My Unchosen Ex Chases Reborn Me (Soren and Fiona) novel Chapter 116

Chapter 116 Meeting At The Lake

Chapter 116 Meeting At The Lake

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Junbert lay close to the estate; that Xavier and Fiona met frequently had never surprised

Soren.

“Was it you who wrote that letter?” Soren asked, his voice as chill as the lake’s dawn breeze.

Cecilia’s lips curved into a measured smile. The expression was soft, almost warm, yet she let the silence linger long enough for its chill to settle around them. She offered no answer–only that inscrutable smile.

“Where is she?” Soren asked at last. His voice was even, his eyes unreadable, as though the question cost him nothing at all.

“You rejected Fiona’s engagement, so Grandma would never allow her to stand before you again,” Cecilia said, each word precise, almost courteous. “Still, rest easy, Lord Soren. Fiona is unharmed.”

Cecilia had gambled on Soren’s interest in Fiona; if he felt nothing, he would not have come to this meeting at all.

“So she is keeping her distance on purpose?” Soren countered, the faintest edge slipping beneath his calm.

Cecilia had no intention of revealing Fiona’s private thoughts. “Ask her yourself, Lord Soren,” she replied, voice light but unyielding.

She had given him enough. It was time to collect her own debt. “I only wish to hear news of the Third Prince,” Cecilia said, her gaze sharpening with intent.

Soren showed not the slightest surprise, yet he offered no secrets from Princess Helen’s household. “He and I seldom meet. I know nothing of his personal affairs,” he answered, polite but immovable.

“Tell me, and I will take you to Fiona.” Cecilia’s composure cracked just enough to reveal

urgency.

“I have no intention of seeing Ms. Fiona.” Soren’s refusal landed harder than she expected, final as a shut gate.

He did not linger.

Cecilia stood stunned. She had never imagined he might refuse a glimpse of Fiona.

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Chapter 116 Meeting At The Lake

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For a breathless moment, she saw only his chill–how quickly hope had warmed her when he agreed to come, how swiftly it froze again when she remembered he had brought Luna along.

Perhaps the delivery of skin–brightening pills had been nothing more than damage control for the bruise his own kiss had left.

Cecilia’s thoughts tangled into knots she could not loosen.

Then she noticed Luna beside him–radiant, flawless–and her feelings twisted further.

Seen up close, Luna’s beauty offered not a single fault. No wonder one plea from her had been enough for Soren to claim her. What man could resist the impulse to possess such perfection?

All the more so when Soren, in those days, had been young and fierce with desire.

“I am taking Luna through Yondale today, Your Highness. There is no need for you to accompany us,” Soren said, bowing with impeccable courtesy.

Helen knew he meant to hunt for clues inside the city, and she had prepared for that game. Her smile never reached her eyes. “Very well. you and Ms. Threadgold may go on alone.”

“If he favors Ms. Threadgold so deeply,” the Thankerton family’s patriarch remarked, “why have we not heard that she has been installed in his estate?” The possessiveness of men, he implied, should not have left her wandering free.

Helen gave a cold snort. “Even without a formal place, has anyone dared lay a finger on her?”

Everyone knew his principal wife was not yet chosen; for now, no arrangement could be declared.

Rumor said those who once coveted Luna had vanished or watched their careers collapse. Helen could not believe Soren’s hand was clean in that.

Years ago, Luna had served inside the Zonfrillo Estate, only to leave for Scarlet Boutique after a spy leaked state secrets. If Luna herself had been that spy, yet Soren still shielded her and kept her close, then Luna really was impressive.

The morning mist still clung to the tiled roofs of Yondale when a lone carriage eased into the main avenue, wheels whispering over rain–damp stone. Painted lacquer had dulled beneath road dust, yet the gilded trim betrayed travelers of means. The coachman kept a steady hand, guiding the horses like a man determined to remain invisible.

“Pierre’s official residence sits inside the city walls,” Quentin had reported after a night spent in borrowed clothes and whispered questions over weak ale in a farmer’s cottage just before dawn. “But because he quarreled with the local magistrates, the man rarely slept there. For

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Chapter 116 Meeting At The Lake

years, he preferred to live in the suburbs.”

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Finding proof of Pierre’s murder would be difficult, Quentin admitted, yet he was certain a second secret letter existed. Without it, the officials now trembling in their offices would never be so desperate to keep searching.

Somebody, somewhere in Yondale, had to know exactly where that hidden correspondence lay -and how dangerous its contents truly were.

Soren agreed. Pierre had been far too cautious to carry incriminating ink on his person. Whatever damning parchment remained was surely concealed inside the city that had both sheltered and betrayed him.

Quentin bent toward the coach’s curtained window, voice low enough for only Soren to hear. “Shall I put men on every alley and attic?”

Soren shook his head, calm as still water. “No. A hasty net only startles the fish.”

Today’s excursion served a different purpose: to measure the vigilance of each city gate. Once they mapped the rhythms of the sentries, escape would be a matter of choosing the weakest hinge.

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