My Unchosen Ex Chases Reborn Me (Soren and Fiona) novel Chapter 299

**Neglected 299**
**Chapter 299: Shifting Destinies**

“Your happiness makes everything worthwhile,” Fiona replied, her voice a soothing balm against the tension that hung in the air.

In her previous life, Yolanda had witnessed the slow unraveling of joy, a descent into despair that began with Ulrich’s choice to take Joanna, the scheming concubine. That decision had been the catalyst for Yolanda’s heartache.

Ulrich, driven by a desire for conquest, had allowed himself to be lured away, leaving behind the remnants of affection that had once flourished between him and Yolanda. A newborn had entered the picture, stealing away the last vestiges of love, until their marriage lay in ruins, a mere shadow of what it once was.

Back then, Fiona had felt powerless to intervene. But now, as she reflected on the choices that had brought them to this moment, she felt a quiet exhilaration. Fate had been nudged onto a brighter path, and she was determined to keep it there.

“By the way, how is Rita?” Fiona inquired, her curiosity piqued by the thought of her cousin.

“Things have taken a turn,” Yolanda replied, her voice tinged with concern. “Elijah returned from his travels with a little boy. His parents, seeing a male heir, insisted on keeping the child. But for Rita, this was a humiliation too great to bear. Just a few days ago, her anger nearly cost her the baby.”

Fiona felt her breath hitch in her throat; she had never envisioned Elijah capable of such cold-heartedness.

“Did he truly have to bring this up while she was pregnant?” Fiona murmured, incredulity etched on her face. “That woman outside must be a force to be reckoned with.”

“The child is merely a newborn and already gravely ill,” Yolanda sighed heavily, the weight of the situation pressing down on her. “Rita had no option but to carry him to the Wagner Estate and plead for assistance. Mr. Wagner, of course, couldn’t let the infant suffer in fevered silence. It’s simply the worst timing imaginable.”

“This feels deliberate,” Fiona commented, her gaze sharpening as she considered the implications.

Yolanda gasped, her disbelief palpable. “Who would dare to risk a child in such a twisted game?”

“Children, in the grand chess match of power, are nothing more than pawns,” Fiona began, her voice soft yet imbued with an undeniable strength. “If seizing authority requires us to pit those pawns against each other, then why should our consciences tremble?”

As the words slipped from her lips, Soren’s face flickered through her mind—a sharp profile, a mercurial smile—and for a fleeting moment, her breath caught, as if memory itself had tightened a silken ribbon around her throat.

“Would you care to visit Rita?” Yolanda asked, her brows knitting together with quiet concern as she poured the now lukewarm tea.

Their last encounter had ended in raised voices and wounded pride, ignited by Elijah’s reckless actions. Since that fateful afternoon, Fiona and Rita had not exchanged even a cursory greeting.

But now, with the crisis looming over them like a dark cloud, Fiona refused to let old grievances fester. The daughters of the Niven family could not afford the luxury of division; in the eyes of the world, they needed to present a united front.

Moreover, Emperor Aldric’s recent favor toward Zachary had elevated their family’s standing, and the Wagner Estate, sensing the shifting tides, treated Fiona with a politeness bordering on reverence.

So what if her younger cousin outshone her? Fiona would never steal from her, whereas outsiders wore friendship like thieves cloaked in darkness—ready to strip her of everything she held dear.

“I am still angry, you know? Not at your fear, but at the way you directed it towards me,” Fiona said, though her eyes softened with understanding.

“I understand, and I don’t expect you to forgive me either,” Rita replied, her chin lifting with the familiar pride of the Niven lineage. “We may quarrel in private, but against the world, we stand as one.”

After comforting her cousin, Fiona stepped away and made her way toward the nursery to see the contested child for herself.

Upon entering, she found the mistress—frail, doe-eyed, with tears trembling at the corners of her eyes—hovering over a cradle where a sickly infant lay too weak even to cry. Physicians bustled in and out, their coats fluttering like anxious doves in the tense atmosphere.

“Ms. Fiona, please believe me, the Wagner family has no desire for Rita to endure further indignity,” Elijah’s mother, Janice, said, her exhaustion etching new lines around her mouth. “Yet lives hang in the balance, and we can only keep mother and son here for treatment.”

The woman knelt before Fiona, desperation in her eyes. “Once the baby recovers, I shall leave,” she vowed, scrubbing tears away with the back of a trembling hand. “I will not linger to offend the lady of this house.”

Elijah stood nearby, his brow furrowed in thought. To Fiona’s surprise, she could see unmistakable tenderness in his gaze as it lingered on the kneeling woman.

Not once did he glance at Fiona; every shard of his attention was fixed on the mistress, and the tension in the room seemed to dissolve under the weight of unspoken emotions.