My Unchosen Ex Chases Reborn Me (Soren and Fiona) novel Chapter 126

Chapter 126 Midnight Intrusion

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Chapter 126 Midnight Intrusion

Whatever stirred in Luna’s heart was something Fiona chose not to explore.

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Back at the west court, Fiona slept deeply until morning, when a chill woke her. A weight settled in her chest. Too much had happened that night–someone might try to kidnap her to threaten Princess Helen. She whispered, “Pearl.”

Silence answered.

Pearl never strayed at night; at the softest call, she should have materialized, half–asleep, at the bedside.

Dread pooled in Fiona’s lungs. She lay still, listening, then fumbled for the lamp and coaxed a thin flame to life.

The lamplight jumped–and there was Soren, seated on the low couch, face hidden in shadows.

Fiona hauled the quilt to her collarbone and kept silent.

Soren studied her in unreadable quiet, then strode forward and lifted her chin with the barest brush of his knuckles–a gesture as arrogant as a crown.

“Lord Soren, have some restraint.”

“That maid of yours lacks vigilance. You should dismiss her before it costs you.”

“What have you done to her?”

“Only given her a draught. She will wake soon.”

“Pearl is mine to judge, not you. Kindly keep your opinions from my household.”

“A stranger might mistake her for your half–sister, you indulge her so.”

“You know nothing of Pearl’s worth. Spare me these shallow judgments.”

Soren lounged beside the low table, one hand idly circling the rim of a wine cup, candlelight sliding over his knuckles. He let out a soft, mocking laugh and asked, “Did spending the afternoon so cozily with Xavier leave you no warmth for me tonight?”

“Xavier is hardly the only charming man in Jexburgh. Soon there may be Henry, Laurence, perhaps even more. The world is full of handsome lords, and I like them all,” Fiona answered

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12:15 Mon, Oct 13

Chapter 126 Midnight Intrusion

without flinching, her smile bright and brittle.

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He arched a brow, amusement thinning into something sharper. “Such heat in that voice.”

She dipped her head, the bow of her lips still curved in ceremonial sweetness. “I would never dare find fault with you, Lord Soren. If you keep me waiting half an hour, a day, or two days, I must endure. I am the one who needs your favor, after all.”

He studied the flicker of feeling behind her eyes. “I was bathing at the time,” he said, voice low as water sliding over stone.

Fiona answered lightly, “If you say so, it must be true.” Yet the tilt of her chin declared she believed none of it.

Soren looked at her. “If you don’t mind looking at a man’s body, Ms. Fiona, I’ll be sure to invite you in next time.”

“So generous, Lord Soren. Why not disrobe now and spare us the future trouble?” She laughed, the sound bright as shattered glass. This is not about love. It is the old ache of the girl I once was— humiliated, hidden, forgotten. Even after forgiving, the sting sometimes returns, sudden and sharp as winter air.

Soren stilled, expression unreadable, as though weighing invisible scales in the dim room.

Fiona’s smile turned silken and cruel. “High–born, pampered, skin like cream–are you afraid your form cannot compare with men who train every day?”

In truth, he spent long months in the army camp; his build outshone most. She taunted him deliberately, savoring each barb.

He answered with quiet confidence, “Tell me, Fiona, whom do I fail to surpass?”

She let the question drift, eyes gleaming. “Oh, many, many men.”

His eyes narrowed. He braced one knee on the mattress and drew her hand to the knot of his belt. The muscles beneath the fabric were iron. She tried to pull back, but his grip held firm, unhurried and absolute.

“Many men? For instance… Xavier? Do you claim I fall short of your Mr. Xavier?” His tone slid between teasing and threat.

“I never said his name,” she replied at once.

He watched her closely. “Guarding him so fiercely?”

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