Vengeance of The Reborn Heir

A Clean Cut

Calista froze mid‑stride, eyes widening. “What do you mean, ‘return everything’?” she snapped, whirling back to face Ronan.

Her voice was sharp, but the way she hugged the lacquered weapon case to her chest and slipped her left hand—adorned with a violet‑gold bracelet—behind her back betrayed her unease.

That dagger was no trinket; House Sable intended to present it at the upcoming Martial Arts Guild trials. Calista herself might not need it, but Lucien certainly did.

And the bracelet—artificed by a Martial Saint—could conjure a three‑minute invincible shield. Priceless, irreplaceable. The thought of surrendering either piece made her stomach knot.

Ronan’s calm laughter only deepened her irritation.

“Didn’t you just declare you want no ties with House Crowne?” he said, voice mild.

“If so, why cling to Crowne property? Cut the bond, Calista. That means returning everything that bond delivered.”

She opened her mouth, but he cut her off, tone suddenly glacial.

“You have no right to negotiate.”

Calista’s retort died in her throat. The logic was iron; even the spectators murmured agreement.

“She can’t have it both ways.”

“Wants the perks but none of the responsibility—how convenient.”

“Even a hired courtesan knows something must be given in exchange.”

A few snickered. One spectator applauded mockingly, praising Calista’s “noble generosity” for surely returning what wasn’t hers. The sarcasm stung; her cheeks flushed.

Ronan’s faint smile vanished. “Did you think House Crowne is so easily milked?” he asked, eyes cold.

“That you could pocket our treasures and walk away whenever it suits you?”

Calista faltered, words caught behind clenched teeth.

The tension spiked—then a clear voice rang out. “Is this how the mighty Crowne heir treats a lady? Demanding gifts back after offering them so ‘generously’?”

Heads turned.

Lucien stepped forward, the sunlight catching the insignia of Thalara University stitched onto his collar. His expression was calm, noble—like a knight from a textbook. He positioned himself protectively in front of Calista, his presence exuding quiet righteousness.

"Young Master Crowne," he said evenly, "I understand emotions are high. But demanding the return of a gift—especially one given freely—doesn’t reflect well on your status. Even a commoner knows that much."

Ronan raised a brow, unimpressed. "Oh? And who exactly are you to comment on the dealings between House Crowne and House Sable?"

"Lucien Cross," the young man replied proudly. "Fellow student. Friend to Calista. And someone who doesn’t turn his back on basic decency."

Calista’s eyes lit up as she turned toward Lucien. “Lucien… you came.” Her voice softened, as if the plaza and the crowd had vanished.

“I thought I lost you in the crowd. I didn’t expect you to stand up for me like this.”

Lucien gave her a small, confident smile. “You never have to face this kind of humiliation alone. Not as long as I’m here.”

From behind him, murmurs rippled through the crowd.

“Wait... Lucien Cross?”

“The one with the peerless potential? The academy’s ‘Silent Spear’?”

“He’s the top student! Why’s he involved in this?”

“Does this mean the rumors are true—he and Calista…?”

Ronan watched the exchange with narrowed eyes, his gaze flicking from Calista’s flushed face to the way she clutched the weapon case and bracelet like lifelines.

"Touching," he murmured dryly. "Truly. But since you’ve made yourself part of this conversation, let me clarify something, Lucien Cross."

He took a single step forward, his voice as calm as the eye of a storm. “The dagger and bracelet were not ‘gifts’ in the sentimental sense. They were betrothal offerings—symbols of a political contract between two noble houses. A contract Calista Sable just publicly dissolved, of her own volition, in front of hundreds of witnesses.”

He turned slightly toward Calista. “Did you not just swear to sever all ties with me and with House Crowne? Loudly, I might add.”

Calista bristled. “I did. And I meant every word.”

“Then,” Ronan said, smile tight, “why are you clinging to what belongs to a house you now despise?”

Calista’s lips parted in protest, but he cut her off. “You want your freedom, Calista? Then take all of it. Not just the status. Not just the title of ‘ex-fiancée.’ Return the weapons, the artifacts, the resources my house poured into you for ten years. Or are you only interested in freedom when it comes with free treasure?”

Gasps rippled through the plaza. Even Lucien’s jaw tightened at the accusation.

"You twist things to suit your narrative," Lucien said sharply. “If it was truly a contract, where was the written clause that said these were conditional?”

“Ah,” Ronan mused. “And where was the clause that said I had to fund House Sable’s advancement out of pure love? Tell me, ‘friend of Calista,’ when a nobleman offers his family’s rarest relics to his bride-to-be—do you truly believe it’s just a romantic gesture with no expectations?”

Lucien faltered, momentarily lost for words.

But Calista wasn’t finished. She stepped out from behind him, her chin high. “You’re being cruel, Ronan. You want me to return everything just to humiliate me, don’t you? You’re still bitter I rejected you.”

Ronan’s gaze hardened. “If I wanted to humiliate you, Calista, I’d tell the public what you’ve been doing behind my back these past ten years. But I won’t. Because you’re not worth it.”

The words hit harder than any slap. Calista’s face turned pale, her breath caught.

“The rumours were right!” one of the onlookers said.

“Calista is shameless. She’s not as noble as her family haha…”

Lucien stepped forward again, anger flaring in his eyes. “Enough!”