My Unchosen Ex Chases Reborn Me (Soren and Fiona) novel Chapter 119

apter 119 Silent Manor

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Someone might have ransacked the place before she reached Yondale, yet during the past month, not a single footprint disturbed the dust.

Inside her chamber at the hillside manor, Fiona loosened the silk ties of her gown, the fabric whispering over skin scented with honeysuckle. A faint scrape of tile against wood pricked her ear. Her fingers stilled, but her voice remained calm. “Come out,” she said, the order floating as steady as candlelight.

Soren dropped from the eaves with the soundless confidence of a night cat. She had just slipped the gown from her shoulders; one ivory curve of collarbone caught the lantern glow before she drew a robe around herself.

The bruise–dark kiss marks mentioned in their clandestine letters had faded, leaving no trace.

They had, after all, lived as a married couple once before; tonight, neither wasted breath on embarrassment.

Soren wore black traveling garb tailored for darkness–the declaration of a man already committed to the night’s work.

“So the interrogation of Pierre’s concubine was nothing but a smokescreen, a way to keep every Yondale bureau blinking at the city gate while you slipped out to do the real investigation,” Fiona said, turning to meet his eyes.

Fiona had never believed Soren capable of empty gestures; Rebecca Yule, the concubine, could not possibly be his true prize. The only treasure worth such risk, she suspected, was the Indictment Scroll. That belief had drawn her back to the manor tonight in the hope their paths would cross.

“And you are hardly idle yourself,” Soren replied, a hint of amusement threading his tone. “You laid the groundwork long ago, so if you leave the city, everyone assumes you came here only because you fancy the scenery.”

He understood her better than anyone: she already knew the shape of the conspiracy. Trailing her meant saving hours of blind searching, so the moment he slipped beyond the gate, he headed straight for her lodgings.

“Being attached to the Princess Royal’s family gives me a certain cloak of innocence,” Fiona said. “Nobody questions my wanderings.”

The Indictment Scroll also listed Helen’s misdeeds. Were the princess to discover it, she would burn the parchment before the ink cooled. Others plotting against Helen, on the contrary,

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Chapter 119 Silent Manor

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would happily use Fiona to fetch it, never suspecting her motives. Only Fiona–reborn into these events–knew the scroll had vanished and that Helen now bore sins far heavier than truth.

“Mr. Lawson’s cottage is simple. Henry Thankerton took me inside once, so I know the layout. Come with me, Lord Soren.” She pretended indifference that day, luring Henry with tales of wandering ghosts until he got curious himself. Only then did she “accompany” him for a visit.

For her part, she had avoided entering alone–first because a lone woman risked danger, second because premature intrusion might spook unseen watchers.

“It appears Henry keeps close company with you these days,” Soren observed, his words edged with something unreadable.

Fiona offered no reply, letting the silence settle like dew.

“Let’s go,” Soren said, ending the moment.

The outskirts lay empty; after nightfall, even the stars felt distant, and the darkness was thick enough to swallow a hand. They reached the garden wall of the cottage, where Fiona hesitated; climbing would cost precious minutes.

Without a word, Soren wrapped an arm around her waist and lifted her to the crest of the wall. For balance, she caught his sleeve, fingers light as moth wings; the moment they landed inside, she released him.

“The cottage is so small you can see every corner from the doorway,” Fiona whispered. “When I came before, I saw no place to hide anything–although the Zonfrillo Estate taught me secret tunnels are always an option.”

“What exactly are you hoping to find, Ms. Fiona?” Soren asked, sounding almost casual.

“Whatever you’re seeking, Lord Soren, I seek it too.”

“I have come for one reason only–to determine how Pierre died.” Soren’s tone was so quiet it almost disappeared into the night, yet a steely edge glinted beneath the restraint. He knew any mention of Helen drew fierce loyalty from Fiona. This time, the path that carried him forward clearly forked away from hers, and both of them felt the distance widening with every unspoken word.

“Given our current predicament, Lord Soren, you might consider working with me instead,” Fiona suggested, her voice pitched low, the invitation no louder than the brush of silk in the dark.

He neither agreed nor refused. A faint dip of his chin–nothing more–served as reluctant

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Chapter 119 Silent Manor

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consent.

They slipped through the courtyard gate and into the abandoned residence. Soren struck a flint tube; a bead of flame blossomed at its tip, throwing restless shadows across cracked floor tiles and sagging doorframes. He passed the glowing tinderstick to her.

“May I keep two of yours?” Fiona asked. She had already noticed that his flints burned twice as long as the common sort and sparked with a single flick–perfect for covert work.

Soren answered only with a cool sidelong glance.

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