Reborn To Change My Fate-Chapter 107 - Hundred And Seven

Ashlyn’s hands curled into fists on the floor. Her nails dug into her palms until they bled. The physical pain of the struggle was nothing compared to the searing agony of that comparison.

She stood up. The sting of the comparison was worse than the sting of a lash. It pierced through her pride, her ego, and the fragile sense of superiority she had clung to ever since her rebirth. To be compared to Marissa, the woman she had always looked down upon, the woman she had destined for a fiery death, was unbearable. But to be told she was lesser than Marissa by her own husband? That was a declaration of war.

She strode across the room, her steps heavy and furious, closing the distance to the bed where Carlos lay, looking smug as he closed his eyes.

"What did you say?" she hissed, her voice trembling with rage.

Carlos opened one eye. He didn’t look intimidated. He looked bored. He slowly sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He looked at her, at her red face and shaking hands, and he let out a short, mocking laugh.

"Am I wrong?" he shouted suddenly, his voice rising to match hers, shattering the quiet of the room.

He stood up, towering over her, using his height to intimidate. "Look at the facts, Ashlyn. Look at the reality of this house. Your sister, the Grand Duchess, welcomed a mistress into her home. She gave her a room. She gave her protection. She acted with the grace and dignity befitting a noble wife."

He took a step closer, forcing Ashlyn to take a step back.

"And you?" he sneered, pointing a finger at her chest. " After finding out I have a mistress, what did you do? You didn’t learn from your mistake. Instead, you decided to control every single coin I spend. You nag me. You hide your jewelry. You act like a shrew."

Ashlyn stared at him, her mouth falling open in disbelief. He was twisting everything. He was turning his own vices—his gambling, his theft of her dowry—into her fault.

"Are you telling me to copy her?" she asked, her voice dripping with incredulity. "You want me to be like Marissa?"

She scoffed, a harsh, ugly sound. "She welcomed Senna because she is weak! She can’t even control her own man! She let her husband bring a whore into the family estate in broad daylight. How dare you say she act so understanding? It is not understanding; it is cowardice! If that happened to me... if I had to smile at your mistress at the breakfast table... I would die of shame!"

"And that is why you are foolish," Carlos countered smoothly.

He walked around her, circling her like a shark. "You call it weakness. I call it strategy. I call it wisdom."

He stopped behind her, leaning in close to her ear. "Think about it, Ashlyn. Since that dancer, Senna, entered the estate, has my brother stayed with her even once? Has he slept in the east wing?"

Ashlyn paused. She tried to recall. The servants’ gossip was the lifeblood of the house, and she listened to it all. No, she realized. He hasn’t.

"No," Carlos whispered, answering for her. "He hasn’t. And yet, he still dotes on his Duchess daily. He buys her expensive gifts. He defends her in front of the servants. Why? Because her ’understanding’ brought marital harmony. She gave him peace of mind. She didn’t nag him. She didn’t fight him. She made his home a sanctuary, not a battlefield."

He walked back around to face her, a look of twisted triumph on his face. "That is how a wife keeps a husband, Ashlyn. Not by hiding her necklaces."

Ashlyn stood silent, her mind reeling. She hated to admit it, but his twisted logic had struck a nerve. But her thoughts went deeper than just household harmony. She thought about Senna.

Marital harmony? she thought, her brow furrowing. How is that possible?

In her past life, in the life where she had been the Grand Duchess, Senna had been a nightmare. She had been a viper in the nest. Senna hadn’t just been a mistress; she had been a relentless plotter. She had framed Ashlyn for theft, for abuse, for incompetence. She had turned the servants against her. She had whispered poison in Derek’s ear every night until Ashlyn was isolated and despised. Senna was formidable. She was dangerous.

So why is she so quiet now? Ashlyn wondered, a chill running down her spine. She is finally inside. She is in the east wing. She has access to Derek. Why is she hesitating? Why hasn’t she launched a single scheme against Marissa? Why is there peace?

It didn’t make sense. Unless... unless Marissa had already neutralized her. Unless Marissa was playing a game so advanced that Ashlyn couldn’t even see the moves.

The thought made her feel anxious.

Carlos watched the emotions play across her face—the confusion, the fear, the silence. But, in his arrogance, he misinterpreted them completely. He didn’t see a woman terrified of her sister’s growing power. He saw a woman who was realizing the error of her ways. He saw a wife who was worried about losing her husband’s favor.

He smiled. It was the smile of a man who knew he had won the argument, and who now wanted to claim his prize.

"You look worried," he said, his voice softening, becoming that dangerous, husky tone she had learned to dread.

He reached out and grabbed her wrist. He pulled her toward him, not gently, but with a firm, possessive jerk. She stumbled, and he caught her, dragging her onto his lap as he sat back down on the bed.

"Carlos, wait," she gasped, her hands pushing against his chest.

He ignored her protest. His arm clamped around her waist, holding her tight against him. He could feel her trembling, and he mistook it for excitement, or perhaps he just didn’t care what it was.

"It seems my wife misses my special skills," he murmured, his eyes dark and glassy. "You are worried I will leave you? That I will find comfort elsewhere because you are too strict?"

"No, I..." Ashlyn tried to speak, but her throat was dry.

"Shhh," he silenced her, placing a finger on her lips. "You don’t need to speak. You just need to learn. You need to learn how to be a good wife. Like your sister."

He kept one arm around her, holding her in place like a doll. With his free hand, he reached over to the small bedside table. He pulled open the drawer.

Ashlyn heard the sound of something sliding against wood. She looked down.

He brought out a whip.

It was not a riding crop this time. It was smaller, shorter, made of braided black leather with a cruel, tasseled tip. It was a thing designed for pain, for intimacy, for control.

Fear, cold and absolute, clouded Ashlyn’s face. Her eyes went wide, her pupils dilating until her eyes were almost entirely black. She stared at the object in his hand.

"Tonight," Carlos whispered, the word a threat wrapped in velvet. He tapped the handle of the whip against her thigh. "I’ve got some new tricks. I want to teach you about... harmony."

He felt her shake. Her entire body was vibrating with terror. She was remembering the pain from before, the humiliation, the way he had looked at her while she cried from the pain he inflicted upon her during their lovemaking.

But Carlos didn’t stop. He enjoyed the shaking. It made him feel powerful. It made him feel like the master of his house, the master of his wife.

He grabbed her trembling hands, which were pressed defensively against her chest. He pulled them down, forcing her arms open, leaving her exposed to him.

He brought her hands to his lips. He kissed her knuckles, one by one, his lips wet and hot. He kissed the palm of her hand. And then he looked up at her, his face inches from hers.

He gave her a predatory smile, a smile that promised a long, dark night.

"Don’t worry, my love," he said, his voice a low purr. "By the time the sun comes up, you will be the most obedient wife in the kingdom."