Reborn: The Duke's Obsession
Chapter 83 - Eighty Three

Chapter 83: Chapter Eighty Three

~ FLASHBACK CONTINUES ~

The grieving husband held Baron Edgar’s collar in a white-knuckled grip until he fell backwards onto the muddy, rain-soaked ground. Without hesitation, the man came down on top of him, his weight pressing Edgar into the cold earth.

"What? You want to give the money back now?" the husband snarled, his face contorted with a grief so profound it had become pure rage.

"Please," Edgar pleaded, his voice a pathetic squeak as he tried to lessen the man’s choking grip. "Please, let me go..."

"Do you know how my child died?" the man continued, his voice breaking as tears mixed with the rain on his face. "The baby was already due. We had a name picked out." Edgar was choking, his face turning a blotchy purple. "That child died inside its mother’s womb, writhing in agony because of you!" The man was crying openly now, his sorrow a terrible, powerful force. "The doctor said the fabrics she had been wearing for months, the ones she bought from you, the ones she used to make clothes for our baby... they contained poisonous chemicals. She died from it. From the dye in the cloth. You killed my wife. You killed her!"

"Spare me!" Edgar shouted, his voice a choked gasp. "Spare me, please! Help! Someone, help me!"

~ FLASHBACK ENDS ~

Delia was sitting in the dim, incense-filled room, her own heart pounding in her chest from what she heard.

"After that day," the palm reader said, her voice stilling Delia’s pounding heart, "Baron Edgar came to see me. He was a terrified man. He sat right where you are sitting now and asked me to read his palm. He told me he had been cursed."

She looked at Elena. "He asked me, ’How do I stop this curse from ruining me?’ I gave him one simple solution: ’Right all your wrongs.’"

The palm reader paused, as if remembering the old Baron’s fear. "He used to come here often after that. He would sit and tell himself, over and over, ’Is the deceased spirit of that poor woman going to drag my soul to hell, too? I will give back everything I ever took. I will rectify all of my mistakes. Please, just spare my life.’"

The story painted a pathetic, desperate picture of the proud grandfather Delia thought she knew.

Elena, who had been listening intently, finally asked the question that mattered most. "Then what is his connection to her?" She pointed a long, elegant finger at Delia.

"The blood that runs through their veins," the palm reader replied simply. "Even though he did not want her in the family back then, not really. But after I told him about his ’curse’, he started doing everything in his power to make that child happy. He started to believe that her happiness, her success, would be the atonement for his sins. He thinks it will erase all of his wrongdoings and save his soul."

The palm reader then turned her dark, knowing eyes to Delia. "But I must admit, I am not sure about something concerning her."

Elena leaned forward. "What?"

The palm reader gestured to Delia. "My dear, please let me see your left palm."

Delia hesitated for a moment, then she slowly pulled off her glove and placed her palm on the old woman’s outstretched hand. The woman’s skin was as dry and cool as old parchment. She traced the lines on Delia’s palm for a minute, her expression growing more and more puzzled.

"Her soul is very far away," she finally said, her voice a strange whisper. "She is neither dead, nor is she truly alive."

The words, so close to the unbelievable truth of Delia’s own experience, sent a shiver down her spine.

Elena stood up abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor. She had heard enough. She left the room first, her steps quick and agitated. After a moment, Delia stood up as well, gave the palm reader a small bow, and went out to where the carriage was waiting.

Elena was standing by the open door, fanning herself, though the day was not particularly warm.

"Don’t pay any heed to what she said in there," Elena said gruffly as Delia approached. "That woman is crazy. Completely delusional. Talking about souls and curses. I shouldn’t have brought you here in the first place."

"It’s fine, Your Grace," Delia replied, though her mind was still reeling.

Elena looked at her, her sharp eyes softening with a flicker of real concern. "Are you really fine, child?"

Delia managed a small, tired smile. "To be honest," she admitted, "I wasn’t sure why my grandfather was doing so much for me. I always felt there was something more to it. I guess he was just scared that I would get angry with him if I ever found out the truth." She looked at Elena, her expression now one of gratitude. "But now, I am sure I can ask him more questions to understand everything. Thank you for bringing me here today, Your Grace."

Elena looked away, a faint blush on her proud cheeks. She tried to act tough. "I have told someone before that pity isn’t what you feel for a future daughter-in-law," she said, her voice a little stiff. "But I guess... I guess I am no different."

Delia smiled. "Your Grace."

Elena looked at her, feigning insult. "Your Grace? Still? How impersonal." She paused, then commanded, her voice firm but with an underlying warmth, "Call me Grandmother from now on."

Delia smiled, a genuine, shy expression. The word felt foreign on her tongue. "Your Grace..." she said out of habit, then stopped, her own cheeks turning pink.

Elena pointed at her with her fan. "There you go again."

"I’m sorry," Delia said, and then she tried again, her voice soft. "...Grandmother."

Hearing the word, seeing the genuine, shy smile on the girl’s face, Elena’s stern expression finally melted away completely. A rare, warm smile lit up her own face. "That’s better," she said. "Now, let’s go home."