Reborn To Change My Fate-Chapter 280 - Two Hundred And Seventy Nine

Derek was confused. "Liam?" he asked himself.

"Send him what he wants?" Derek thought, his mind racing. "What does he want? He wants the throne. He wants me dead. He wants the Thompson army disbanded." 𝒇𝒓𝒆𝒆𝙬𝒆𝒃𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝙡.𝒄𝓸𝒎

His mind flashed to the festival in the palace. To the way Liam had looked at Marissa. To the way he had tried to claim her with a wreath. To the way he had invaded her space.

"He wants Marissa."

Derek’s face hardened into a mask of stone. The satisfaction of Nigel’s capture vanished, replaced by a cold, protective rage.

"You are dismissed," Derek said to the shadow. His voice was cold, sharp as a blade.

"Your Grace?"

"Leave me," Derek ordered. "Now."

The guard bowed quickly and exited the room, sensing the dangerous shift in the air, glad to be away from the coming storm.

Derek was alone.

He looked at the pretty velvet box sitting on his desk. It looked innocent. It looked like a box of chocolates or expensive jewelry. It sat there, mocking him.

He reached out. His hand hovered over the lid.

He ripped the silver ribbon off. He threw it on the floor.

He opened the box.

He expected to see a threat. A dagger. A dead animal. A letter filled with poison. A symbol of death.

Instead, he saw fabric.

Lying on the velvet lining was a piece of white cloth. It was soft, delicate. It was folded neatly, almost reverently.

Derek frowned. He reached in and picked it up.

It was light as air. Silk and lace. It felt cool against his fingertips.

He held it up. The fabric unfolded. It hung from his hands, a ghostly shape in the dim study.

It was a chemise.

A woman’s undergarment. Intimate. Private. Something that was worn against the skin, underneath the heavy gowns and corsets of high society. It was something only a husband or a maid should ever see.

Derek stared at it. He didn’t understand. Why would Liam send him this? Was it a message calling him a woman? Was it a threat to his masculinity? Was it some twisted royal joke?

Then, he saw the hem.

A piece of the delicate lace at the bottom had been cut. A jagged, deliberate tear, as if someone had taken a sample.

And then, his eyes moved to the embroidery.

It was small, intricate work. White thread on white silk. Tiny, delicate flowers, stitched by a master hand.

Peonies.

Derek’s breath stopped. The world seemed to tilt on its axis. The blood drained from his face.

He knew this embroidery. He knew this silk. He had felt it.

He remembered the night in the tub. He remembered the feel of the wet silk against his skin. He remembered the way it clung to her body, transparent and revealing. He remembered the specific pattern of the flowers as he had held her.

He remembered seeing this exact chemise hanging in Marissa’s wardrobe when he had watched her dress, the morning after their first night together.

"Marissa," he whispered.

The realization hit him like a physical blow to the gut, knocking the wind out of him. This wasn’t just a chemise.

It was Marissa’s chemise.

His wife’s undergarment. And Prince Liam had it.

Derek dropped the fabric onto the desk as if it were burning him. He backed away, his chair screeching loudly against the floor.

"How?" Derek asked the empty room. His voice was a rasp of disbelief. "How did he get this?"

His mind raced, panic warring with rage.

"Did she give it to him?"

The thought was a poisonous dart, aimed straight at his heart. He tried to push it away. Marissa loved him. She had proven it. She had saved him. She had slept with him. She had worn his wreath.

"But Liam said... ’Send me what he wants.’"

If Marissa didn’t give it to him... then Liam took it.

Derek looked at the box again. The implication was clear. It was terrifying.

It meant Liam had access. It meant Liam had touched something that belonged only to Derek. Something that was meant for Derek’s eyes only.

"How?" Derek thought frantically. "Did he break in? Did he send a thief? Did he... did he hurt her?"

He thought of the guards. He thought of the security. No one had reported a break-in. No one had reported a theft.

So how did the Crown Prince of the realm get his hands on the Grand Duchess’s underwear?

Derek felt a cold sweat break out on his forehead. He felt violated. A man—his enemy, his rival—held the most intimate garment of his wife. Liam had touched this. Liam had probably smelled it, touched it to his face, fantasized about the woman who wore it.

It was a taunt. It was a declaration of war. It was Liam saying, "I can reach her. I can touch her. You cannot protect her. I know what she wears against her skin."

And the message: "Send me what I want."

He wanted Marissa. He was ransoming her safety with her own clothes. He was telling Derek that he could take her whenever he wanted.

Derek roared.

It was a sound of pure, primal fury. It was the sound of a beast whose territory had been breached.

He swept his arm across the desk. The box, the chemise, the inkwell, the papers—everything went flying.

CRASH.

The chemise landed on the floor in a heap of white silk.

Derek stood there, his chest heaving, his hands clenched into fists so tight his nails cut into his palms. The veins in his neck bulged. His vision swam with red.

He didn’t know how Liam had done it. But he knew one thing.

Liam had crossed a line that could never be uncrossed. He had touched Marissa.

"Liam," Derek growled, his voice a low, vibrating promise of death.

He looked at the black stain on the wall. He imagined it was Liam’s blood.

"I am going to kill you," he whispered.