My Unchosen Ex Chases Reborn Me (Soren and Fiona) novel Chapter 174

Chapter 174 The Bargains

Soren’s mouth twitched, but his eyes remained distant.

She had yielded only for her brother’s sake, and he knew it.

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Yet he needed that concession too, to measure the weight of his own heart–whether her absence would ache, whether wanting her meant something more than momentary intrigue.

Fiona let her fingers glide across the strings. A hush–soft melody floated into the chamber, coaxing the very walls to breathe more slowly.

When Soren finally drifted into sleep, she stilled the instrument. A thought whispered that his indulgence of Vincent might be bait for leverage, a counterstroke in the quiet duel between Broadmoor and the frontier legions.

She pushed the worry aside and reached for the book he had left open.

Dry theories of warfare lined its pages like rows of dusty spears.

Sleep crept over her as well, and within minutes she slumped. Soren lifted her in his arms and laid her on the bed, and she never stirred.

Quentin stepped inside and found Soren perched at the bedside, studying the sleeping girl with almost scholarly fascination. Just a mouth and two eyes, nothing rare at all–what spell did she cast on him?

Shame and fury scorched Quentin; not long ago, he had dared dream of courting her himself. His judgment must have been devoured by some mangy stray.

Quentin cleared his throat. “Lo-” He caught himself, duty overruling discomfort.

Soren sent him a frosty sideways glance.

“Mr. Luthor is in the estate. He says the matter is urgent and he must see you.”

In the study of Radiant Lodge, Xavier had barely finished a cup of tea when Soren appeared, clad in a dark–cyan brocade robe unadorned by any crest.

“Lord Soren,” Xavier said, rising and brushing an imaginary crease from his sleeve.

“A day off, Xavier?” Soren asked in an even tone.

“I must report to the palace later,” he replied. “The Sixth Prince searched Pearl Terrace but

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Chapter 174 The Bargains

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found no sign of the target leaving the city. Likely the Fourth Prince spirited the person away; the figure seen that day was merely a screen.”

“Fourth Prince is under watch,” Soren said. “Whoever acted for him is no amateur. I suspect you have heard whispers, Xavier, and chosen silence.”

“The evidence in that man’s hand concerns only small misdeeds of the Sixth Prince,” Xavier answered. “It threatens neither the Zonfrillo Estate nor the prince’s standing. You have just been confined by Princess Helen. The estate should avoid fresh turbulence. Better to let the scroll reach His Majesty and force the Sixth Prince to lie low.”

That aligned perfectly with Soren’s own design. It was why, on Pearl Terrace, he had watched Zephyr’s drama unfold without lifting a finger.

“So, you intend to shield Vincent?” he asked, a cool curve teasing his lips.

Lamplight spilled across the study, throwing Xavier’s silhouette long against the cedar screens. He stood with arms folded, every line of him honed and deliberate. “Mr. Niven may have concealed that man for the Fourth Prince, but he never wounded the Zonfrillo Estate. Why, then, must you spread an umbrella before the rain, Lord Soren, forging chains where none yet exist?”

The implication hung unmistakably in the air: Soren’s so–called grave injuries had never been mere happenstance.

At first, yes, Vincent had held Soren’s secrets in a clenched fist, using the young heir’s clandestine feelings for Fiona as leverage. But the wounds sustained afterward? Soren had opened those cuts himself.

His real target had never been Vincent at all. Every drop of blood spilled had been an offering, a signal meant for one person only–Fiona.

Soren’s eyes were half–lidded, unreadable, as he allowed Xavier’s words to settle like drifting ash. “If you were standing where I stand, Xavier, you would have made the same choice.”

Xavier released a slow breath, the kind saved for arguments already rehearsed in solitude. “Power, Lord Soren, is not the whole of life,” he began, voice gentler than expected, “though I have spent years advising men who believe otherwise. In lofty halls, you can almost taste the loneliness. In the end, what they long for is not another title, but the wife won amid the scramble for advantage and the modest warmth of a private home. know you have no plans to touch Vincent yet. That is why I’ve come to escort Ms. Fiona away this very night.”

A muscle tightened along Soren’s jaw, the only crack in his composure.

The silence between them thickened, weighted with rival claims neither man cared to voice.

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Chapter 174 The Bargains

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