Reborn to Flee My Fiance's Obsession (Fiona and Soren) novel Chapter 284

Neglected 284 Summary

In this chapter, Fiona stays close to the injured Soren, whose plan involves passing off Spencer’s body as his own to deceive their enemies. Fiona questions how Soren will explain Spencer’s disappearance, and he calmly explains that people will believe he was killed by the Steppe Nomads and vanished in the grasslands. Fiona notices Soren’s strategic choice of weapon, understanding how it helps maintain the ruse.

As night falls, Fiona falls into a troubled sleep filled with a nightmare of Spencer demanding her life. She wakes to find Soren holding her protectively, his presence both comforting and tinged with the sharp scent of blood. They share a quiet moment of vulnerability as Fiona reassures Soren she does not regret their actions, despite the danger surrounding them. Concerned for Soren’s worsening fever, Fiona suggests they move to find shelter.

They make their way slowly through the forest to a hidden cave, a refuge Soren knew about from a letter. Along the way, Soren destroys Spencer’s face to prevent it from haunting Fiona. Inside the cave, the two find a brief respite, though Soren’s fever worsens over two days. Fiona tends to him with fierce care as he struggles to stay conscious, gripping her skirt tightly and muttering that she has not abandoned him. This moment reveals a softer, more vulnerable side of Soren that contrasts with the cruel figure Fiona had known before, planting a new suspicion in her mind about the changes in him.

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Chapter 284: Shared Resolve

With Fiona close by, the sharpness of bitterness dulled, losing its edge in the warmth of her presence.

“Lord Soren, I understand your plan to pass off Spencer’s body as yours,” Fiona said cautiously, her eyes searching his face. “But what about Spencer himself? How will you explain his sudden disappearance?”

Soren’s gaze was steady as he replied, “They’ll believe I was killed by the Steppe Nomads, that I died in their hands but somehow vanished into the grasslands.”

Fiona’s eyes widened with understanding. No wonder Soren had abandoned his old sword for the hooked blade favored by the Steppe Nomads. Every assassin sent after him had fallen, and the dead could not testify that the sword’s owner was truly Soren.

She had stayed awake through the night, keeping a vigilant watch at his side. Fatigue finally crept over her, and when she found a spot beside him, she closed her eyes, surrendering to a deep, heavy sleep.

But rest quickly turned sour as a nightmare gripped her mind. In her dream, Spencer appeared, drenched in blood, staggering toward her with a haunting demand for her life. She woke suddenly, gasping for breath, only to realize an arm was wrapped tightly around her. Every muscle in her body tensed, frozen in place.

The embrace belonged to Soren. So close was he that the coppery scent of blood clung to him, filling her lungs with its sharp tang.

“Did you have a bad dream?” Soren’s voice was low, fully awake now. He refused to sleep until he was sure she was resting safely. The fire burning in his wound had already banished any hope of his own sleep.

“I dreamed of Spencer,” Fiona whispered, sitting up, the shadows of sleep now far behind her.

“That vision could become a demon in your mind,” Soren warned softly. “Do you regret what you’ve done?”

“No,” she said firmly, shaking her head. “Not for a moment.”

Soren chuckled quietly as dawn began to lighten the sky, his eyes sparkling with a rare warmth. Danger surrounded them on every side, yet this fleeting moment felt almost radiant. He marveled at how cruel his past self had once been—to have inflicted pain on her.

Fiona pressed her palm against his fevered forehead again, frowning at the heat. “This place isn’t safe. Your fever won’t break here. If you can manage to walk, we should move now and find shelter.”

After a brief pause, Soren asked, “Do you know where we could go?”

“A crowded street might offer cover, but I can’t bring you home. There’s a cave nearby, hidden in the woods—quiet and not far.”

In her memory from the life she’d lived before, she recalled that Soren had once collapsed beneath a tree near that very cave.

Without a word, Soren reached out, silently asking for her help to stand. Fiona pulled him up, only to watch as he bent down, grabbed a rock, and smashed it into Spencer’s bloodied face.

At first, Fiona couldn’t understand his purpose. Then, a hand, stained with blood, gently brushed over her eyes. “His face is no good to look at,” Soren whispered, his voice rough with warning. “Otherwise, you’ll only be haunted by it.”

She froze where she stood, every muscle stiffening beneath his touch.

Soren’s warmth was a stark contrast to the coldness of the night.

“Let’s go,” he said finally. Only then did Fiona realize he had finished whatever grim task lay behind them. She allowed him to lead her into the sheltering embrace of the trees.

His wounds were deep, and their progress through the forest was painfully slow.

Fiona stayed close, guarding him with a fragile fierceness, like a flickering lantern flame battling the wind. Every few steps, she paused to ask if he could keep going.

What she didn’t see was how Soren kept his head bowed, watching her with a tenderness so profound it seemed almost liquid, as if it might spill from his eyes at any moment.

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