Rebirth: The New Bride Wants A Divorce-Chapter 420: We can talk properly now

The Steward family business had crumbled to nothing, and with it, the last fragile thread of Ester’s hope to free herself unraveled.

Once, the Steward name had carried weight—doors had opened, people had listened. Now it was nothing more than a forgotten echo, buried beneath scandal and sealed court files. There was no influence left to lean on. No hand reaching out to pull her back from the edge.

The knife— the cursed piece of metal— still bore her fingerprints.

And Roseline’s testimony, paired neatly with her driver’s statement, closed the case with brutal efficiency. Every word had been measured. Every detail carefully placed. By the time the charges were read aloud, the outcome was no longer a question.

Attempted murder.

When the judge offered her the chance to fight for a not guilty plea, Ester didn’t even lift her head.

She declined.

What was the point?

Even if she screamed her innocence until her throat bled, nothing would return to what it had been. The truth had already been shaped into something unrecognizable—and no one was interested in reshaping it again.

Federick had rejected her without hesitation.

His eyes that once held warmth had turned cold, distant, as if she were nothing more than an inconvenience he wanted erased and her Fiona-

She hadn’t shown up even once.

No visit. No call. Not even a message passed through lawyers.

Everyone had give up on her just like that. And no matter how much she cried or want them to see her, they won’t.

Every path Ester had counted on collapsed, one by one making her finally see the reality of her life.

By the time the guards came for her, Ester no longer resisted.

She stood when ordered. Walked when told. Kept her head down as the chains clicked into place around her wrists.

The hallway was cold, sterile, unforgiving—each step echoing like a countdown she couldn’t stop.

As they led her toward another cell, one meant for long detention, Ester finally understood something with terrifying clarity.

This wasn’t just punishment.

It was the end of her life as she knew it.

Her future had narrowed into concrete walls and locked doors, into days that blurred together without names. The world outside would continue moving—people would forget, replace her story with something newer, louder.

She paused briefly at the threshold of the cell, her steps faltering when a voice cut through the silence.

"Someone wants to meet you."

Ester frowned, lifting her head slowly. The guard stood a few feet away, his expression unreadable, already unlocking the door.

Her heart skipped.

Is that Fiona?

The thought hit her so suddenly it almost hurt. Did she finally decide to meet me?

Hope—fragile, foolish, desperate—rose in her chest before she could stop it. Despite everything, despite the rejection and the silence, she still clung to the idea that her daughter would come. That Fiona would look at her once more and see a mother, not a criminal.

She followed the guard down the corridor, her chains clinking softly with each step. Her mind raced ahead of her body, rehearsing what she would say.

I’m sorry. I never meant for this to happen. Please, just listen to me.

The meeting room door opened and Ester stepped inside only the hope in her eyes shattering at the sight of the person sitting in front of her.

The faint glimmer of happiness that had sparked at the thought of seeing her daughter vanished instantly, extinguished without mercy. The chair across the metal table was already occupied, but not by the person she had been waiting for.

Roseline sat there, perfectly composed.

Elegant. Untouched. Unbothered.

She wore a soft smile, the kind that didn’t reach her eyes, fingers folded neatly on the table as if this were nothing more than a casual visit. Her tailored coat looked out of place in the bleak room, a cruel reminder of the world Ester had been exiled from.

For a moment, Ester couldn’t breathe.

"You?" she whispered hoarsely.

Roseline tilted her head slightly, lips curving further. "Is that any way to greet an old acquaintance?"

The guard uncuffed Ester and gestured for her to sit before stepping outside. The door shut with a heavy clang, sealing them in.

Ester remained standing.

"So," Roseline continued lightly, eyes roaming over Ester’s prison uniform with open satisfaction, "this is where you ended up."

Ester’s hands trembled at her sides. "Why are you here?"

Roseline laughed softly, as if Ester had just told her a harmless joke.

But the sound died midway.

Her gaze flicked toward the guard standing by the door, and the smile on her lips vanished without a trace—smooth, effortless, as though it had never existed at all.

"Aren’t you going to sit?" Roseline said coolly once the door closed behind them, sealing the room and leaving only the two of them inside.

The sudden shift in her tone made Ester’s skin prickle.

She had never wanted to see Roseline again. Not after that day. Not after realizing how meticulously Roseline had staged the scene—how she had painted Ester as the culprit with chilling precision, turning a carefully orchestrated act into an unbreakable accusation.

That was the moment Ester had understood something terrifying.

Roseline wasn’t impulsive. She wasn’t emotional either. She was dangerous.

The realization sent heat rushing through Ester’s veins, her blood boiling as old memories resurfaced—Roseline’s feigned weakness, the perfectly placed knife, the rehearsed testimony that had sealed Ester’s fate.

Her fingers curled into fists.

Keeping her eyes fixed on the woman she loathed from the depths of her soul, Ester forced herself to breathe. In. Out. Slow. Shaky.

She refused to look away.

Finally, she reached out, pulled the chair back with a sharp scrape against the floor, and sat down.

The metal was cold beneath her palms.

Roseline watched her with calm interest, as if observing an experiment she already knew the outcome of.

"Good," Roseline said softly. "We can talk properly now."

Ester didn’t respond. She simply lifted her gaze, eyes burning with restrained fury.

Because sitting down didn’t mean surrender.

It meant she was ready to listen— and remember.