My Unchosen Ex Chases Reborn Me (Soren and Fiona) novel Chapter 180

Chapter 180 The Match Concludes

Callum hummed in agreement, then offered the paper–wrapped sweets resting in his palm. “A palace attendant pressed these on me. You ladies usually enjoy such things–keep them.”

Naomi’s arms were full of a heavy cloak, so Fiona extended her hand to accept the gift.

“Thank you, Mr. Callum,” she said, polite and measured.

Callum’s smile flickered. “I noticed how intent you were during the match, Ms. Fiona. Do you study polo?”

He kept a respectful distance. Flirting with another man’s future bride was beneath him- especially when Xavier was working for the Zonfrillo Estate. He only wished to discuss the

game.

Women rarely possessed knowledge about polo, so her keen attention had genuinely surprised

him.

Fiona cast a quick look at Soren, then answered honestly. “When I was little, I watched my brother play a few rounds. I’ve never cared to try it myself.”

“Your brother and I played each other often,” Callum recalled. “You were still tiny–you may not remember. He always brought you along. Soren and I formed a team. Whenever your brother lost, you’d burst into tears. That always annoyed Soren.”

At ten years old, Soren had thoroughly disliked the tear–stained little duchess trailing after her

brother.

The nostalgia of those childhood matches sparked fresh interest in Callum’s eyes.

He had once ruled the polo field so completely that nobody even bothered to debate the point; back then, his mallet was law, his stallion thunder, his very shadow a promise of victory.

“Once, the crowd was so thick you mistook Soren for Vincent,” Callum said, laughter rumbling in his chest. “You wrapped your tiny arms around Soren’s leg and called out Vincent’s name. The instant he looked down, you burst into tears.”

Yet that day, Soren did not leave the girl there. He swept Fiona into his arms, marched straight through the crowd, and carried her toward Vincent. Back then, she was terrified of Soren; she clung to his shoulder without daring to squirm, while Vincent–believing his little sister had been wronged–took a swing at Soren, and the two brothers wound up exchanging blows.

“I carried you over to your brother,” Soren explained, looking at Fiona.

Fiona did not spare Soren a single glance. Still smiling, she turned to Callum instead and said, “Mr. Callum, you have an excellent memory.”

Soren pressed his lips together, eyes flicking toward her. She seemed to save all her praise for anyone but him.

“Well, today’s polo match reminded me,” Callum admitted, a touch of embarrassment warming his cheeks. “On any ordinary day, I would never recall such trivia.”

Naomi, noticing Soren’s gaze, said, “Callum, we should get going.”

“Go on,” Callum said, yet his eyes lingered on Fiona for a heartbeat longer.

The moment the sisters left, the two brothers found themselves alone, the hush between them thick and awkward.

After a time, Callum cleared his throat. “Strange that no one has spoken about Fiona and Xavier’s betrothal,” he murmured.

Soren’s reply came out frosted. “And where did you pick up that gossip?”

It’s bound to happen sooner or later, Callum said. “He’s talented, she’s beautiful–they make a fine pair.”

A faint irritation darkened Soren’s eyes. “Fiona might find someone else a better match.”

“Who, then?” Callum pressed.

Soren cast him an unreadable look.

“General Yeats’s son, Laurence, perhaps? Though I suppose he’s not as suited as Mr. Xavier,” Callum ventured.

Soren let out a rare, icy chuckle; clearly, his elder brother lacked all discernment.

Callum released a heavy sigh. “Are you in a foul mood today? You sound downright aggressive.”

“You’re mistaken, Callum. Go back and finish the match,” Soren said without turning.

When Fiona and Naomi reached their seats, she noticed Xavier glance her way.

She offered him a polite, delicate smile; he answered with one just as gentle,

Fiona admired the man’s restraint. He advanced and retreated with perfect measure, never pressing, always radiating a quiet, selfless tolerance.

On the field, the contest tightened. Though Soren reined in his ferocity, his calculations remained razor–sharp. Vincent’s finesse held its own, and Callum’s footwork blossomed with each charge, leaving the two teams locked in a dead heat.

When the dust finally settled on the makeshift field, Soren’s blue team scraped out a win by the thinnest margin–a single heartbeat of triumph that made every onlooker suck in a breath of disbelief.

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