Reborn To Change My Fate-Chapter 89 - Eighty Nine

"Marissa!" 𝗳𝗿𝐞𝕖𝘄𝗲𝕓𝗻𝚘𝚟𝕖𝐥.𝚌𝕠𝕞

All four women, Marissa, Senna, Lily, and Esme, froze. They turned as one.

Derek was striding towards them, his long, confident steps eating up the grass. He was dressed in a simple, fine linen shirt, his sleeves rolled up, his coat and cravat absent. A bright, wide, and almost boyish smile was on his face, and his gaze was fixed, with a singular, intense focus, only on Marissa.

Ian followed a few paces behind him, his face as grim and impassive as ever, flanked by two other guards. Each of the three men was carrying a large, flat, and clearly expensive box.

Senna’s blood ran ice-cold.

Her knees went weak, her rage instantly extinguished, replaced by a new, dawning, and absolute terror. He’s not supposed to be here, her mind screamed. He’s never around in the middle of the day! He was supposed to be at the camp until nightfall!

Her entire plan, the dress, the taunts, the calculated performance, had been built around his absence. And now he was here, striding towards them, smiling at the very woman she was trying to destroy.

She did the only thing she could. In a small, panicked, and utterly foolish movement, she tried to step behind Marissa, as if to hide, as if to use her rival as a human shield, hoping he wouldn’t notice her.

He didn’t. His eyes were only for his wife.

He stopped directly in front of Marissa, his smile so bright it was almost dazzling. He looked happy. He looked... eager.

"What is going on here?" Marissa looks at him suspiciously.

"Isn’t it obvious?" he said, his voice full of a strange charm she had never heard before. He gestured, with a proud flourish, to the boxes. He gave a small nod, and the guards stepped forward, placing the boxes on the stone terrace table and opening the lids.

The first box held a gown of the most breathtaking royal purple, a silk so deep and rich it looked like liquid amethyst. The second box held a glittering, perfectly matched set of diamond-and-amethyst accessories—a necklace, earrings, and hairpins. The third held a single, unique, and exquisitely carved fan, its body made of black, polished lacquer, its surface inlaid with a single, delicate, mother-of-pearl.

"Lovely, right?" he asked, his gaze still fixed on her face, searching for a reaction. His mind was a nervous, chaotic jumble. Please don’t reject this one. Please. Just smile. Just say you like it. I am trying here.

Marissa’s eyes traveled from the magnificent purple dress, to the heavy jewels, and finally, to the fan. Her face remained a cool, polite mask. She saw his eager, almost nervous smile. She saw the gifts. And she saw, just out of the corner of her eye, the pale-blue fabric of Senna’s dress, still hiding behind her.

She looked back at him. "I thought you were here to compare peonies and imposters," she said, her voice flat.

Derek’s bright smile faltered, his face clouding with a sudden, baffled confusion. "What? Why are you speaking in riddles?" He had expected a ’thank you’, or at least a polite nod. He hadn’t expected this cold, strange hostility. He had come here to make peace.

He fumbled, his charm evaporating, leaving him feeling awkward and defensive. "I... I know your clothes were stained with my blood at the Golden Swan," he stammered, thinking that was what she was angry about. "This... this is to replace them. An apology." He took a breath, forcing himself to say the rest, the part that was more true. "And... it is to thank you. For all the efforts you have put into the household. And for... for how you handled the situation with Ryan. For protecting him."

He had been genuine. He had been, in his own, clumsy, ducal way, vulnerable.

Marissa looked at him, at his earnest, confused face, and she felt nothing. No warmth. Only the cold, hard clarity of her own, bitter knowledge. He was a man who gave gifts to his wife to apologize. And, she knew, he gave gifts to his mistresses, too.

"Really?" she said, her voice a soft, dangerous purr. "I thought you came to study the pattern of my dress." She paused, her gaze like a shard of ice. "For your beloved."

Before Derek could even process the insult, before he could ask what she meant, Marissa took one, slow, deliberate step to the side.

The movement revealed Senna.

She was standing there, frozen, her face covered in a guilty terror, her hands clasped rigid, white-knuckled prayer in front of her.

And she was wearing the dress.

Derek’s mind went completely, utterly blank. He stared. He saw Senna. And he saw what she was wearing.

He immediately recognized the dress. The exquisite, one-of-a-kind, sky-blue, starlight-silk gown. The one he had commissioned for Marissa as a peace offering. The one he had left in his study. The one Senna had "accidentally" spilled an entire bottle of red wine on. The one that was stained. The one he had told her, in a fit of pure, blind rage at Marissa, to dispose of.

And she was wearing it. She was standing in his garden, in front of his wife, wearing the ruined, stained, and stolen gift he had bought for his wife.

The boyish, smiling, awkward man from moments ago did not just vanish. He was annihilated. He was replaced, in an instant.

He looked at Marissa’s cold, calm, and utterly, terribly, knowing face.

And he, finally, understood. He understood the "peony" comment. He understood the "beloved" comment. He understood the coldness in Marissa’s eyes. He understood the entire, sick, twisted, poisonous game that had been played, and he understood, with a clarity that made him feel sick to his stomach, that he had been the central, stupid, manipulated pawn in all of it.

He turned his head, very, very slowly, his gaze pinning Senna to the spot like a butterfly to a board. His voice, when he finally spoke, was a low rumble.

"Why," he asked, "are you wearing it?"