Reborn To Change My Fate-Chapter 180 - Hundred And Eighty

The morning sun was bold, streaming through the tall, east-facing windows of Derek’s bedchamber. It wasn’t the weak, grey light of the previous days. It was a bright, golden beam that cut through the gloom of the night, painting stripes of warmth across the plush carpet and illuminating the scattered clothes on the floor—a silent testimony to the passion of the night before.

Derek felt the warmth on his eyelids first. He groaned softly, a low sound in his throat, and turned his head to the other side, burying his face in the soft, down pillow to escape the bright rays. But the world outside was persistent. The birds in the garden were singing, a cheerful, relentless chirping that signaled the start of a new day.

He blinked his eyes open, fighting the heaviness of sleep.

The first thing he saw was Marissa.

She was sleeping beside him, curled up on her side under the thick, embroidered quilt. Her dark hair was spread across the white pillowcase like spilled ink, a stark contrast to the linen. Her face was relaxed, her lips slightly parted in deep sleep. She looked peaceful. She looked younger, softer than the Grand Duchess who commanded servants and ruled the household with iron fists. She looked beautiful.

Derek smiled. It was a slow, contented smile that reached his eyes, crinkling the corners. He lay there for a moment, just watching her chest rise and fall with each steady breath. He felt a profound sense of rightness, a feeling of coming home. This was where she belonged. This was where he belonged.

He noticed her brow furrow slightly. A beam of sunlight had crept across the bed, moving with the rising sun, and was now hitting her face directly, disturbing her sleep.

Derek moved carefully. He didn’t want to wake her. He raised his hand, his palm flat, creating a shadow over her eyes. He held it there for a moment, a human shield against the sun, watching as her expression smoothed out again. 𝒻𝑟𝘦𝘦𝘸ℯ𝒷𝑛𝘰𝓋ℯ𝘭.𝘤𝘰𝘮

But his arm would get tired. He couldn’t hold the sun back forever. He decided to take the problem from the root.

He slid out of bed slowly, wincing as his bare feet hit the cool wood floor. He walked quietly to the window, stepping over his discarded shirt. He grabbed the heavy, velvet drapes in both hands.

Swish.

He pulled them shut with a decisive motion. The heavy fabric blocked out the light, plunging the room back into a soft, comfortable, twilight dimness.

He heard a small sigh of relief from the bed. Marissa shifted, snuggling deeper into the covers, seeking the warmth he had left behind.

Derek smiled again. He turned to look at the room.

It was a mess.

His shirt was on the floor. Marissa’s silk nightgown was draped over a chair, one sleeve trailing on the rug. A small table had been knocked askew during their movement. The room looked like a storm had passed through it, but it was a good storm.

Then, his eyes landed on his desk.

He saw his desk empty. He looked down and saw the pile of gifts he had swept onto the floor in his haste the night before. The glass beads, the wooden horse, the silk scarf. They were scattered everywhere, a colorful chaos of affection.

And seeing the desk reminded him of something else. Something formal. Something legal. Something he had signed on that very desk weeks ago, in a different scenario , with a different mindset.

Something that was now a threat.

His smile faded. His face became serious.

He walked to the large chest of drawers against the wall. It was a heavy piece of furniture, dark oak with brass handles. He opened the top drawer. It creaked slightly.

He rummaged through it, pushing aside maps of the border, reports from the barracks, and old letters. He was looking for one specific thing.

He was making a little noise. The rustle of paper, the click of wood, the shifting of items.

Hearing the little commotion, Marissa stirred. She stretched, her arms reaching above her head, her back arching under the covers. She yawned, a small, sleepy sound. She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand, trying to wake up.

She blinked, looking around the dim room, disoriented for a second before memory flooded back. She saw Derek standing by the dresser, his back to her. He was wearing only his trousers, his back broad and scarred.

"What are you doing?" she asked, her voice raspy with sleep.

Derek didn’t answer immediately. He kept digging. He was focused.

"Aha," he whispered.

He found it. A folded piece of thick, official parchment, sealed with red wax.

He pulled it out. He held it up to the dim light, checking the seal.

He turned around to face her.

"This," Derek said. He raised the paper up for her to see.

Marissa squinted, pushing her hair out of her eyes. She sat up, clutching the sheet to her chest. She recognized the seal. She recognized her own handwriting on the outside.

It was the divorce contract. The one she had drafted. The one they had both signed in his study that night she had come in her nightgown. The contract that agreed they would separate in one year.

"I was looking for what might ruin our marital harmony," Derek said seriously. His voice was firm.

He walked back to the bed. He stopped at the foot of the mattress. He looked at the paper with distaste, as if it were a dirty rag or a piece of evidence from a crime scene.

"This divorce contract..." Derek said.

He gripped the top of the page with both hands. His muscles tensed.

Rip.

He tore it down the middle. The sound was loud and final in the quiet room.

Marissa’s eyes widened. She sat up straighter, the sheet falling to her waist.

"Derek?" she said, her voice filled with surprise.

He didn’t stop. He put the halves together and tore them again.

Rip.

And again.

Rip.

He shredded the legal document into tiny, useless pieces of confetti. He destroyed the exit strategy. He destroyed the escape route. He let the scraps fall from his hands, drifting down to cover the floor like snow.

"Needs to be destroyed completely," Derek finished.

He looked at her. His expression was intense, burning with the same fire she had seen the night before.

"There will be no divorce," Derek stated. "Not in a year. Not ever."

He climbed back into bed. The mattress dipped under his weight. He crawled over the covers until he was right in front of her, his face inches from hers.

"You are stuck with me, Marissa," he whispered. "Forever. I will not let you go."