Reborn To Change My Fate-Chapter 176 - Hundred And Seventy Six

The night air was still cold, but inside the main manor, it was warm and safe. The torches burned steadily in the hallways, casting a gentle, golden light that was a welcome relief from the flickering shadows of the coffin room.

Derek led Marissa through the house, his hand still holding hers. He didn’t take her to her own chambers in the east wing. He walked past the turn, heading straight for the double doors at the end of the main corridor.

He opened the door to his own bedchamber.

It was a large, masculine room. The walls were lined with bookshelves, and a large fireplace crackled with a warm fire. It smelled of him—of old paper, woodsmoke, and leather.

"Stay here tonight," Derek said. His voice was gentle.

Marissa nodded. She felt a deep, bone-weary exhaustion settling over her. The adrenaline of the confrontation was fading, leaving her shaky.

"Lily will prepare a bath for you in my bathing room," Derek said. "I need to go and have a word with Captain Odis. We need to finalize the report for the King."

"Okay," Marissa said softly. "Don’t be long."

Derek hesitated. He reached out and touched her cheek. "I won’t."

He turned and left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

Marissa stood alone in the center of his room. It felt strange to be here, in his private space. It felt intimate.

Lily arrived a few minutes later with towels and hot water. She bustled about, preparing the bath, her face serious. She knew what had happened. She knew her mistress had faced death again.

"Your Grace," Lily said as she helped Marissa out of the white burial gown. "You are brave. Braver than anyone."

Marissa smiled weakly. "I just did what I had to do, Lily."

After a long, hot soak that washed away the grime of the coffin room and the chill of the grave, Marissa changed into a clean, soft nightgown. She felt better. Cleaner.

She walked back into the bedroom. She looked around.

The room was tidy, but one area was cluttered. Derek’s large desk, usually covered in maps and military reports, was piled high with small, wrapped packages.

Marissa walked over to it.

She recognized the wrapping paper. It was the same paper from the market stalls. The blue paper. The red ribbon.

She touched a small box. She remembered it. It was the wooden earrings she had looked at for a second too long.

She touched another. The glass beads.

She looked at the desk. There were dozens of them. Every single thing she had touched, every trinket she had admired, was here. He had bought them all.

And there were more.

There was a beautiful silk scarf she hadn’t seen. There was a small box containing a beautiful hand fan. There was also a book of poetry.

"He even commissioned something for me." Marissa whispered.

She picked up a small, velvet pouch. Inside was a silver bracelet with a charm shaped like a star.

"Have I been too harsh with him?" Marissa asked herself.

She laughed softly. It was a warm, bubbling sound.

"Is he that wary of me?" she thought, shaking her head. "Is the Grand Duke, the man who commands armies, so scared to give me a gift that he hides them on his desk?"

She imagined Derek standing in front of the mirror, holding the bracelet, rehearsing what to say.

"Here, Duchess. For you." No, too formal.

"I saw this and thought of you." Too cheesy.

"Take it." Too gruff.

She giggled. The image of the terrifying Derek Thompson sweating over a simple gift was endearing.

She put the bracelet down. Her hand brushed against a small, flat wooden box sitting apart from the others. It wasn’t wrapped in market paper. It was polished mahogany, inlaid with silver. It looked old but cared for.

It caught her attention immediately.

She picked it up. It felt heavy in her hand. She opened the lid.

Inside, resting on a cushion of dark blue velvet, was a silver locket.

Marissa gasped. Her hand flew to her mouth.

It was her mother’s locket.

But it wasn’t the tarnished, scratched, broken thing she had seen in the cave. It wasn’t the worn piece of metal Derek had held in the guest room.

It had been restored.

The silver shone like moonlight. The scratches were gone, buffed away by a master jeweler or a goldsmith who also worked with silver. The hinge, which used to squeak and stick, was oiled and smooth.

It looked new. It looked perfect.

Marissa’s fingers trembled as she touched the cool metal. She pressed the small latch.

Click.

The locket sprang open.

Marissa stared at the picture inside. The breath left her lungs in a rush.

When she was a child, after her mother died, Ashlyn had found the locket. In a fit of jealous rage, Ashlyn had taken a needle and scratched the face of the woman in the portrait. She had torn her mother’s head off the picture, leaving only a headless body in a blue dress.

For years, Marissa had only had that headless picture. She had tried to remember her mother’s face, but time had blurred the memory.

But now...

Inside the locket was a new painting. It was a miniature, painted with incredible detail on a tiny disc of ivory.

It was her mother.

It wasn’t a headless body. It was a complete portrait. The woman had kind eyes, a gentle smile, and the same dark curls as Marissa. She was wearing the blue dress Marissa remembered.

She looked alive. She looked happy.

"How?" Marissa whispered, tears welling in her eyes. "How did he do this?"

She looked closer. The details were perfect. The small mole on her mother’s chin. The way her eyebrow arched.

"How did he get the correct description?" she wondered. "I never told him. I never showed him a picture."

Then she remembered.

Derek had spies. He had investigators. He had even sent Ian to dig into Senna’s past.

"He must have sent someone to my old home," she realized. "He must have found my aunt. Or an old servant. He must have asked them to describe her. He must have commissioned a painter to recreate her face based on their memories."

It was an act of incredible, painstaking love. He hadn’t just fixed a piece of jewelry. He had given her back her mother.

She cried silently. The tears rolled down her cheeks, hot and fast. She wasn’t crying from sadness. She was crying from a feeling she hadn’t felt in a long time.

She felt cherished.

She hugged the locket close to her chest, pressing the cool metal against her heart. She closed her eyes, imagining her mother’s arms around her.

"Thank you," she whispered into the quiet room.