Reborn To Change My Fate-Chapter 257 - Two Hundred And Fifty Six

The grand staircase of the Golden Swan loomed ahead, a polished mahogany ascent into the unknown. Marissa swallowed hard, the dry click in her throat echoing the nervous rhythm of her heart. She could feel the weight of the empty establishment pressing down on her, the silence amplifying every step she took.

She reached the landing and stood before the heavy door of the private room Prince Liam had claimed. She paused, placing a hand on her chest to steady her breathing.

"Don’t react," she told herself sternly, a mantra against the panic rising in her gut. "Don’t show fear. Don’t show weakness. Don’t show emotions. He is a predator. If he smells blood, he will bite. He will tear you apart."

She took a deep breath, filling her lungs with the cool, stale air of the hallway. She adjusted her fur robe, pulling it tighter around her shoulders as if it were armor against the cold gaze she knew awaited her. She smoothed a stray lock of hair.

She raised her hand and knocked. Three sharp, confident raps.

"Enter."

His voice called out from behind the door. It was calm, commanding, and expectant. It was the voice of a man who was used to being obeyed before he even finished speaking.

Marissa pushed the door open.

The room was bathed in the soft, grey light of the winter afternoon. Prince Liam stood by the window, his silhouette dark and sharp against the frosted glass. He turned as she entered, his movement calm and predatory.

Marissa plastered a fake smile onto her face. It was a polite, porcelain smile, perfect for court, perfect for hiding everything she felt. It was her most important shield.

She didn’t greet him. She didn’t curtsy. She didn’t even offer the respect due to a Crown Prince. She walked into the room and stopped in the center, keeping a safe, deliberate distance between them.

She went straight to the point.

"For what purpose has His Highness summoned me?" she asked. Her voice was gentle, melodic, but the underlying steel was unmistakable.

Liam watched her. He didn’t answer immediately. He studied her face, his gaze lingering on her lips, her eyes, the fake curve of her smile. He dissected her.

He scoffed lightly.

"That looks fake," Liam replied bluntly.

Marissa blinked, genuinely confused for a split second. Her mask slipped. "Pardon?"

Liam stepped away from the window. He walked toward her, his movements lazy and graceful.

"That smile," he said, gesturing to her face. "It isn’t real. It is a performance. That isn’t the smile you give Derek."

He stopped a few feet away, crossing his arms over his velvet coat.

"I saw you in the market," Liam said softly. "I saw you laugh. I saw you beam at him like he was the sun. It transformed you. So why is mine different? Why do I get the mask, Marissa?"

Marissa was silent. Her smile froze.

She wasn’t silent because she didn’t have an answer. She was silent because of the audacity. The sheer, breathtaking arrogance of this man. He was flirting with another man’s wife. And that man was his own cousin, his own commander, currently fighting a war for him.

She stared at him, her eyes cooling into chips of ice. She refused to justify herself to him. She refused to give him the satisfaction of an explanation.

Liam chuckled. It was a low, dark sound. He sensed her unwillingness to speak, her silent defiance. It amused him. It excited him.

He walked to the small table in the corner. There was a silver pitcher of water and two crystal goblets.

He poured himself a cup. The water splashed softly.

"I came here to inform you," Liam said casually, his back to her. "That Derek..."

He paused. He picked up the cup. He tilted it, pouring the water slowly onto the polished table. The liquid spread in a dark pool, dripping off the edge onto the rug.

"...is dead," he finished.

He turned around. He smiled. It was a cruel, testing smile. He wanted to see her break. He wanted to see her scream, cry, fall to her knees. He wanted to see the cracks in the porcelain.

Marissa’s heart stopped. The world seemed to tilt on its axis. Dead? The word echoed in her mind, a hollow, terrifying sound.

But she didn’t react. She smiled.

She forced the corners of her mouth to stay up. She refused to show him any emotion. She refused to give him the satisfaction of her pain. She would not let him see her bleed.

"Whatever Your Highness’s motive is," Marissa said, her voice calm, though her insides were screaming, "such baseless rumors should be spoken carefully. Words have power, and false words have consequences."

She looked him in the eye.

"My husband is a strong man," she said. "He is not so easily removed. He has survived worse."

Liam watched her. He saw the tension in her jaw. He saw the way her hands were clenched in her fur robe. But she held her ground. She was unbreakable.

He was impressed.

"Fine," Liam said, dropping the empty cup onto the table. It rolled and fell to the floor with a clatter. "We will speak of him no more. Let talk about something else."

He poured another cup of water. He didn’t spill this one.

He walked toward Marissa. He invaded her personal space, stepping closer until she could smell the scent of his cologne—musk and winter air.

"I reserved the whole Golden Swan just to see you," Liam whispered.

He held the cup out to her. The water trembled slightly in the glass.

"Won’t you share a drink with me?" he asked. "A toast to the living? To those who remain?"

Marissa looked at the cup. Then she looked at Liam. His face was close, too close. His eyes were hungry.

"His Highness seeks entertainment from the wrong person," Marissa said coldly. "I am not a dancer. I am not a mistress. I am not an entertainer."

Liam took another step. He was now evading her personal space entirely, looming over her.

"Marissa," he murmured, saying her name like it was a secret he had kept for years. "I have watched you long enough. From the balcony. From the shadows. You are wasted on him. You are a queen living in a duke’s house."

He reached out a hand, his fingers hovering near her cheek.

"Become mine," Liam said.