Reborn To Change My Fate-Chapter 241 - Two Hundred And Forty

The Thompson estate was draped in the heavy silence of the night. Torches flickered in the corridors, casting long, dancing shadows on the stone walls, but the west wing was particularly quiet. It was the silence of held breath.

Inside the bedchamber of the Second Master, the air was thick with the scent of dried lavender.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

The sound was sharp and urgent, rattling the door.

"My Lady!"

It was Myra, Ashlyn’s maid. Her voice was pitched high with panic, muffled by the wood.

Ashlyn, who had been sitting by the fire, staring into the flames, stood up abruptly. She crossed the room, her silk slippers making no sound on the thick rug. She unlocked the door and pulled it open.

Myra stood there, wringing her hands, her face pale in the torchlight.

"Bad news, My Lady," Myra gasped, looking over her shoulder as if she expected demons to be chasing her.

"What is wrong?" Ashlyn asked, her brow furrowing. "Did something happen in the estate?"

"No," Myra shook her head. "It is your mother. Lady Anita."

Ashlyn felt a cold jolt in her chest. Her mother was her last ally, her last connection to the world outside this hostile house.

"What happened to my mother?" Ashlyn demanded, stepping into the hallway.

"She suddenly fell ill this evening," Myra reported, her voice trembling. "A messenger just arrived at the servants’ gate. He said she collapsed during dinner. She is weak. She is calling for you."

"Come in," Ashlyn ordered, pulling Myra into the room and shutting the door firmly. "Pack quickly. Get my traveling cloak."

Myra nodded and hurried to the wardrobe. She began to pull out clothes. But as she turned back with the cloak, she stopped. Her eyes went wide. She dropped the cloak.

Ashlyn wasn’t packing. She was destroying the room.

Ashlyn moved with a frenetic, terrifying energy. She went to her jewelry box—the one Carlos had already raided—and dumped the remaining contents onto the floor. Gold chains, pearl earrings, and silver rings scattered across the rug with a loud clatter.

She went to the bed. She ripped the silk sheets off the mattress, tossing them onto the floor in a tangled heap. She grabbed a heavy, velvet pillow and threw it across the room. It hit a vase of flowers, knocking it over. Water spilled onto the polished wood, soaking the rug.

She reached under the mattress. She pulled out a small, heavy leather pouch. It was the rest of the money she had collected from Mr. Silas—the "profit" she had skimmed from the loan before depositing the rest. She untied the string.

With a sweep of her arm, she poured the silver coins onto the table. They rolled off the edge, bouncing on the floor, glittering in the firelight.

"My Lady?" Myra whispered, confused and frightened. " Why... why do we have to stage an act inside too?"

She looked at the chaos. It looked like a storm had hit.

"We are already pretending to leave for your mother," Myra asked, her voice shaking. "Why do this now? Why make a mess?"

Ashlyn stopped. She stood in the center of the wreckage, her chest heaving. Her eyes were bright, almost feverish.

"Marissa will come to my room to steal," Ashlyn spoke, her voice low and intense. "I know she will. She wants the deposit slip. She wants the money. She wants to ruin me."

She grabbed a heavy wooden chair and overturned it with a loud crash.

"I have to set the scene for her," Ashlyn explained, looking at Myra with a cold, calculating gaze. "I have to make it easy for her to confirm the theft. It has to look like a struggle. Like a robbery. Like someone broke in."

Myra stared at her mistress. She didn’t understand.

"But... how do you know she would steal it, My Lady?" Myra asked. "The Grand Duchess? She has everything. She has the keys. She has the gold. Why would she come here like a common thief?"

Ashlyn smiled. It was a dark, twisted smile that sent shivers down Myra’s spine.

"She succeeded this way before," Ashlyn replied mysteriously. She was thinking of her past life, of the timeline she had lived before. "In another time. She was desperate then. She stole the slip to save herself. She thinks she is smart."

Ashlyn walked to the desk. She took the deposit slip—the crucial piece of paper that proved the loan—and hid it in her pocket. 𝒻𝑟𝘦𝘦𝘸ℯ𝒷𝑛𝘰𝓋ℯ𝘭.𝘤𝘰𝘮

"This time," Ashlyn hissed, "I will exploit her arrogance. I will make her walk into the trap she thinks she is avoiding. She will see the mess. She will think I fled in a panic. She will think it is easy pickings."

Ashlyn walked over to Myra. She loomed over the maid, her expression hardening into a mask of pure malice. She pointed a threatening finger at Myra’s chest.

"Later," Ashlyn instructed, her voice sharp. "When we return... or when the guards come running... I will collapse."

Myra blinked. "Collapse?"

"From fright," Ashlyn said. "From the shock of seeing my room destroyed. From the horror of the robbery."

She poked Myra’s chest for emphasis.

"You," Ashlyn ordered. "You shout. You scream. You yell that thieves broke in. You yell that they stole from me. You yell that the shock caused my miscarriage."

Myra gasped. Her hand flew to her mouth.

"Your... miscarriage?" Myra whispered.

"Yes," Ashlyn hissed. "We need a reason. We need a reason for the baby to be gone. A reason that isn’t poison. A reason that isn’t me."

She grabbed Myra’s shoulder, squeezing hard.

"We need a villain," Ashlyn said. "And the thief will be the villain. Everyone will hate the person who stole from a pregnant woman and killed her child."

Myra trembled. She remembered Nora. She remembered the blood on the floor of the drawing room. She remembered the Grand Duke’s sword.

"Do you understand?" Ashlyn asked, shaking her. "So play along. If you mess this up... if you hesitate... you will join Nora. Do you understand?"

Myra nodded frantically. "Yes. Yes, My Lady. I understand. I will scream. I will say it was the thief."

"Good," Ashlyn said.

She let go of Myra. She looked around the wrecked room one last time. It was exactly what she wanted.

"Now," Ashlyn said, grabbing her cloak and throwing it over her shoulders. "Let’s go. And let’s leave the door unlocked."