Reborn To Change My Fate-Chapter 263 - Two Hundred And Sixty Two

The fire in the hearth had died down to embers, leaving the master bedroom in a cold, grey twilight. The massive four-poster bed, usually a place of comfort, loomed like a sepulcher in the shadows.

Marissa sat on the floor, leaning against the heavy oak leg of the bed. Her knees were drawn up to her chest, her posture small and defeated. She was wearing a simple nightgown, her hair loose and messy around her shoulders.

She looked at the small table beside her.

On it lay the silver locket, its latch broken, its heart hanging open like a wound. Beside it lay a small, framed portrait of Derek. He was wearing his commander’s uniform—the black coat, the silver buttons, the stern expression. It was the way she liked him best. Powerful. Important. Invincible.

Marissa reached out with her left hand. It was wrapped in a clean white bandage, covering the jagged cuts she had gotten from tearing down the funeral wreaths earlier that day. She picked up the portrait.

She traced the line of his jaw with her thumb. The glass felt cold.

A tear dropped from her cheek. It landed on the glass of the frame, distorting his face, making him look like he was underwater.

"Your Grace," Lily’s voice called softly from the other side of the heavy oak door. "Please. You must eat something."

Marissa didn’t look up. "I am not hungry, Lily."

"You haven’t had anything since yesterday," Lily pleaded, her voice muffled but filled with genuine worry. "And you only ate a little bread at that time. You will get sick.The whole house is worried. They say... they say you are grieving yourself to death."

Marissa looked at the tray of food sitting untouched on the table—cold soup, hard bread, a cup of wine. It looked like ashes to her. She had no appetite. Her stomach was a tight knot of grief and denial.

"Don’t worry, Lily," Marissa said, her voice hollow. "If I need anything, I will call for you. Go back to your quarters. Sleep. I need to be alone."

There was a pause. A hesitation. Then, the sound of retreating footsteps. Lily was gone.

Marissa was alone again with the ghosts.

She closed her eyes.

She remembered Derek’s last words. She could hear his voice, deep and reassuring, as clearly as if he were standing in the room.

"I will return swiftly and safely. I promise you. Nothing will stop me."

She remembered the moment she gave him the locket. The way his eyes had softened. The way he had kissed her palm.

"I will wait for you at home," she had promised him. "Our home."

She opened her eyes. The room was empty. The bed was empty. The silence was deafening.

"Where are you, Derek?" she whispered to the silence.

She looked at the window, where the snow was falling softly against the glass, piling up on the sill. It looked like a white shroud covering the world.

"Did I do something wrong?" she asked, her voice trembling. "Is this my punishment? Did I scheme too much? Did I hurt too many people? Is that why you don’t want to see me? Is that why you left me?"

She wiped her eyes roughly with her bandaged hand.

"People are thinking I am crazy," she murmured. "They think I am mad with grief because I won’t wear black. Because I won’t bury an empty coffin."

She clutched the portrait to her chest, rocking back and forth.

"Why are you doing this to me?" she sobbed. "Why did you leave me alone in this house of vipers?"

Suddenly, a sound.

It was a soft thump. Not from the door. From the window.

Marissa froze. Her tears stopped instantly. Her breath caught in her throat.

She felt it. A presence. A disturbance in the air. The temperature in the room dropped. The hairs on her arms stood up.

Someone was in the room.

She turned her head slowly.

A shadow had detached itself from the heavy velvet curtains. A figure, dressed in black from head to toe, stood by the window. He was silent. He was watching her.

He wore a mask that covered his entire face, leaving only his eyes visible. They glittered in the moonlight. He held a long, thin dagger at his waist.

Marissa eyes darted around. The grief vanished, replaced by a cold, lethal rage. This was an intruder. An enemy. Someone who dared to enter her sanctuary. Someone whose presence dared to threaten her when she had already lost everything.

She moved.

She scrambled to her feet, ignoring the stiffness in her legs. She ran to the wall where Derek’s sword hung on a mount. It was his sword from war brought by his army.

She grabbed the hilt. Her adrenaline gave her strength.

Shing.

She unsheathed it. The blade sang as it left the scabbard. It was long, sharp, and deadly.

She spun around.

The figure took a step toward her.

Marissa lunged.

She moved with a speed born of desperation. She swung the heavy sword, bringing the tip up to the intruder’s throat.

The figure stopped. He didn’t fight back. He didn’t deflect. He stood perfectly still.

The blade gleamed in the moonlight. The sharp steel pressed against the skin of his neck, just above the collar of his black suit.

Marissa dug the blade deeper.

A thin line of red appeared. Blood. It trickled down his neck, staining his black collar.

"Who sent you?" Marissa asked.

Her voice was cold as the winter outside. Her eyes were narrowed, filled with a rage that promised violence. She looked like a vengeance spirit, a woman with nothing left to lose.

"Was it Ashlyn?" she hissed. "Did she send you to finish the job? Is she afraid I will take the estate back?"

She pressed harder. The intruder flinched slightly, but he didn’t speak.

"Was it Carlos?" Marissa demanded. "Did that idiot send you? Does he also want to silence the grieving widow?"

She glared at him.

"Speak," she commanded. "Before I cut your throat and throw your body out the window."