Reborn: The Duke’s Obsession

Now awake and surprisingly clear, the Dowager Duchess Elena sat propped up against the pillows of her grand bed. Eric and Philip stood on either side of her bed like two rival princes awaiting judgment.

"I have told you two to stop fighting more times than I can count," Elena began, her voice weak but firm, each word carrying the full weight of her authority. "But you will not listen to an old woman. It is of no use. So…" She looked from one grandson to the other, her gaze sharp and assessing. "I am going to try a new tactic."

Eric and Philip both looked at her, their expressions a mixture of curiosity and apprehension.

"Maybe," she continued, a strange, weary light in her eyes, "you two must battle it out properly to finally end this childish fight. We need to really figure out who the true winner is, once and for all."

"Grandma, what do you mean by that?" Philip asked, his voice carefully neutral.

Elena looked directly at Eric. "Eric," she commanded, "I want you to come back to the Carson Textile Establishment. Immediately."

Phillip couldn't believe what he was hearing. His face was a mask of stunned disbelief.

She continued, her gaze now sweeping over both of them. "Philip. Eric. One of you will be my successor, the future head of our entire family enterprise. And I will be the one to decide which one of you it is, in one year's time." She paused, letting the weight of her declaration sink in. "It might even be shorter than that, depending on which one of you does a good and, more importantly, a better job. Is that understood?"

Eric was the first to speak. "That is one of the reasons I came home, Grandmother," he said, his own voice now full of a new, firm resolve. "I wanted to discuss this very thing with you."

Philip looked at him, his expression a mixture of shock and a dawning, furious understanding.

Eric continued, his gaze still fixed on his grandmother. "Yes, Grandma. I will come back to Carson Textile. There is no reason for me to feel guilty and hide away anymore. And…" he turned his head and looked directly at his brother, a cold, hard challenge in his eyes, "I will compete with Philip, fair and square."

Elena then looked at her elder grandson. "Philip? And you?"

Philip's shock was quickly hidden behind a smooth, false smile. "Yes, Grandmother," he said, his voice a perfect imitation of dutiful obedience. "As you wish."

Eric looked at Philip, and Philip held his gaze. The battle lines had been drawn. The war for the Carson legacy had officially begun.

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Delia sat in the quiet of her bedroom, a leather-bound diary open on her lap. The house was silent, and she was alone with her thoughts. She dipped her quill pen in the inkwell and wrote, the soft scratching of the nib the only sound in the room.

"…Grandmother collapsed. The shock of everything was too much for her. It was my fault. It was all of our faults. The fighting, the secrets, the contract… it all came crashing down, and she was the one who was hurt. I feel a terrible guilt. This was not part of my plan. I never wanted to cause harm to the good people in this family."

She paused, then continued writing, her thoughts turning to Eric.

"…He was so angry last night. But his anger was not just for his brother. It was for the whole situation. I saw the way he looked at his mother when he begged for her help. He is willing to sacrifice anything for me. And I… I am beginning to realize that this feeling in my heart is more than just gratitude. It is something deeper, something that both terrifies and excites me."

She closed the book, a new resolve in her heart. She had to be stronger. She had to be smarter. For her own sake, and now, for his.

Later that evening , she heard the sound of the main door opening and closing. She went downstairs and saw Eric in the main hall, his arms full of brown bags and muslin, overflowing with fresh groceries.

"When did you get back?" she asked, a happy, surprised smile on her face.

Eric replied with a smile of his own. "Just now."

"How was lunch with your family?" she asked, taking some of the bags from him to help.

"It was… fine," he replied, his voice carefully neutral.

As they got to the kitchen, he began to unpack the groceries onto the large, central table—fresh vegetables, a cut of beef, a loaf of bread.

"What is all of this for?" Delia asked.

"Let's eat," Eric replied simply. He looked at her, his expression turning soft and a little sad. "You haven't eaten yet today, have you?"

His simple, knowing question made her heart ache. She had been so caught up in her own thoughts, she had completely forgotten about food.

"You just finished having a meal with your family and must have had a stressful day. Don't worry about me. I can just eat an apple or…"

In a sudden, impulsive movement, Eric pulled her into a hug, wrapping his strong arms around her and holding her close. She was shocked at first then hugged him back, burying her face in the familiar, comforting scent of his coat. He gently stroked her hair as he smiled, a deep, contented sound rumbling in his chest.

"What is it?" she asked, her voice slightly muffled by her face being pressed against his chest.

"It makes me so sad," he replied, his own voice muffled in her hair, "when I think about how you won't eat proper meals without me being here to make them for you."

Delia chuckled, a soft, warm sound. "What?"

He broke the hug and held her at arm's length, his hands resting on her shoulders. "And I need you by my side to have a proper appetite, too," he admitted, his eyes full of a deep, honest sincerity.

They both smiled.

"So, what should I make for my Duchess tonight?" he asked, his tone now light and cheerful. "Beef stew and boiled greens?"

She nodded like an excited child telling her mother to make her favorite meal. "That sounds good," she said.

She took his formal coat and his hat from him, and as she went to hang them up, he rolled up his sleeves and, with a happy, contented look on his face, he began to prepare their dinner.