Reborn To Change My Fate-Chapter 246 - Two Hundred And Forty Five

Ashlyn stared at Marissa’s hand. Her eyes were wide, the pupils dilated with panic. She didn’t think. She simply reacted with the raw instinct of a drowning woman reaching for a rope.

She lunged.

Her hand clawed at the air, her fingernails hooked, aiming to snatch the paper away before Marissa could read it fully, before she could claim it.

"Give it to me!" Ashlyn shrieked.

But Marissa was faster. She had anticipated the move. She didn’t step back; she sidestepped smoothly, pivoting on her heel.

Ashlyn’s hand grasped only empty air. She stumbled forward, her momentum carrying her off balance.

Marissa didn’t keep the slip for herself. She handed it, with a quick, decisive motion, to the woman standing beside her with the lantern.

"Mrs. Alma!" Marissa cried out. Her voice pitched up, a perfect imitation of shock and confusion, though her eyes remained cold and steady. "Please! Look at this! Quickly!"

Mrs. Alma adjusted her grip on the heavy brass lantern. She took the paper with her free hand, bringing it close to the glass pane. She squinted, her eyes narrowing behind her spectacles as she inspected the ink in the flickering light.

"What is this?" Mrs. Alma murmured.

"Does it bear my private seal?" Marissa asked, her voice urgent. "The one that went missing from my room weeks ago? The Lion Seal?"

The room went silent. Ashlyn froze, her hand still outstretched, her breath catching in her throat. She watched Mrs. Alma’s face, praying for a mistake, praying for a miracle.

Mrs. Alma scanned the slip. She read the amount—ninety thousand silvers. She read the date. She read the terms of the usury loan. And at the bottom, stamped clearly in bright red ink, she saw it. The unmistakable profile of the roaring lion, the personal crest of the Thompson Grand Duchess.

Mrs. Alma looked up. Her face was grave. She looked from the paper to Ashlyn with deep, disappointed disapproval.

"It is indeed your seal, Your Grace," Mrs. Alma confirmed. Her voice was heavy with judgment. "The stamp is authentic."

Marissa turned back to Ashlyn. The look of panic vanished from her face instantly. It was replaced by a cold, interrogating stare that pinned Ashlyn to the wall.

"Why, sister?" Marissa asked softly.

She took a step closer.

"Why is my deposit slip for a usury loan with you?" Marissa asked. "If this is my money, as the seal suggests... why was it in your pocket?"

Ashlyn opened her mouth, but no words came out. She was trapped in a logic puzzle she couldn’t solve.

Marissa tilted her head.

"Did you steal the slip from my room?" Marissa asked.

Ashlyn shook her head violently. "No! I didn’t! It’s mine! I made the deal! I met Mr. Silas!"

"Oh," Marissa interrupted, her voice dropping lower, becoming a dangerous whisper, "so you stole my private seal, didn’t you?"

Ashlyn stopped shaking her head. She went still.

"Did you steal the seal to forge a loan in my name?" Marissa asked. "Think carefully, Ashlyn. Stealing a piece of paper is theft. But stealing the Grand Duchess’s seal... using it to sign contracts without permission... that is fraud. That is treason against the family."

Ashlyn felt the blood drain from her face. She was trapped.

If she claimed the money was hers, she admitted to stealing the seal to stamp the paper. If she denied stealing the seal, she had to admit the money wasn’t hers, and she lost the fortune.

She looked at Mrs. Alma’s stern face. She looked at Marissa’s triumphant smile. She looked at the empty jewelry boxes on the floor.

Fear, cold and overwhelming, crashed over her. She had no moves left. She had no defense. She had only one trick left. The one that had worked before. The one that played on their sympathy for her "condition."

She let her eyes roll back in her head. She let her knees buckle. She let out a small, pitiful moan, like a child in pain.

"Oh..." she whispered.

She collapsed.

"Myra!" Ashlyn gasped as she fell, reaching out blindly.

Myra, who had been cowering in the corner, terrified by the confrontation, rushed forward. She caught her mistress just before she hit the floor, struggling under the dead weight of Ashlyn’s body.

"My Lady!" Myra cried, playing her part because she was too scared not to. "She has fainted! The shock! The baby! Someone help!"

Marissa watched the performance with a look of utter boredom. She stood there, smoothing the sleeve of her robe, watching Ashlyn’s eyelids flutter.

"Since it is mine," Marissa said, her voice hardening, ignoring the drama on the floor, "I will take it."

She took the slip from Mrs Alma and turned on her heel.

"Let’s go," she said to her companions.

She proceeded to leave the room, her steps light and unhurried. She walked toward the door.

Ashlyn, hearing the footsteps retreat, thought Marissa had bought the act. She opened one eye, just a slit, to check if they were gone. She started to push herself up, ready to get off Myra’s hold and start screaming about injustice again.

But Marissa stopped.

Her hand rested on the doorframe. She paused.

She turned her head.

Ashlyn saw the movement. She gasped, a sharp intake of breath. She quickly went back to pretending she had fainted, her head lolling back onto Myra’s shoulder, her eyes squeezing shut tight.

Marissa smiled. She had seen the eye open. She knew.

"Oh," Marissa said, her voice light, as if she had just remembered a small, unimportant detail.

She looked at the "unconscious" woman on the floor.

"I almost forgot," Marissa announced. Her voice carried clearly into the room, echoing off the bare walls. "Since you cannot pay the debt of your embezzlement..."

She paused.

"And since you have proven yourself a thief by stealing my deposit slip," Marissa continued. "I am invoking the collateral clause."

Ashlyn’s body went rigid in Myra’s arms. Her heart stopped beating for a second.

"I am taking your mother’s estate," Marissa promised.

"I will foreclose on the mortgage first thing in the morning," Marissa said cheerfully. "To make up the payment of your theft. Lady Anita will receive the notice by noon."

Marissa looked at Ashlyn one last time.

"Sleep well, sister," she said. "Have lovely dreams."

Marissa walked out of the room. Mrs. Alma followed, her face grim. Lily followed last, carrying the heavy bag of confiscated jewelry, a smug grin on her face.

They disappeared down the hallway. Their footsteps faded.

The room was silent.

Ashlyn waited. She counted to ten. Then she exploded.

She shoved Myra away, hard. Myra stumbled back, hitting the wall.

Ashlyn scrambled to her feet. Her face was red, her eyes wild with rage. She grabbed a porcelain teapot from the table—one of the few things left that hadn’t been thrown or taken—and hurled it against the wall with a scream of pure, unadulterated rage.

SMASH.

The teapot shattered into a thousand shards. Cold tea dripped down the wallpaper like dirty tears.

"She took it!" Ashlyn shrieked. Her voice was raw. "She took the money! She took the seal! She took my mother’s house!"

She spun around, looking at the room. It was empty. Her jewelry was gone. Her coins were gone. Her future was gone.

She had lost everything. She was now completely broke. She had nothing to bribe the doctor with. She had nothing to buy her way out of trouble.

Myra cowered by the bed, looking at the broken teapot on the floor. She looked at her mistress with fear.

"My Lady," Myra whispered, her voice trembling. "Please... stop smashing things."

Ashlyn whirled on her. "What? You dare tell me what to do?"

"There is... there is no longer any valuable to pay for replacement," Myra said softly, pointing to the empty shelves where the vases used to be. "We have no money left. If you break it... we cannot buy another one."

Ashlyn stared at her maid. The truth of it hit her like a physical slap. She was so poor she couldn’t even afford to have a tantrum. She couldn’t afford to break a teapot.

She gave Myra a death glare. Her eyes were wild, desperate.

"Get out!" Ashlyn screamed. "Get out! Now! Get out of my sight!"

Myra didn’t wait. She ran out of the room, closing the door behind her, escaping the storm.

Ashlyn stood alone in the wreckage. Her chest heaved. Her hands shook violently.

She looked at her hands. They were empty.

She fell to her knees in the center of the room, surrounded by the debris of her life. She covered her face with her hands.

And she broke down.

She sobbed. It was a loud, ugly sound. Her cries echoed in the empty, looted room.