Reborn To Change My Fate-Chapter 289 - Two Hundred And Eighty Eight

In her past life, Ashlyn had heard the stories. Dahlia wasn’t just a pampered woman who sat in the garden and drank tea. Dahlia was the only daughter and child of the Grand Commander of Eudora. Her father controlled the second largest army in the kingdom, a force that rivaled the Thompson army.

But more than that, Dahlia controlled the dark side.

Ashlyn remembered the rumors whispered in the dark corners of the court. Dahlia owned Liam’s personal guards. She owned the assassins. She managed the spies. She was the one who kept Liam’s position, and she was the one who buried his enemies. She was as ruthless as her father when she was angry.

In the last life, Liam had been terrified of her. Liam had eventually killed Dahlia. He had used a slow, tasteless poison in her tea for three years. He killed her because he couldn’t control her. He killed her because she was the only person he truly feared.

And now, Ashlyn was kneeling at the feet of that woman. Naked. Vulnerable. Caught sleeping with her husband.

Ashlyn felt like she couldn’t breathe. The room felt like a coffin closing in on her.

"Your Highness," Ashlyn began to apologize, her voice trembling uncontrollably, her head bent low. "I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to... I didn’t..."

She was crying now, ugly, terrified tears that streamed down her face, mixing with the sweat and the shame.

"I was foolish," Ashlyn sobbed, clutching the rug. "Please, Your Highness. Have mercy. I beg you."

Dahlia stepped into the room. Her heavy skirts rustled softly, a sound like dry leaves. She walked until she was standing right in front of Ashlyn.

"Raise your head," Dahlia commanded.

Her voice was low. It wasn’t a scream. It was a calm, cold order that demanded obedience.

Ashlyn hesitated. She didn’t want to look. She wanted to disappear into the floor.

"I said," Dahlia repeated, her voice turning to steel, "raise your head."

Slowly, painfully, Ashlyn lifted her chin. She looked up.

She looked into Dahlia’s eyes and saw her own death reflected there. Dahlia looked like a queen looking at a cockroach she was about to crush.

Dahlia raised her hand. 𝐟𝐫𝕖𝗲𝘄𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝕧𝐞𝚕.𝕔𝕠𝐦

SLAP.

The sound echoed through the room like a whip crack.

Ashlyn’s head snapped to the side. A sharp, stinging pain exploded on her cheek. She cried out, bringing a hand to her face.

Before she could recover, Dahlia swung again.

SLAP.

Backhand. Harder this time.

Ashlyn fell back onto her heels, tasting blood in her mouth. Her cheek burned as if it had been branded with a hot iron. The room spun.

Dahlia didn’t blink. She lowered her hand. She stared at the red marks blooming on Ashlyn’s pale skin.

"What is your name?" Dahlia asked. Her voice was devoid of emotion.

Ashlyn gasped for air. She swallowed the blood in her mouth.

"Ashlyn," she whispered.

"Full name," Dahlia snapped.

"Ashlyn... Thompson," she stammered.

Dahlia scoffed. It was a harsh, dismissive sound.

"So," Dahlia said, looking her up and down with pure contempt. "You are from the Thompsons? You are Marissa’s sister?"

Dahlia’s eyes narrowed.

"You are Carlos’s wife," Dahlia stated. It wasn’t a question. "The fool who acted reckless for merit on the battlefield. The man who disobeyed orders and got punished severely by the King. The man who tried to buy glory."

Ashlyn flinched. Everyone knew about Carlos’s failure. It was a sore spot, a public wound.

"Seems the rumors are true," Dahlia continued, her voice dripping with ice. "You two are Denver’s laughing stock. A husband who cannot fight, and a wife who cannot keep her legs closed."

Ashlyn felt the humiliation burn hotter than the slap. She wasn’t just being beaten; she was being dismantled. Her name, her family, her pride—everything was being stripped away.

Dahlia took a step closer. She loomed over Ashlyn, casting a long shadow.

"You thought you could climb into bed with my husband?" Dahlia whispered. "You thought you could take my place? You thought you could be me?"

She leaned down.

"You are nothing," Dahlia hissed. "You are dirt on the bottom of my shoe."

She gave Ashlyn a cold stare that froze the blood in Ashlyn’s veins.

"Get out," Dahlia ordered.

Ashlyn blinked, tears blurring her vision. "Your Highness?"

"I said get out!" Dahlia shouted. "Before I have the guards drag you out by your hair and throw you into the street naked! Go!"

Ashlyn scrambled up. She didn’t wait. She grabbed her dress from the floor. She grabbed her shoes. She didn’t have time to put them on.

She clutched the bundle of clothes to her chest, trying to cover her body. Her face was stinging red, swollen and throbbing.

She ran.

She ran past Liam, who refused to look at her. She ran past Dahlia, shrinking away from the woman’s presence.

She burst out of the door into the hallway.

Marissa and Edwina were standing there. They saw her.

Ashlyn saw Marissa’s face. Marissa wasn’t hiding her eyes anymore. She was looking right at Ashlyn. And for a fleeting second, Ashlyn saw a small, cold smile on her sister’s lips. It was a smile of pure victory.

Ashlyn looked down. She couldn’t bear it. She ran past them, barefoot on the carpet, humiliated, broken, and terrified. She ran toward the back stairs, fleeing into the night like a thief, leaving her dignity behind.

Dahlia watched her go. She watched until Ashlyn disappeared around the corner.

Then, she turned back to the room.

"Close the door," Dahlia said to the empty hallway.

Marissa stepped forward. She grabbed the handle of the heavy oak door and pulled the door shut.

Click.

The latch engaged. The lock turned.

The room was suddenly very quiet. The fire crackled in the grate, oblivious to the tension.

It was just the two of them now. Husband and wife. Prince and Princess.

Liam stood by the bed. He was still wrapped in the sheet, looking ridiculous. His chest was heaving. He was sweating. The drug was still in his system, making him twitchy and nervous.

He looked at Dahlia. He tried to read her expression, but her face was a mask of marble.

He decided to try charm. It had always worked before. He was the handsome Prince. He could talk his way out of anything. He had charmed the court. He had charmed his father. Surely, he could charm his wife.

He let out a nervous chuckle. It sounded weak and hollow in the silent room.

"Dahlia," Liam said.

He took a step toward her. He put on his best smile—a boyish, apologetic grin that usually melted hearts.

"My love," Liam started, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender. "You have to understand. It was a moment of weakness. She tricked me. I thought..."

He reached out to touch her arm.

"I am a man," Liam said, lowering his voice to a whisper. "I have needs. But you know you are the only one I respect. You are my Queen. You are my partner."

He thought he saw her soften. He thought he saw her shoulders relax.

He stepped closer, invading her space.

"Let’s not make a scene," Liam murmured. "We can go home. We can forget this little... mistake. We can start over."

Dahlia looked at him. She looked at his smiling mouth. She looked at the lie in his eyes.

She remembered the token. She remembered the maid. She remembered the humiliation of finding him here, in a room, with a married woman, his cousin’s wife.

She didn’t speak.

She drew back her hand.

She put her entire body weight into the motion.

CRACK.

She slapped him hard across the face.