Reborn to Flee My Fiance's Obsession (Fiona and Soren) novel Chapter 293

Neglected 293 Summary

Soren returns to Jexburgh exhausted and hollow, only to find his wife Fiona lying peacefully in a cedar coffin, dressed in white burial robes. Despite the sorrow surrounding her death, Soren feels numb and unable to cry, overwhelmed by the cruel reality of losing the woman who had once teased and challenged him. Memories of her vibrant bridal appearance contrast sharply with her pale, lifeless form, emphasizing the brevity and sadness of her life.

The funeral is attended by many who mourn Fiona’s kindness and generosity, including servants and officials who remember her warmth. Among the pallbearers is Mr. Luthor, Soren’s advisor, who had received Fiona’s help in the past. Penelope, Fiona’s mother, expresses deep grief and frustration, blaming Soren for Fiona’s suffering and questioning his feelings for his late wife. Tensions rise as accusations fly about another woman named Hillary, but Soren denies any wrongdoing.

Meryl, Fiona’s mother, breaks down in despair, lamenting the loss of both her children and accusing Soren and his family of causing Fiona’s death. Soren tries to comfort her, finally showing signs of emotional pain as he embraces her. Despite the outward calm, the grief and blame weigh heavily on everyone involved. After the burial, Meryl’s haunting smile and sharp words leave Soren speechless, hinting at deeper torment to come.

As Soren sorts through Fiona’s belongings, he discovers a collection of wooden carvings of himself that she had made during their brief time together. These delicate figures symbolize the fragile and fleeting nature of their love, now reduced to silent memories in a world that has lost its color and warmth.

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Chapter 293: A World Drained of Color

So this was the harsh reality: everything Soren had relentlessly pursued suddenly seemed insignificant compared to the woman who had once teased him about his weight, scolded him for his dullness, and even shoved him out of her chambers in frustration.

When he finally returned to Jexburgh, weary and hollow, she lay bound in white, resting peacefully inside a cedar coffin. To the casual eye, she appeared no different than a woman caught in a gentle afternoon slumber.

Soren’s mind drifted back to the day she had first stepped through the grand doorway—her scarlet bridal robes glowing like the dawn sun. And now, in this final, heartbreaking moment, she was dressed in the stark, bleached garments of death. The vibrant crimson of her cheeks had faded to a pale chalky hue, as if the very estate had drained her life away.

Three brief years—a lifetime compressed into a single, sorrowful sigh for the daughter of the Niven family.

He had married her, vowing that his name would be her shield against the world.

He stood silently beside the bier, time losing all meaning—minutes or hours, he could not tell. No tears came to his eyes, only a numbness that refused to accept the cruel truth before him.

Yet the courtyard overflowed with mourners. Officials from afar, humble servants from the estate, all gathered with faces etched in sorrow and gratitude. Each had once felt the warmth of Fiona’s kindness, and now they had come to honor her final passage.

A voice pierced the quiet weeping. “Lord Soren, Lady Fiona has passed. My deepest condolences.”

The words struck Soren’s chest like a tolling bell, stirring emotions he had long suppressed.

Never before had such anguish enveloped him so completely. Standing before her lifeless form—so fragile beneath layers of white silk—was a pain far sharper than when he first heard the news. His knees threatened to give way, and the hands hidden within his sleeves trembled uncontrollably.

Meryl’s wailing rent the air, a sound so raw it seemed to tear the very sky apart. Even the hardened Zonfrillo retainers, stalwart in battle, wiped away tears they had never shown before.

The funeral director raised a trembling list. “It is time to carry the coffin,” he announced. “The Niven family is short of men. Besides several young lords of the Zonfrillo family and the Niven heir, we ask Mr. Luthor, Lord Soren’s advisor, to assist. Lady Fiona once helped him, so it is fitting he bear the coffin today.”

Soren heard the roll call, but his mind drifted elsewhere, memories swirling like cold smoke. Many in his service had experienced her generosity firsthand, and in quiet moments, they spoke of Fiona as the kindest soul they had ever known.

Penelope rose, her voice steady despite the heavy grief, and bowed respectfully to the tall man standing beside Soren. “Mr. Xavier, we must trouble you once more today.”

Xavier inclined his head. “Before I served Lord Soren, Lady Fiona sent her maid to pay for my mother’s medical care. She has been a benefactor to the Luthor family. Being among her pallbearers is the least I can do.”

“Yes,” Penelope whispered, dabbing at her swollen eyes. “Our Fiona was truly remarkable. She was simply unfortunate to marry into our family. Soren is not a good husband. Had I known, I would have urged them to separate rather than let Fiona suffer more. I share the blame.”

“My condolences, Your Highness,”

Soren remained motionless, yet a hazy thought crept into his mind: Perhaps Fiona might have found greater happiness with Zephyr instead.

Penelope’s composure shattered suddenly. “Soren, do you still have a heart? Fiona is dead, yet you stand there like ice. You’ve even brought another woman into our home…”

“It is not as you think, Mother,” he replied, his voice flat and calm. “There is no other woman.”

“Then why is Hillary here?” Penelope demanded sharply.

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