Reborn To Change My Fate-Chapter 172 - Hundred And Seventy Two

Carlos paced around the room, his movements jittery with a restless, manic energy. He couldn’t sit still. He walked to the window, looked out, then walked back to the bed, his hands constantly moving, adjusting his cuffs, running through his hair. He looked like a man who had just won a grand prize but was terrified someone would take it away.

"You should have seen him," Carlos said, his voice dripping with glee. "You should have seen how wretched Derek looked today. When he came out to tell the servants... he was pale. He was shaking. He looked like a man who had lost his soul."

He stopped pacing and turned to Ashlyn, a cruel smirk spreading across his face.

"He ultimately humiliated the Thompson family," Carlos declared, gesturing with a wide sweep of his arm. "His wife, a criminal? A suicide? A woman who ran a brothel? The shame will stick to him forever. The King will never trust him again. The court will laugh at him behind their fans. He is finished."

Ashlyn laughed. It was a light, happy sound, a release of all the tension she had been holding.

But then she stopped abruptly. Her smile faded as a thought struck her.

"The old woman," Ashlyn said, her brow furrowing. "Beatrice. She will eventually find out. She is at the Outer Estate now, isolated, but news travels. Servants talk. When she returns..."

Ashlyn paused. Her eyes narrowed, calculating the timeline.

"By then," she whispered, her confidence returning, "it will be too late. The household authority will be mine. I will have the keys. I will have the seal. I will have control of the staff. When she comes back, she will find a new order."

Carlos nodded his head vigorously. "Yes. Yes. You will manage everything. And I will manage the money. No more audits. No more frozen accounts."

Ashlyn looked down at her stomach. She placed both hands over it, feeling the warmth of her body.

"My treasure," she murmured to the unborn child, her voice soft and possessive. "You are really a lucky star. You survived the poison. You survived the fall. And now, your enemy is dead. You have cleared the path before you even took your first breath."

Carlos walked over to the bed. He sat down beside her, the mattress dipping under his weight. He reached out and placed his hand over hers on her stomach.

"The fortune teller’s prediction you spoke of," Carlos said, looking at her with a new kind of admiration. "The one about our rising fortunes. About the shift in fate. It was really spot on. Everything you said is coming true."

He leaned in close, his face flushed with excitement.

"Once you hold the household authority," Carlos whispered, his eyes gleaming with ambition, "and once you bear a son... in this household, what can Derek compare to me?"

He gestured vaguely toward the door, toward the rest of the silent, mourning house.

"He is a widower," Carlos listed, counting on his fingers. "He has no heir. His nephew is far away in the north. He has a ruined reputation. He is a broken man."

Carlos tapped his own chest.

"But I..." he said. "I have a wife. I have a son on the way. I have the future. I am the stable one. I am the one the family will look to."

Ashlyn smiled at him. She reached up and stroked his cheek.

"Of course," she said softly. "Our good days have just begun, Carlos. The darkness is over. We are in the sun now."

She looked deep into his eyes. Now was the time. The iron was hot. Now was the moment to push him, to mold him into the weapon she needed.

"Carlos," she said, her voice turning serious. "You need to start preparing."

"Preparing for what?" Carlos asked, confused.

"To take the authority over the Thompson Army," Ashlyn said.

Carlos blinked. He pulled back slightly. "The army?"

"Remember," Ashlyn said, her voice firm, gripping his hand tight. "Derek is still acting commander. But he is weak now. He is grieving. He is distracted. The soldiers will see it. The King will see it. A commander cannot be a broken man. He cannot lead if he is mourning a criminal."

She squeezed his hand.

"With your talent," she lied smoothly, feeding his ego with the words he craved, "taking over them will be a swift success. You just need to show them strength. You need to show them that there is a Thompson who isn’t broken. You need to step up."

Carlos looked thoughtful. He imagined himself in the commander’s uniform, riding a black horse, the soldiers saluting him. He imagined the power.

"The fortune teller," Carlos asked, looking at her with wide eyes. "Did she predict this too? Did she say I would lead the Thompson’s army?"

Ashlyn nodded slowly. She didn’t blink. She held his gaze.

"Yes," she whispered. "She said you will be the Grand Duke soon. She said the title will pass to the one who holds the future."

Carlos let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He believed her. He wanted to believe her more than anything in the world.

"The Grand Duke," he repeated, testing the words on his tongue. "Grand Duke Carlos."

He stood up. He walked to the window and looked out at the estate. The mourning banners fluttered in the wind, white flags of surrender. He felt taller. He felt stronger.

"I will do it," Carlos said. "I will start tomorrow. I will go to the barracks. I will talk to the generals. I will show them that I am ready."

Ashlyn watched him. She leaned back against the pillows, a satisfied, cat-like smile on her lips.

She had done it. Marissa was dead. Derek was broken. Carlos was her puppet, dancing on her strings.

She closed her eyes, savoring the moment.

"Everything," she thought, drifting into a peaceful sleep, "is finally going according to plan."