Reborn to Flee My Fiance's Obsession (Fiona and Soren) novel Chapter 277

Neglected 277 Summary

In this chapter, Fiona tends to a wounded masked man whose skill and presence hint at something extraordinary. Despite the danger, she carefully treats his bruises and injuries, feeling a strange warmth and connection as she touches him. The man, silent and inscrutable behind his mask, promises to repay her kindness one day. However, soon after, he falls unconscious and mysteriously disappears without a trace, leaving Fiona uncertain of his fate.

Fiona reflects on her past hopes that the burden she carries would be lifted, imagining a future where her people would be safe and the man would be saved without her intervention. Yet, her path keeps drawing her back to Southmere, a place tied to unfinished stories and fate’s stubborn hold. Despite hiring guards to watch the forest, the man does not reappear, deepening Fiona’s anxiety and curiosity about his true identity and their intertwined destinies.

As days pass without any sign of the stranger, Fiona continues to monitor the area, feeling a restless unease. She realizes that if their lives have truly crossed, the man must be part of the nearby society, yet she had never sensed him before. With no news arriving, Fiona reluctantly sets aside the mystery to focus on upcoming preparations for Xavier’s arrival, a man connected to powerful forces and Emperor Aldric’s favor.

Shortly before Xavier’s expected visit, Fiona slips out of Niven Manor in disguise with Pearl to explore Southmere. Pearl’s initial excitement fades as they encounter the town’s modest and unremarkable streets, contrasting sharply with the grandeur of Jexburgh. At a clothier’s stall, Fiona’s disguise and demeanor attract attention, revealing that Southmere rarely sees outsiders, though recently two groups have passed through. This subtle detail hints at growing activity and change in the quiet town, setting the stage for what is to come.

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Chapter 277: Unmasked

The masked man’s fingers traced the jagged edge of the blade with a slow, deliberate touch—a quiet warning of how quickly mercy could vanish. His skill was unmistakable, and a flicker of instinct told Fiona she was dealing with someone far from ordinary.

Despite the danger, she peeled away his torn clothing, her breath hitching as bruises blossomed across his skin like dark, painful flowers. Ignoring all sense of decorum, she pressed soothing salve into each injury, her hands trembling but careful, determined to ease his suffering.

When her palm brushed against his chest, the heat radiating from his body flushed her cheeks a deep, burning red.

He remained still, watching her with eyes that were impossible to read behind the blank mask.

“I pulled you back from death’s edge,” Fiona murmured, a teasing note slipping into her voice despite the tension. “And you still speak of repaying me with betrayal?” Her gaze flickered almost involuntarily downward to the broad expanse of his chest, where lean muscle strained against a shirt shredded by thorns and blood.

The moment lasted only a heartbeat before she forced herself to look away, directing her eyes toward the trees as if that brief, unguarded glance had never occurred.

The man let silence hang between them, the soft rustle of the wind filling the space. “One day, I will repay your kindness,” he finally said.

Less than an hour later, his eyelids fluttered shut. He sank into unconsciousness, the faint color in his cheeks fading once again. Fiona dashed back to the village to summon help, but when she returned, the wounded stranger had vanished without leaving a single trace—not even a drop of blood.

She never discovered whether he survived that dark, moonless night.

In another life, Fiona had believed the burden would finally lift. She imagined placing her people where they needed to be, confident the man would be saved without her having to lift a finger.

Yet, inexplicably, her path continued to lead her back to Southmere.

It seemed the place—and the unfinished story tied to it—refused to be avoided.

Perhaps some events were carved deep into the bones of fate. Whether one lived once or a hundred times, the trials appointed to them waited patiently in the shadows, impervious to any attempt at rewriting the script.

Xavier had already hired reliable men to watch over the area, and they were expected to arrive at any moment.

But when dawn finally broke, the stretch of forest remained silent; the man did not appear.

Under the towering pines, not even a shadow hinted at his presence.

Tension coiled tightly in Fiona’s chest. She had sworn these events would follow the same old paths, yet every deviation seemed to circle back, stubbornly refusing to break free.

She had changed, and the map of fate showed new fractures because of it.

If the man she once rescued no longer came here, only one conclusion made sense.

Their brief encounter had already twisted the threads of his destiny.

But who was he, really?

That question gnawed at her relentlessly, pulling her deeper into thought.

Though Southmere was tangled with ridges and dense cedar woods, its county seat—Dasshire—was only a relatively short ride from Jexburgh. Roads branched out in every direction, carrying news and a restless tide of travelers: spies, merchants, and fugitives alike.

Most came either to extract secrets or to bury their own.

“Ms. Fiona, no one has shown their face here in days,” the man Xavier hired reported, brushing pine needles from his sleeves with a weary hand.

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