Reborn: The Duke's Obsession-Chapter 277 - Two Hundred And Seventy Seven

Knock, knock, knock.

The sharp, official sound echoed through the unnervingly quiet manor at Willow's Creek. The butler, an elderly man whose loyalty had been to the house rather than its temporary occupant, opened the heavy front door. A man in a well-tailored dark coat stood on the step, his expression polite but firm.

"I am here to speak to the lady of the house," the man said, his voice devoid of warmth. "Lady Anne."

The butler bowed and allowed the man into the foyer. The house had been a place of tense, lonely waiting for months, and any visitor was an event. A maid was sent to call Anne down from her rooms.

In a few minutes, Anne descended the main staircase, one hand resting protectively on her fully protruding belly. The pregnancy had taken its toll, but it was also her only remaining asset, and she carried it like a shield.

"My lady," the man bowed as she reached the bottom step.

"Who are you? What's going on?" she asked, her eyes narrowing as she took in his expensive coat and the official-looking bag in his hand. He was not a tradesman.

"I am the legal representative of the Carson estate," the man replied smoothly. He did not waste time with pleasantries. "The Carson family is hereby taking this property back into their custody."

Anne stared at him, her mind refusing to process the words. "What did you just say?" she asked, her voice a sharp, disbelieving whisper. "Are you telling me to leave?"

The man simply bowed again as he opened his bag and handed her a crisp, folded piece of paper. "This is a formal Notice of Revocation of Tenancy. You have two days to vacate the premises, my lady," he said, his tone flat and impersonal. He bowed one last time, turned, and walked out the door, his business concluded.

The heavy door clicked shut, leaving Anne standing in the silent foyer, the paper clutched in her hand. For a moment, she was frozen. Then, a surge of panicked rage broke through her shock. "Wait!" she cried, starting to run after him.

She didn't get more than two steps. A sudden, sharp pain shot through her lower abdomen, and she gasped, her forward motion stopping abruptly. She bent over, clutching her stomach as the contraction seized her. The maids, hearing her cry of pain, rushed to her side.

"My lady!" one of them cried, holding her arm to steady her.

Anne looked up, breathing heavily as the pain slowly subsided. But the man was gone. The courtyard was empty. She was alone with the notice of her eviction and the undeniable reality of her collapsing world.

"What do I do?" she whispered, her voice trembling with terror. "What do I do now?"

~ ••••• ~

Three Days later…

At the Carson estate, a somber quiet had settled over the grand drawing room. Dowager Duchess Elena sat in her usual chair, her posture as straight and unyielding as ever, but her face was etched with a deep, weary sorrow. Lyra sat in the chair beside hers, her hands clenched in her lap.

"So, there is no more progress on Eric?" Elena asked, her voice quiet, breaking the long silence. 𝕗𝐫𝐞𝕖𝕨𝐞𝗯𝚗𝕠𝘃𝐞𝚕.𝐜𝗼𝚖

Lyra sighed, the sound heavy with a grief that had become her constant companion. "The doctor said the treatment will have to continue," she replied, her gaze fixed on the unlit fireplace. "He is stable, for now. But he doesn't wake. I'm worried… I'm worried he might get worse."

"Don't say that!" Elena said, her voice sharp with a pained insistence. "We need to be strong. We must be strong for the children. For Delia, Owen, and for the baby."

Lyra just sighed again, unable to find any more words. The hope she had been clinging to was beginning to feel thin and frayed.

Their quiet grief was suddenly interrupted by a commotion from the grand foyer.

"My lady, you can't just barge in like this!" the butler's flustered voice could be heard, full of panicked protest.

"Get out of my way before I push you!" came a sharp, familiar woman's voice.

Elena and Lyra exchanged a look of weary disbelief just as Anne appeared in the doorway of the drawing room. She was not announced. She was not invited. She was simply there, a storm of fury and desperation, dragging a large, heavy trunk behind her. The butler trailed after her, his face a mask of apology.

Elena simply raised a hand, a silent signal for the butler to leave. He bowed gratefully and retreated, closing the doors behind him.

Anne dropped her trunk with a loud thud that echoed in the quiet room. Without asking for permission, she settled herself onto one of the plush sofas, as if she owned the place.

Lyra looked at her, her grief momentarily overshadowed by a cold, rising anger. "Anne," she said, her voice dangerously calm. "Why are you here?"

Anne returned the question with a look of pure, insolent disrespect. "What do you mean by 'why,' Mother?" she asked, her voice dripping with a sarcastic sweetness.

"I told you not to ever call me that," Lyra replied, her voice as sharp as ice.

"Philip told me to stay at Willow's Creek and wait for him," Anne said, launching into her tale of woe as if she were the only victim. "And then he goes and gets himself into all this trouble. It's not my fault."

Lyra's control snapped. "That was not 'trouble,' Anne!" she shouted, her voice ringing with a mother's righteous fury. "That was a crime! He tried to murder my son! He tried to murder the Duchess!"

"I didn't know he would do such a thing, either!" Anne shot back, her own voice rising. She placed a hand on her stomach, her ultimate defense. "But the child didn't do anything wrong! This baby is innocent in all of this."

Lyra scoffed, a sound of pure disgust.

Elena, who had been watching this exchange in a heavy, formidable silence, finally spoke. Her voice cut through the argument like a blade. "So what do you want?" she asked, her gaze fixed on Anne.

Anne turned her attention to the Dowager Duchess, the true seat of power in the room. This was the moment she had been planning for her entire journey here. She lifted her chin, her expression one of arrogant demand.

"I want to be kept here," she declared, her voice ringing with a misplaced sense of entitlement. "As the mother of the Carson's heir."

The words hung in the air, audacious and shocking. Lyra stared at her, her mouth slightly agape at the sheer nerve. Then, a sound erupted from her. It was not a giggle or a chuckle. It was a loud, humorless, cutting peal of laughter that echoed off the high ceilings—a sound of pure, incredulous mockery.