashed like minnows. Fiona, ever practical, mentally tallied the revenues and could not help thinking that war truly devoured coin.

In the innermost chamber, a young woman sat poised as though carved from moonlight. Brows arched like newborn crescents, lips the tint of ripe cherries, skin smooth as ivory, eyes clear as springwater. Her waist was willow–slender, yet her figure curved in perfect proportion, an artistry that stole breath.

Even Meryl’s practiced composure slipped; admiration softened her gaze.

The woman rose with a slight curtsy. Her voice, sweet and mellow, drifted like honeyed tea. “Ms. Fiona, would you step forward so I may take your measurements?”

When Fiona approached, she caught a delicate hint of osmanthus–subtle, lingering, impossible to forget.

“Madam, how did you learn of my work?” the seamstress asked, turning to Meryl as easy conversation blossomed.

Meryl smiled. “Mrs. Linton spoke of a gifted embroiderer here named Luna. She said you are so sought after that most patrons wait months. Today is the first time I have heard your name, yet here we are.”

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Chapter 93 Scarlet Boutique

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Luna’s lips curved in a modest smile. “I have been in Jexburgh only a few years. Poor health limited how much work I could accept, so my reputation travels slowly.”

Meryl’s curiosity stirred. “Where do you hail from, Luna?”

Her needle–fine fingers stilled. “Broadmoor,” she said softly. “Years ago, I was taken by the Steppe Nomads. I escaped, half–starved, and a noble family rescued me. In time, I found my way to Scarlet Boutique.”

Memory beckoned like a shadowed corridor, and Luna followed it.

She saw herself then–ragged, barefoot, skin whipped raw by wind and cruelty–staggering out of the Nomad encampment with other fugitives. Hunger gnawed so fiercely she could scarcely think.

By sheer chance, she collided with a column of Duflanan soldiers marching home to Jexburgh. Their banners snapped overhead, bright against the sky, an omen that her nightmare might finally end.

Beneath the rolling dust of the road, the young lord reclined inside his carriage like a distant deity, eyes half–lidded, expression unreadable. That single look, cool as moonlit water, commanded instant reverence.

“Remove her at once!” the lieutenant roared, voice cracking over hoofbeats. “We cannot miss our window–keep the column moving.”

Yet Luna sensed a door had been left ajar. Ragged though she was, her beauty still glimmered beneath the grime, a coin tossed toward fate.

Luna dropped to the mud before the carriage, shoulders shaking with soft, helpless sobs. Knowing her helpless look would stir his sympathy, she bit her lip. “Please, take me with you. I swear, my honor remains untouched. Bring me along, and I will devote myself to your

service”

Soren’s mouth twitched, a cold, almost amused curve. He studied her in silence, as one might turn a rare blade toward the light, weighing possibilities without letting a single thought

escape

Then, without fanfare, the lieutenant returned, hoisted her onto an empty saddle, and rode on. The gesture required no explanation. It could only have been the young lord’s unspoken command.

Not until she reached Jexburgh did Luna learn the stranger’s name: Soren Zonfrillo, heir to the Zonfrillo Estate.

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Chapter 93 Scarlet Boutique

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With a tiny shake of her head, Luna chased the memory away and returned to the present.

Back then, the revelation had terrified her. She had known he was important, but she had not dreamed he was the prince’s son.

Penelope, struck by Luna’s dexterous hands, once considered placing the girl at Soren’s side to look after him on his northern campaigns. Circumstances, however, let the idea drift away like smoke.

“I cannot say who pulled you from danger, yet he must be a man of uncommon justice,” Meryl observed. In Jexburgh, countless officers traveled to and from Broadmoor. She could not possibly guess which of them had brought Luna back.

“You are right, Madam. He is a good man, and I owe him more than I can ever repay.”

Fiona stretched her arms wide while Luna measured her waist, silent and thoughtful. On a previous visit, Harriet had mentioned Luna, so Fiona already knew the mysterious rescuer was Soren.

Nevertheless, in her previous life, she had never even heard of him, nor understood what thread might bind their fates.

Whatever secrets Soren wished to bury, no amount of cleverness on her part could pry free.

them

And that was fine. As long as none of it touched her brother or the Niven family, she would spare no more thought on the matter.

“Tell me, Ms. Threadgold, are you already promised to someone?” Meryl asked, warmth softening her features.

“I’m past twenty now, Madam. Finding a suitable husband grows harder each year. The ones who want me do not move my heart. The ones I admire seldom look my way. So I have stopped worrying. Here at Scarlet Boutique, I earn enough silver coins, and a single woman can live quite happily on her own.”

Meryl nodded in agreement. For a young woman without rank or family in the capital, carving her own path was wiser than marrying a stranger for security.

As one of the city’s finest seamstresses, Luna treated each gown like scripture. Even measuring Fiona, she moved inch by deliberate inch, fingers deft and respectful.

“Ms. Fiona, you’re truly remarkable. Among all the girls who have come of age, few stand as gracefully as you. Making clothes for a beauty inspires my very best work.”

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