Reborn To Change My Fate-Chapter 285 - Two Hundred And Eighty Four

The private room on the second floor of the Golden Swan was a sanctuary of illicit luxury, hidden away from the bustling, noisy activities below. Heavy velvet curtains were drawn tight against the evening chill, shutting out the world. The only light came from a pair of ornate oil lamps that cast a warm, flickering glow across the room, creating an intimate, secretive atmosphere. The air was thick with the scent of expensive wine, beeswax polish, and the palpable tension of waiting.

Prince Liam sat in a high-backed armchair upholstered in deep red silk. His legs were crossed, his posture relaxed but alert, like a panther waiting to pounce. He held a crystal goblet in his hand, swirling the dark red liquid slowly, hypnotically. He watched the vortex in the glass, mesmerized by the color of blood.

A smirk played on his lips—a smile of pure, predatory satisfaction. He was imagining Marissa. He was picturing her walk through that door, her pride broken, her eyes downcast, finally submitting to the power he held over her. He imagined taking her. He imagined breaking the cold, perfect statue he had admired from afar.

"Finally," he whispered to the empty room, his voice a soft caress against the silence. "The Queen comes to the King."

He took a sip of wine, savoring the rich, complex flavor. It tasted like victory. It tasted like ownership. 𝑓𝘳𝘦𝑒𝑤𝑒𝘣𝘯ℴ𝘷𝘦𝓁.𝑐𝑜𝑚

The door handle turned slowly.

Creak.

The sound was soft, deliberate. The heavy oak door swung open on its well-oiled hinges. A figure stepped inside, wrapped in a dark, heavy hooded cloak that obscured their features completely.

Liam set his glass down on the table with a soft clink. He stood up, smoothing the front of his velvet coat, adjusting his cuffs. He prepared his expression—welcoming, powerful, benevolent. The perfect master greeting a new, reluctant servant.

"Marissa," he began, his voice low and seductive, designed to disarm, to lure her in. "You made the right choice. I knew you were smart."

He stopped.

The figure reached up. A pale hand emerged from the cloak and lowered the hood. Dark hair spilled out, framing a face that was familiar, but wrong.

It wasn’t Marissa.

It was Ashlyn.

She stood there, looking nervous but hopeful. Her hair was perfectly styled in intricate braids, woven with small pearls. Her dress was a deep, alluring blue that matched her eyes, cut low to show off her neck. She looked up at him with wide, innocent eyes, a picture of fragile beauty seeking protection.

Liam’s smile vanished instantly. It didn’t just fade; it was wiped clean, replaced by a look of cold, sharp shock. His face went rigid, his eyes narrowing into slits of dangerous ice. The anticipation in his gut turned into a hard knot of fury.

"What are you doing here?" Liam asked. His voice wasn’t seductive anymore. It was sharp, like a slap across the face.

Ashlyn blinked, looking confused by his harsh tone. She took a hesitant step forward, her hands clasped tightly in front of her, her fingers twisting together.

"Your Highness?" she asked softly. "Didn’t you summon me here? I received your letter. I... I even had to sneak out of the estate through the garden gate to avoid being caught by the guards. It was dangerous."

She looked around the room, taking in the wine, the dim lighting, the intimate setting. It looked exactly like a rendezvous. It looked like he had prepared this for her.

Liam stared at her. His mind raced. He was expecting Marissa. He had the letter in his pocket, the one she had sent him, promising to come.

"What is going on?" Liam demanded, his voice rising, vibrating with anger. "Where is Marissa? Where is the Duchess?"

Ashlyn looked even more confused. She tilted her head, her expression one of genuine bewilderment.

"Marissa?" she asked. "Why would she be here? She is at the church with the Crown Princess. Everyone knows that. They left hours ago in the royal carriage."

She reached into her cloak pocket. Her hand shook slightly as she pulled out a crumpled piece of parchment.

"My sister’s maid gave me this letter this afternoon," Ashlyn lied smoothly, weaving her deception with the skill of a desperate woman.

"She said she found it mixed in with my sister’s correspondence, but it was addressed to me. I read it, and it says you needed to see me at the Golden Swan immediately. It said it was urgent. That it concerned our... arrangement."

She held the letter out to him. Turns out she was pretending and the letter she gave the guard in the morning was also forged like this one.

Liam snatched it from her hand. He read it quickly, scanning the lines. It was a forgery. A clumsy one, but effective enough to fool a desperate woman who wanted to believe it. It asked for Ashlyn’s presence. It promised protection.

He crushed the paper in his fist, crumbling it into a tight ball.

Ashlyn stepped closer, her voice dropping to a worried whisper. She looked around the room as if afraid of being overheard by invisible spies.

"Could it be..." she started, her eyes wide. "Could it be that Marissa found out? About the undergarment? About the divorce document I stole?"

She looked at Liam with fearful eyes.

"Maybe she found out I took them to you," Ashlyn suggested, planting the seed of doubt deep in his mind. "Maybe she used this chance to warn me? To lure me here to embarrass me? To expose our alliance to the world?"

Liam went quiet. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the crumpled paper.

It made sense. It made terrible, infuriating sense. Marissa wasn’t coming. She had never planned to come. She had sent a decoy letter to him, promising submission, and a fake letter to Ashlyn, promising a meeting. She had played them both against each other.

She had made him sit here, waiting like a fool, sipping wine and dreaming of victory, while she was safe at prayer with the Crown Princess, building her own alliances, securing her own power.

Liam fumed. His chest heaved with suppressed rage. He felt the humiliation burn his neck, a hot flush of anger. He had been outmaneuvered by a woman he thought he had broken. He had been played.

Ashlyn watched him. She saw the anger boiling in his eyes. She saw the disappointment. But she also saw opportunity.

He was alone. He was angry. He was vulnerable. And he needed someone to blame, someone to take his frustration out on.

"But Your Highness," she asked softly, interrupting his dark thoughts. "Why are you here? Were you... expecting someone else?"

Liam didn’t answer her. He turned away, walking to the window. He stared at the heavy velvet curtains, his reflection distorted in the glass.

"I thought she was finally being sensible," Liam spoke to himself, his voice a low, dangerous growl. "I thought she was willing to submit to me. I thought I had broken her spirit. I thought she was ready to be mine."

He laughed. It was a short, harsh, bitter sound.

"Seems I underestimated her again," Liam muttered. "She dares to make a fool out of me. She dares to send her sister in her place, like a consolation prize. She dares to mock me."

He clenched his fist, imagining Marissa’s neck in his hand, imagining the satisfaction of crushing her defiance, of wiping that calm, superior look off her face.

Ashlyn watched him. She saw his vulnerability. She saw his need for control.

This was her cue. This was the moment she had been waiting for. This was what she had planned for.

She walked toward him. Her steps were soft on the rug. She reached the table where the wine bottle sat.

"Your Highness," she said gently.

She picked up the crystal decanter. She poured a fresh glass of wine, the red liquid swirling in the glass, catching the light.

She walked up behind him. She didn’t touch him. She just stood close enough for him to smell her perfume—roses and musk.

"Don’t be angry," she whispered.

She held the wine out to him.

"Have some wine," she urged, her voice soothing. "To calm down. Anger is bad for the heart. It clouds the mind. It makes you weak."

Liam turned. He looked at the glass. He looked at Ashlyn.

He saw a woman who was desperate to please him. A woman who was already compromised. A woman he could use to punish Marissa, to take what he wanted by proxy. A woman who was here, willing, and waiting.

But little did Ashlyn know that the wine she had just poured came from a bottle Marissa had ordered to be placed in that specific room earlier that day.

And she didn’t know what was in it. She didn’t know that Marissa had anticipated this exact moment, this exact weakness, and had prepared a different kind of trap for them both.