My Unchosen Ex Chases Reborn Me (Soren and Fiona) novel Chapter 92

Chapter 92 Midnight Wine

Chapter 92 Midnight Wine

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Soren shook his head. “Because Luna works for me, I must never entangle her in personal affection. That would harm us both.”

Acting on emotion, he believed, was the surest blade at one’s own throat.

Something crossed his mind; his eyelids narrowed a fraction, and the subject fell away like an extinguished lantern.

He recognized the irony: taking Fiona as a concubine out of duty was, in truth, its own lapse into sentiment.

The realization cooled whatever warmth the wine had offered.

Callum, lost in his own reverie of Fiona, tossed back a full cup. The burn down his throat felt bracing, almost honest.

Regret prickled. If only he had met Fiona before Xavier’s return to Jexburgh.

Perhaps they would already be married, their household alive with children’s laughter.

Though the brew was gentle, enough cups blurred the edges of thought.

“If Fiona and I had a child,” Callum said, eyes bright with tipsy certainty, “that boy would master mounted archery before most lads sit a saddle. With our slingshot skills, we’d make his childhood nothing short of glorious.”

The boast tugged Soren into darker musings of children, not hypothetical but possible. Fiona’s tender smile toward young Landon… Was it because she pictured her own child? And was that child she pictured already as old as the boy tugging at her skirts?

Soren’s gaze snapped clear. “Ms. Fiona will never bear your child,” he said, voice cold as the night air rolling off the water.

Callum tipped his head, bewilderment furrowing his brows. “Why are you upset?” he asked, voice low enough to blend with the restless wind between them.

Soren halted mid–step. The silence he offered was sharper than any answer.

Callum gave a rueful half–laugh. “If I didn’t know you better, I’d swear Ms. Fiona was already

your wife,”

In Fiona’s previous life, she truly had been.

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Chapter 92 Midnight Wine

He knew, even so, that his current agitation made no sense.

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He frowned, then spoke in a measured, almost cold tone. “The Niven family isn’t the only one pushing Ms. Fiona to marry above her station. The Wagner household is counting on her snagging a powerful husband to haul them out of trouble. No matter how tight we guard against schemes, someone will find a crack. If things sink to the level of Matthew’s disgrace, do you think the Wagners won’t drag the Zonfrillo Estate down with them just to survive?”

He also understood one more thing: Fiona cared for nothing so fiercely as the Niven family.

Soren’s dealings with Fiona these past weeks had laid her nature bare. Every plan she drafted, every coin she earned, circled back to her kin. Thoughts for herself were almost nonexistent.

Even the silver streaming out of the Amber Room went straight to patch the Niven family’s ledgers instead of funding her own future. Soren began to suspect she refused to acknowledge him now because, in the previous life, she had harvested no benefit from the Zonfrillo Estate.

Perhaps she had gotten nothing out of the Zonfrillo Estate in her previous life.

No wonder she recoils at the idea of serving as my concubine in this life.

The thought drew a brief, ice–edged laugh inside his chest, then left behind a vague swirl of resentment he could not quite name.

Callum remained seated beneath the gusting night, the wind tugging at his cloak until reason slowly cooled his blood. Wiping a hand over his face, he replayed his own reckless words and felt a rush of shame. How could I face Xavier after this?

“Today I overstepped,” he said, guilt weighing every syllable. “I never should have dragged her name into our talk. Truth is, Xavier and she… they’re well matched.”

Soren did not linger. “We go to the palace at dawn. Best head back and sleep.”

Callum stared after him, confusion pinching his features.

Why snap at me out of nowhere?

Soren is impossible to read!

A few days later, when Elijah crossed paths with Soren again, he broached the subject with cautious politeness. “Do you happen to know any promising young gentlemen in your circle,

Lord Soren?”

Soren slid him a sidelong glance. “Depends on what counts as promising.”

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