Reborn To Change My Fate-Chapter 309 - Three Hundred And Eight

Ashlyn thoughts continued to wander.

If she showed up at his door now, beaten, and cast out of the Thompson family, he would not welcome her. He would not offer her a warm bed or a cup of hot tea. He would probably slap her and throw her right back into the street for bringing more shame to his name. She was a ruined woman. She was damaged goods.

"Why?" Ashlyn thought to herself as she walked.

She stumbled over a loose stone but caught herself against a dirty brick wall. She leaned against it, breathing heavily. Her back burned where Prince Liam’s whip had cut her flesh. Her stomach ached with a hollow, empty pain where her baby used to be.

"Why?" she asked herself again, tears of frustration filling her eyes.

She looked down at her bleeding hands.

"Why in this second life do I lose to Marissa?" her thoughts raced, loud and angry in her mind. "I had the advantage. I knew the future. I chose Carlos because he was supposed to be the Grand Duke. I allied with the Prince. I did everything right!"

She gritted her teeth. She wiped the tears from her face, smearing the dirt across her cheek. The sadness in her heart was quickly turning into a toxic, burning rage.

She remembered Marissa’s face in the courtyard last night. She remembered Marissa looking down at her, telling her that she had woven her own trap. She remembered Marissa slapping her and telling her that fate was in their own hands.

"She is wrong," Ashlyn whispered to the empty street. Her voice shook with denial. "She is wrong about everything."

Ashlyn refused to believe that her misery was her own fault. It was easier to blame Marissa. It was easier to hate her sister than to look at her own terrible choices.

She pushed herself away from the brick wall. She forced her tired legs to keep moving.

"I won’t lose," Ashlyn thought fiercely, her eyes narrowing into dark, hateful slits. "I refuse to end up like this. A beggar in the dirt. I was meant to be a Duchess. I was meant to have power."

She clenched her bleeding hands into tight fists. She ignored the pain in her palms.

"She thought she has won," Ashlyn promised herself, a dark, manic energy filling her exhausted body. "She thinks she can throw me away and live happily ever after. But I will take my victory back. I will find a way. I will make her pay for every drop of blood I have shed."

As she walked, her mind began to spin, looking for any possible advantage, any person she could use, any secret she could leverage. She turned a corner, leaving the busy main street and entering a quieter, more narrow road. The buildings here were older, the shadows longer.

She kept walking, her head down, lost in her dark thoughts of revenge.

Suddenly, she heard the sharp, rhythmic sound of horse hooves clicking against the stone street.

Ashlyn stopped. She looked up.

A carriage was rolling slowly down the narrow road toward her. It was not a grand, colorful carriage like the ones the nobles used. It was an unmarked carriage. It was painted a dull, flat black. There was no family crest on the door. The windows were covered with thick, dark curtains. It looked secretive and suspicious.

The carriage slowed down and came to a complete stop near a tall, narrow building with no sign above the door.

Ashlyn stood still, pressing her back against the wall of a nearby shop. She did not want to be seen. She watched from the shadows.

The heavy wooden door of the unmarked carriage pushed open.

A figure stepped down onto the street.

It was a tall man. He was dressed completely in black. He wore a long, heavy dark cloak that reached his boots. The collar of the cloak was pulled high up around his neck. A thick, dark scarf was wrapped around the lower half of his face, covering his mouth and nose completely. He wore a wide-brimmed black hat that was pulled low over his forehead, casting a deep shadow over his upper face.

He was fully covered. He clearly did not want anyone in the capital to know who he was.

But as he stepped down from the carriage, the morning light caught his face for just one second.

Ashlyn saw his eyes.

They were sharp and cold. They were eyes she had seen before. They were eyes that belonged to a man who dealt in secrets, shadows, and dangerous plots.

Ashlyn recognized those eyes instantly. Her heart gave a sudden, hard jump in her chest.

The figure stopped by the carriage door. He did not walk toward the building immediately. He turned his head slowly to the left, scanning the empty street. Then he turned his head to the right. His eyes darted around, looking at the shadows, looking at the windows, making absolutely sure it was safe and that no one was following him.

He looked incredibly paranoid.

Ashlyn’s breath caught in her throat. Fear and curiosity mixed together in her stomach.

She moved quickly and silently. She ran a few steps and threw herself behind a large stack of empty wooden barrels that sat outside a closed tavern. She crouched down low, ignoring the sharp pain in her scraped knees. She made herself as small as possible.

She peeked out through a small gap between two wooden barrels. She kept her eyes fixed on the tall man in the black cloak.

She was still watching him now in secret, her mind racing a hundred miles an hour. Why was he here? Why was he hiding his face? What was he planning in this quiet, dirty part of the city?

The figure took the scarf down a little to breathe, tying it back in place after a few seconds, revealing his face for a brief moment.

She gripped the rough edge of the wooden barrel. Her knuckles turned white. She could not believe her eyes.

"Ian?" she breathed.