Chapter 18 - Eighteen

Words : 1182 Updated : Sep 17th, 2025

In this chapter, Chapter 18 -EighteenThe Duke’s carriage, elegant and discreet, came to a stop in the courtyard... Continue reading Chapter 18 of "Reborn: The Duke's Obsession" for the full story!

Chapter 18 -EighteenThe Duke’s carriage, elegant and discreet, came to a stop in the courtyard of the Ellington manor. The driver helped Delia down with a respectful nod. She thanked him quietly, and he left at once, the sound of the horse’s hooves retreating down the long drive. As the carriage disappeared, Delia’s gaze fell upon a solitary figure sitting on a low concrete bench near the gardens. It was George. His clothes were rumpled, his hair was unkempt, and his posture was one of utter dejection. "Did he stay there all night?" she thought to herself, a brief flicker of pity quickly extinguished by a cold resolve. She brushed the thought away. His choices were no longer her concern. With her head held high, she began to walk towards the grand entrance of the manor. The sound of her footsteps on the gravel was the only thing that broke the morning silence. It was enough to rouse him. George’s head snapped up. The moment he saw her, he was on his feet, his face a mixture of relief and accusation. "Where were you last night?" he called out, his voice hoarse. Delia did not slow down. She continued walking as if he were nothing more than a statue in the garden, a part of the scenery she had no interest in. She walked passed him without a glance. "Delia," he called out again, his voice more urgent now. He started walking behind her, trying to keep pace. "Delia." Still, she gave no response. Her back remained straight, her steps even. She was almost to the main stairs. George stopped walking. A desperate edge entered his voice. "Did you spend the night with the duke?" The question hit its mark. Delia halted in her steps, her body freezing for a single, tense moment. But she did not turn around. "You didn’t, right?" George continued, his voice pleading now. "Tell me it’s not true, Delia. Tell me you didn’t do that." Slowly, deliberately, Delia turned to face him. Her expression was like ice, lacking any of the warmth or love he had once taken for granted. "I believe," she said, her voice dangerously calm, "that you possess no right to ask me such questions." She took a step towards him, her gaze unwavering. "Who do you think you are, questioning me?" Before he could stammer out a reply, she turned her back on him once more and continued walking, climbing the stairs that led to the heavy front door. "Delia!" George called her name one last time, a cry of pure desperation. The only answer he received was the loud, definitive slam of the door shutting in his face. The moment Delia stepped into the drawing room, she was met not with silence, but with violence. Baroness Augusta stood there, her face filled with pure rage. Without a word, she lunged forward and slapped Delia hard across the face. The sound cracked through the still air. Delia staggered backwards, the sting on her cheek sharp and immediate. Before she could even recover, Augusta slapped her again, on the other cheek. "How dare you," Augusta hissed, her voice trembling with rage. "How dare you ruin my daughter’s future. Her marriage set-up!" Delia’s head was ringing, her cheeks burning. But the pain only served to sharpen her focus. Instead of crying or cowering as she might have in the past, she straightened her back and looked Augusta directly in the eyes. Her own gaze was cold and defiant. "How dare you hit your daughter?" Delia asked, her voice steady. She let the question hang in the air for a moment before adding one final, poisonous word. "...Mother." She said it with a slight, mocking tilt of her head. It was the word Augusta had forbidden her to use since she was a little girl, insisting always on the formal title of ’Baroness’. Augusta was visibly taken aback. She had expected tears, apologies, fear. She had not expected this cold, defiant stranger standing in Delia’s place. From an armchair in the corner, a loud sob broke the tension. Anne was curled up in the chair, her face streaked and stained with tears, a crumpled handkerchief in her hand. Augusta recovered herself, her anger surging back. "You will not speak to me that way," she snarled. "And you will fix this. You are to marry George." "No," Delia replied simply. "You want me to marry a man I don’t love?" "Love?" Augusta shrieked, her voice rising in pitch. "What does love have to do with it? Just last week you were begging your father, begging me, telling us how much you wanted to marry George! What in heaven’s name is wrong with you?" "I would have married him," Delia stated calmly, ignoring her stepmother’s outburst. "But he has someone else in his heart." As if summoned by her words, the drawing room door opened, and George entered, his face pale and distressed. Delia turned her gaze to him. "Tell them," she said, her voice leaving no room for argument. "Tell them yourself, George, or I will." George looked from Delia’s hard expression to Augusta’s furious one, then to Anne’s weeping form. He opened his mouth, trying to find words to reason with her, to calm the situation. "Delia, please, let’s not do this here—" "I am not having it," Delia cut him off. She looked pointedly at her sobbing stepsister. "He’s in love with—" "What do you gain from doing all of this, Delia?" Anne suddenly shouted, leaping to her feet. Her face was a mess of tears and anger. "What is the point? Did he hurt your feelings so much that you have to punish me for it? Is that it?" Delia scoffed, a short, sharp sound of contempt. "This is getting annoying," she said, looking between the three of them. George, seeing his chance to be the peacemaker, turned to Augusta. "I apologize, Baroness," he said, bowing his head slightly. "This is all my fault. I promise I will make it right this time. I will talk to Delia." Delia let out a sigh. It was like speaking to a brick wall. None of them were actually listening. They were all trapped in their own selfish dramas. She spoke again, her voice now barely an audible whisper. "You all don’t listen to me." She looked at their faces—Augusta’s rage, Anne’s self-pity, George’s weak desperation. They would never understand. They only understood power and scandal. So, she would give them both. She took a deep breath and her voice rose, filling the room, sharp and loud and undeniable. "I SLEPT WITH THE DUKE LAST NIGHT!" The words exploded in the silent room. She shouted them, making sure there was no way they could ignore her, no way they could pretend they hadn’t heard. "DO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS?" All three of them froze. Augusta’s mouth fell open. Anne’s sobbing stopped instantly. George looked as if he had been physically struck again. They all stared at Delia, their faces a portrait of unified, utter shock.

Chapter 18 - Eighteen

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