My Unchosen Ex Chases Reborn Me (Soren and Fiona) novel Chapter 219

Chapter 219 Rival Hearts Collide

Chapter 219 Rival Hearts Collide

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Callum had surrendered his own pursuit of Fiona once, guided by conscience. He refused to stoop to treachery.

Soren, however, remembered the day Fiona called Xavier “Hubby,” and an involuntary crease sharpened between his brows.

“Look, Xavier’s feelings for Fiona are hardly imaginary,” Callum said more gently. “I wrote to him not long ago.”

“His reply made it clear-he is interested in her. Don’t be so confident.”

Soren’s expression cooled; the warning landed like grit between his teeth.

Besides, apart from his lineage, Xavier matches you in every other respect, Callum said, his voice mild yet edged with warning. “Anyone with eyes can tell Fiona holds a measure of affection for Mr. Xavier.”

“That is nothing but idle gossip, Callum,” Soren replied, narrowing his eyes until they were slits of winter steel. “You would be unwise to treat every rumor that drifts through the capital as gospel.”

Even if Xavier and Fiona did favor one another, what of it?

Until vows were exchanged and ink dried on a marriage register, the matter remained fluid. Pressure applied at the right time, whether threats, incentives, or subtler levers, could still pry the two apart.

“And what of the gulf between the Zonfrillo Estate and the Princess Royal’s Estate?” Callum asked, brows drawn tight.

“The Princess Royal’s Estate may not stand for long,” Soren answered quietly. “Once Mr. Niven earns His Majesty’s favor, nothing will lie between Fiona and me.”

“Then watch that she does not whisper poison in your car after dark,” Callum muttered.

“I am not so easily led astray,” Soren returned, the words clipped and absolute.

Callum exhaled, unconvinced. “Then mind your own steps,” he said, already imagining the day soft words at a pillow might undo his brother.

Drawn by the Amber Room’s tangled profits, Fiona at last made her way up the moonlit stairs of Clearsky Pavilion.

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Chapter 219 Rival Hearts Collide

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“Lord Soren, do you keep any beverage here?” Fiona asked-not from thirst, but because sipping calmed restless feelings.

“What would you like to drink?” Soren lifted his eyes from the papers scattered before him.

“Plain water will do,” Fiona decided.

A moment later a servant arrived, balancing a porcelain cup filled with crystal-clear water.

“If, one day, you and I part on terrible terms, can I still draw silver from the Amber Room?” she asked, seeking assurance rather than permission.

“In that case I will hand you the Amber Room’s deed outright,” Soren answered.

“Promises lose shine with time,” Fiona said, studying him. “No one can guarantee what the future writes.”

“Give it to you now, and I must worry you will repent as well,” Soren replied, a rare hint of humor softening his mouth.

Perhaps he smiled because she had, against the odds, walked into Clearsky Pavilion at all.

“If the Amber Room opens à branch in Brorchester, how will profits cross two borders, and who cleans up if trouble strikes?”

“Then we will need the local ruffians,” Soren observed.

“How about Princess Aurora?” Fiona mused after a breath. They had spoken during the autumn hunt and shared a modest rapport.

Princess Aurora was no cloistered Duflana royal; she walked streets, cultivated ties. With her aboard, Fiona could still control the Amber Room even if she and Soren someday became adversaries.

Soren easily read her strategy, yet for now he chose not to deny her.

“I would never refuse your request,” Soren said openly. “Truth be told, I always meant these shops for you.”

Fiona lowered her lashes, crafting a careful veil of shyness that softened every sharp edge of her beauty, A delicate flush rose beneath her powder, and after a tiny pause she murmured, “Thank you.”

Soren leaned forward, voice low and steady, “Have you been drinking the prescription Dr. Carter prepared for you?”

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Chapter 219 Rival Hearts Collide

“I have,” she replied, a hint of resigned humor touching her tone. “Mother watches me swallow every last drop, morning and night.”

“Has it helped at all?” he pressed, concern threaded through the quiet syllables.

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