Reborn To Change My Fate-Chapter 157 - Hundred And Fifty Seven

The sky was turning a bruised purple as the sun dipped below the horizon. The festival lights were starting to twinkle in the distance.

As they left the market square, walking hand in hand back to where the carriage waited, Marissa saw a figure standing in the shadows.

It was Ian.

He stood stiffly by the carriage door, his hand resting nervously on the hilt of his sword. He wasn’t relaxed like the other drivers or footmen. He looked like a soldier on guard duty in enemy territory.

Marissa frowned. She felt a prickle of unease crawl up her spine.

"What is he doing here?" she thought to herself. "He was supposed to be guarding the perimeter. He was supposed to be invisible until we called for him."

Derek saw him too. His grip on Marissa’s hand tightened slightly. The playful smile he had worn all afternoon vanished, replaced by the hard, serious expression of the Grand Duke.

They approached the carriage.

Ian bowed low. He didn’t wait for formalities.

"Your Grace," Ian said. His voice was low and urgent, meant only for their ears. "I just received word. There is trouble."

Derek stepped closer. "What kind of trouble?"

"A death," Ian reported grimly. "A dancer died in the dance hall. At the Golden Swan."

Marissa and Derek looked at each other. The joy of the festival and the flower wreath evaporated instantly. 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝙚𝙬𝓮𝙗𝒏𝙤𝒗𝙚𝙡.𝒄𝒐𝓶

"A death?" Marissa thought. "In my establishment? Just after I took ownership?"

Derek didn’t waste time asking questions in the street. He opened the carriage door. He helped Marissa inside, his movements efficient but gentle. He made sure she was settled on the velvet seat.

Then, he turned back to Ian. He gestured for his guard to come closer.

Derek leaned in, whispering directly into Ian’s ear so the driver wouldn’t hear.

"Take all the things I bought today to the estate," Derek ordered quietly. His eyes flicked to the piles of small packages—the jewelry, the beads, the wooden earrings—that were stacked in the back of the carriage. "Don’t let anyone see them. Take them to my study."

He paused, his eyes hard.

"And ask the goldsmith when the locket I commissioned will be ready," Derek added. "I need it soon. It is important."

Ian nodded, understanding. Even in a crisis, Derek wanted to protect the memory of their date. He wanted to protect the surprise.

"When you are done," Derek continued, his voice dropping to a command, "meet us at the Golden Swan."

Ian nodded his head once. "Yes, Your Grace."

Derek climbed into the carriage. He sat opposite Marissa. He slammed the door shut with a heavy thud.

"To the Golden Swan," he commanded the driver. "Now. And do not spare the horses."

The carriage lurched forward violently. The wheels clattered loudly on the stones as they sped through the darkening streets.

Inside, the silence was heavy. The playful mood was gone, replaced by the familiar tension of crisis.

Marissa sat still. Her hands were clasped in her lap, crushing the silk of her dress. She looked out the window, watching the city blur by.

"How?" she wondered. "How could a dancer die? Was it an accident? Was it a fight?"

Derek reached across the space between them. He took her hand, squeezing it tight.

Marissa squeezed back. She looked at him. His face was grim, his jaw set. He was ready for a fight.

They arrived at the establishment.

The scene was chaotic. It was a nightmare.

A large crowd had gathered outside the main doors of the Golden Swan. It wasn’t the happy crowd of the festival. It was an angry, shouting mob. They spilled out into the street, blocking the way.

The carriage stopped. Marissa didn’t wait for the footman. She didn’t wait for Derek. She opened the door and stepped out.

The noise hit her like a wave. Shouting. Crying. Accusations.

She hurried toward the entrance. Her cream dress flashed in the torchlight, the red roses embroidered on the bodice looking like splashes of blood in the flickering light.

As she pushed through the crowd, she heard voices. Snippets of conversation that made her blood run cold.

"The Grand Duchess suddenly brought Mira inside," a woman was saying loudly to her neighbor, pointing at the doors. "I saw her! I saw her with my own eyes! She dragged the poor girl by the arm!"

Marissa froze for a second. "Me?"

"Exactly," another voice replied, filled with righteous anger. "She took her right into the room with Lord Basil. Everyone knows what he is like! He is a beast!"

Marissa faltered. She looked around, confused. Her heart began to race.

"But I was at the festival," she thought frantically. "I was with Derek. I was eating corn by the river. How could anyone say I was here?"

She felt Derek’s hand on her back, guiding her, pushing her forward. They broke through the crowd and entered the main hall.

It was a wreck.

Tables were overturned. Chairs were smashed. The floor, usually polished and clean, was stained with spilled wine and something darker.

And in the center of the room, a space had been cleared. A body lay there, covered by a white sheet. It was small. Too small.

Before she could process the scene, a scream tore through the air.

A woman burst from the crowd of weeping dancers.

She was in her late fifties. Her face was lined with grief and rage. Her clothes were simple, worn, the clothes of a working woman. Her gray hair was coming loose from her bun. Her eyes were red and swollen from crying.

She marched straight toward Marissa with angry strides. She didn’t care about rank. She didn’t care about nobility. She only cared about pain.

"You murderer!" the woman screamed.

She raised a shaking hand and pointed a finger directly at Marissa’s face.

"You drove my daughter to her death!" the woman wailed. Her voice broke on the last word. "You killed my Mira!"

Marissa stopped. She looked at the woman, then at the covered body on the floor.

"Mira," she thought. "The girl I saved from Lord Baron? No. It can’t be."

"How dare you show your face here?" the woman shouted, sobbing. "After what you did! After you threw her to the wolves!"

Marissa was bewildered. She felt like she had stepped into a play where she didn’t know the lines.

She looked at Derek, who had come up beside her. His face was a mask of confusion and growing anger. He looked at the woman, then at Marissa. He knew she had been with him all day.

Marissa looked back at the woman. She tried to keep her voice calm.

"We heard about what happened to Mira," Marissa said. "We came immediately to help. But I do not understand. What exactly happened?"

The head dancer stepped forward with tear-streaked makeup running down her face. She looked at Marissa with a look of deep betrayal.

"Your Grace," the dancer said, her voice trembling. "You were here. An hour ago. You came in. You dragged Mira upstairs."

Marissa shook her head. "I was not here. I have been gone since noon."

"We saw you!" someone shouted from the back of the room. "You were here!"

"You knew Lord Basil was a lecher," the head dancer continued, ignoring Marissa’s denial. "Everyone knows. Yet you forced Mira to serve him. You locked them in a room together. You sold her!"

Marissa’s eyes widened in disbelief.

"What?" she whispered.

The mother let out a scream of pure agony. She couldn’t take it anymore. The sight of Marissa, standing there in her fine clothes, looking confused, was too much.

She lunged.

She wanted to attack Marissa. She wanted to hurt the woman who had killed her child. Her hands, curled into claws, reached for Marissa’s face.

"You killed her!" the mother shrieked.

Derek moved instantly.

He stepped in front of Marissa, shielding her with his body. He didn’t draw his sword. He just stood there, a solid wall of muscle and authority.

The woman collided with him. She scratched at his chest, at his arms. Her nails dug into his skin, leaving red welts on his arms. She beat her fists against him.

"You forced her into prostitution!" the woman shrieked, hitting Derek’s chest over and over. "You treated her life like grass! Like it was nothing! You will pay for this! You will pay!"

Derek gritted his teeth. He felt the sting of her nails. He felt the weight of her grief. But he couldn’t let her hurt his wife.

He grabbed the woman’s wrists. He stopped her assault.

He shoved her away. It wasn’t hard enough to hurt her, but it was enough to create distance. The woman stumbled back, caught by the other dancers.

Derek stood tall. His chest was heaving. The scratch on his arm was bleeding slightly.

He looked at the crowd. His eyes were blazing with a terrible fire.

"How dare you slander my wife?" Derek roared.

His voice boomed through the hall, silencing the whispers. He was already angry. Angry that his peaceful day was ruined. Angry that someone was lying about Marissa. Angry that they dared to touch her.