My Unchosen Ex Chases Reborn Me (Soren and Fiona) novel Chapter 52

Chapter 52 Unspoken Yearnings

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Chapter 52 Unspoken Yearnings

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At the time, her sudden appearance had surprised him; the next heartbeat, he accepted it, for few in the empire could rival Fiona’s beauty.

He knew full well the sight before him no longer belonged to him, yet the stubborn corner of his heart refused to look away.

From the darkness behind the carriage came his restrained call, little more than a breath. “Ms. Fiona.”

Fiona had been about to follow the palace maid into the shadowed corridor.

At the sound of her name, she turned, candlelight sliding across her face while his silhouette remained a tall outline against the moonlit court.

“May the New Year keep you safe,” Soren said, the formality of the blessing barely masking something softer underneath.

Time has shifted, people have changed, yet the words remain–their echo makes my chest ache with a past that no longer exists.

And may the same peace find you, Lord Soren, she answered, voice calm while her fingertips. tightened imperceptibly around her cloak.

The Zonfrillo carriage rumbled through the sleeping streets toward the estate. Inside, Callum stole several sidelong glances at Naomi before clearing his throat. “Why aren’t you wearing a flower hairpin tonight?”

Soren, seated opposite, lifted his eyes at the unexpected question but remained silent.

“Why are you asking about my hair ornament?” Naomi asked, eyebrows arching in amused disbelief.

Callum blinked, as though surprised by his own words. “I just wondered. Florence looked rather nice with it.”

“But Florence wore jade, not flowers,” Naomi reminded him. “So whose hairpin caught your eye?”

She sifted through her memories of the banquet: the consorts‘ ornate blooms, Roxanne’s heavy peony, and Fiona’s delicate orchid resting against a simple knot of hair.

“Was it Fiona’s orchid you admired?” she pressed, warmth coloring her tone; the piece had

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Chapter 52 Unspoken Yearnings

fascinated her, too.

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If only conversation with her weren’t so awkward, I would have asked which shop crafied that tiny

marvel.

Color crept along Callum’s cars; the uncomfortable thrill of having his private preference uncovered left him momentarily wordless.

“There’s no harm in saying you like it,” Naomi continued, oblivious to his turmoil. “Compliments are no offense.”

Despite her assumptions, Naomi genuinely appreciated Fiona’s quiet elegance.

Having recovered, Callum cleared his throat again. “Ms. Fiona’s hairpin is exquisite. If you want one, I’ll buy it for you–it suits a young lady like yourself.”

“Finally!” Naomi’s eyes sparkled. Callum usually gifted her only swords, bring her for mountain treks, and cricket fights. Those were fun, yet she was still a lady who loved pretty things.

Callum frowned. “I’ve gifted you plenty of things!”

“When you marry, Naomi warned, wagging a playful finger, “if you only spar with your wife. she won’t be pleased. Dresses, jewels, rouge–you must provide them.”

Callum pressed his lips together; matters of cosmetics were a foreign battlefield.

When I do wed, I will not let my wife feel lacking. Even if I must study every shade of rouge, I’ll learn.

A true man proves his worth by the tenderness he shows the woman destined to share his roof. his table, and his battlefield of daily life.

Halfway down the winding slope, she stopped, skirts swishing against dusty boots, and shot a vexed look over her shoulder at Soren. “Soren, why didn’t you just say that courtesan was on your payroll instead of some playhouse courtesan? I actually believed it.”

Only later, once the party reached the foot of the mountain, did Naomi learn from one of Soren’s attendants that the so–called courtesan was nothing of the kind–merely an agent hired to hunt information.

Of course, Soren would never fancy men. How quick I was to doubt my own blood.

Soren merely lifted an eyebrow, voice smooth as silk. “I never once declared him a courtesan,” he said, the faintest smile suggesting he had enjoyed the misunderstanding and whatever scandal it promised.

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Chapter 52 Unspoken Yearnings

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Naomi huffed, the tip of her nose wrinkling. “You let him string me along,” she protested. “You could have ended the farce instead of standing there like a theater–goer in the cheap seats.”

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