My Unchosen Ex Chases Reborn Me (Soren and Fiona) novel Chapter 138

pter 138 Unspoken Reconciliations

Cecilia’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears. “Fiona, 1–I’m so sorry.”

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“Grandmother raised you,” Fiona answered quietly, “so naturally you keep nothing from her.”

After the incident, she had pieced everything together. Helen’s sudden belief that she nurtured feelings for Soren could only rest on two facts–Fiona had sneaked out to see the young lord a few times, and Cecilia had dutifully relayed every sign.

That very first afternoon, when Cecilia had noticed the faint bruise Soren’s kiss had left on Fiona’s neck, she must have carried the tale straight to Helen.

In truth, Fiona had no one to blame but herself. She had never suffered for trusting family, and so she forgot that blood alone did not make a confidant; she and Helen had met only once before.

Cecilia’s voice trembled.

“I never knew what Grandmother was planning. I was only afraid you’d suffer for it, Fiona. She’s so powerful–I thought she could win you some measure of justice.”

Fiona sighed inwardly.

With a towering matriarch like Helen presiding, Cecilia had mimicked some of that commanding presence; at first Fiona had even leaned on her.

Yet beneath the borrowed bravado her cousin was painfully guileless–more a younger sister than the sophisticated elder she pretended to be.

Cecilia’s voice cracked. “Fiona, are you never going to trust me again?”

Fiona’s resolve melted. Seeing Cecilia so distraught, she found she could no longer stay angry.

She had, however, not set eyes on Helen since.

On a mild, sun–shot afternoon, Helen hosted a gathering of poets.

“Fiona still refuses to come out and walk among the guests?” Helen asked.

Agatha Strong shook her head, silver hair swaying against her dark shawl. The scandal had been too great for a city–bred girl like Fiona to accept overnight.

“Better to let her keep to herself for a while,” Agatha said gently. “Given time, the young lady

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Chapter 138 Unspoken Reconciliations

will sort her heart out on her own.”

There was nothing else to be done. Helen sighed. “And nothing yet from Jexburgh?”

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A steward bowed. “Lord Soren will only just be arriving in Jexburgh these days, Your Highness. He’ll need time to devise a plan that harms the Zonfrillo Estate the least. I have, however, heard that Mr. Vincent should return to Jexburgh in a few months.”

Helen smiled wryly. “Vince and Soren have never managed to play in the same sandbox, but I rather hope his return might draw him closer to the Zonfrillo Estate.”

With that, Helen saw the poet’s society to its graceful end, then made her way toward the west

court.

Fiona was perched on a swing, book open across her lap. She saw Helen from the corner of her eye and made no move to rise.

Yet to Helen’s discerning eye, the girl did not look like someone mourning a stolen innocence.

Helen stepped closer. “I misread you, Fiona. I assumed you felt something for the boy as well.”

Fiona closed her book without looking up.

“He does not care for me. Even if you force his hand, nothing will change. The moment he remembers being maneuvered by you, he will turn his anger on me as well.”

The real barrier in her heart had nothing to do with that particular scheme.

“He may resent me, but he won’t resent you,” Helen insisted.

For all she knew, the third son of the Zonfrillo family might, at this very moment, still be thinking about the girl.

Fiona could not share the certainty everyone else seemed to hold. On the day everything began, Soren’s eyes were edged with frost, his misdirected anger brushing over her like a sudden winter gust.

She had still not understood why he had demanded her from Benedict. It could not be affection. Soren’s mind, forever veiled in complicated gears and counterweights, had never been simple, never straight.

It felt instead like some inexplicable sense of duty.

That single word–duty–made her pause.

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Chapter 138 Unspoken Reconciliations

Could it be that Soren somehow remembers he once stood as my husband in the life I left behind?

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