Reborn To Change My Fate-Chapter 185 - Hundred And Eighty Five

The heavy silence in the courtyard was shattered by a sound that no one expected.

It was laughter.

Marissa stood at the bottom of the steps. She had been listening to the so-called "Master Orion" proclaim Carlos as the chosen one, the bright star of the family. She looked up at Carlos, who was puffing out his chest like a proud rooster. She looked down at the fake holy man in his expensive robes.

She couldn’t hold it back. The absurdity of it was too much.

"Pfft," Marissa scoffed.

Then, a short, sharp laugh escaped her lips.

Beatrice turned her head sharply. Her eyes, usually warm toward Marissa, were now confused and slightly stern. Ashlyn glared, her pious mask slipping for a fraction of a second. Even the acolytes stopped swinging their incense burners.

Marissa quickly raised her hand. She covered her mouth, hiding her smile, but her eyes were still dancing with amusement.

"Sorry," Marissa said, her voice trembling with suppressed mirth. "Please, go ahead. It was just... the wind tickled me."

She waved her hand at the priest, gesturing for him to continue his performance.

Master Orion cleared his throat loudly. He looked annoyed at the interruption. He gripped his staff tighter, trying to regain the solemn atmosphere he had worked so hard to create.

"As I was saying," the man boomed, his voice regaining its deep, dramatic resonance. "The heavens have spoken. The Second Master is the chosen vessel of glory."

He turned back to Beatrice. He knew she was the key. She was the one with the superstitious heart.

"However," the man said, lowering his voice to a grave whisper. "Fate is a delicate thing, Dowager. A star needs fuel to burn. A commander needs support to rise."

He gestured toward Ashlyn, who was standing demurely beside the old woman.

"During this period," the man instructed, "you should prioritize his wife’s wishes. She is the connection. She carries his heir. Her spirit is linked to his fortune."

Beatrice listened intently, leaning forward on her cane.

"Support her fully," the man commanded. "As she prays for her husband’s success. Her prayers are the wind that will lift his wings. But prayers require peace. They require resources."

He looked around the courtyard, his eyes sweeping over the wealth of the Thompson estate.

"Give her what she needs," he said. "To be able to intercede for her husband. If she is distressed, his star will dim. If she is in need, his luck will fail. Do not let her suffer any lack."

Beatrice frowned slightly. She was a woman of faith, yes, but she was also a woman who had managed a duchy for decades. She knew the value of money. She looked at the priest, a flicker of skepticism in her eyes. It sounded very convenient that the "stars" wanted Ashlyn to have money.

"Is that so?" Beatrice asked slowly.

Ashlyn saw the doubt in Beatrice’s eyes. She knew she had to act fast. She couldn’t let the old woman start thinking logically.

Ashlyn squeezed Beatrice’s hand. She let out a small, shaky sigh.

"Grandmother," Ashlyn whispered. "I just want Carlos to succeed. I want the family to be great. If my prayers can help him... I will do anything."

She looked down at her stomach, playing the card of the devoted mother and wife.

Beatrice looked at Ashlyn’s face. She saw the tears welling in her eyes. She saw the desperation. Beatrice’s skepticism melted away. She held her beliefs in high esteem, and the thought of blocking her grandson’s fate was too risky.

Beatrice nodded firmly.

"You are right," Beatrice said. "We cannot risk it."

She turned to Ashlyn, clutching her hand tight.

"You must pray diligently for Carlos," Beatrice ordered. "Do not cease. If the heavens have chosen him, we must do our part."

Ashlyn nodded, a look of holy determination on her face. She tapped Beatrice’s hand gently.

"I will devote myself fully, Grandmother," Ashlyn promised. "I will spend every waking hour in prayer and meditation. I will buy the finest incense, the purest oils, to please the ancestors."

She paused. She bit her lip, looking troubled.

"But..." Ashlyn said. Her voice trailed off.

"But what?" Beatrice asked.

Ashlyn slowly turned her head. She looked at Marissa. Her eyes were sad, filled with a helpless victimhood.

"But I cannot," Ashlyn said softly.

She looked back at Beatrice. 𝘧𝓇𝑒𝑒𝑤ℯ𝑏𝓃𝘰𝑣ℯ𝘭.𝘤ℴ𝘮

"Grandmother, you remember," Ashlyn said. "After my earlier mistake... with Senna... when I was foolish and kind... Marissa placed me on house arrest."

She gestured to the guards standing at the perimeter.

"I am confined to my quarters," Ashlyn said, a tear rolling down her cheek. "I am a prisoner in my own home. How can I go to the temple? How can I gather the materials for the rituals? How can I pray for Carlos’s success when I am treated like a criminal?"

It was a perfect strike. She used the priest’s words to break the chains Marissa had put on her.

Beatrice looked at Marissa. She looked torn. She knew Marissa had punished Ashlyn for a good reason—for endangering the Thompson’s child. But now, the "prophecy" stood in the way.

"Marissa," Beatrice said, her voice hesitant.

Marissa watched the performance. She saw the trap. Ashlyn was using the gods to escape her punishment. It was clever.

Marissa didn’t look angry. She didn’t look defeated.

She chuckled.

It was a low, smooth sound. She uncrossed her arms and smoothed her dress.

"So this was the plan," Marissa thought. "Use a fake priest to override my authority. Use the Dowager’s fear to get freedom and money."

She looked at Ashlyn, who was hiding a smirk behind her tears.

Marissa realized that fighting this now would only make her look like she was against the family’s success. If she said no, she would be the villain who stopped Carlos from becoming a "great commander."

Fine. Let them have their rope.

"Naturally," Marissa said. Her voice was light and agreeable.

She walked up the steps until she was standing on the same level as them. She looked at Ashlyn with a smile that was all teeth.

"Since Carlos is now the priority," Marissa said, "and since the heavens have spoken so clearly..."

She glanced at the priest, her eyes mocking him for a brief second before returning to Ashlyn.

"...then the confinement is insignificant," Marissa finished. "Rules are for ordinary times. And apparently, these are extraordinary times."

She waved her hand dismissively.

"You are free to move about, sister," Marissa said. "You are free to pray. You are free to spend."

Ashlyn’s heart soared. She had won. She had beaten Marissa’s order.

Ashlyn curtsied deeply, hiding her triumphant face.

"Thank you, sister," Ashlyn said. "Thank you for your generosity. I knew you would understand the importance of this."

Beatrice let out a sigh of relief. She patted Marissa’s arm.

"Thank you, my dear," Beatrice said. "I knew you would see reason."

Beatrice looked at Marissa seriously.

"Help Ashlyn in any way you can," Beatrice instructed. "The priest has spoken. This is for the future of the Thompson family. Give her the funds she needs for the rituals. Do not be stingy."

Marissa looked at the old woman. She felt a pang of pity for her. Beatrice wanted greatness so badly she was willing to believe a charlatan.

Marissa looked at the man in the white robes. He was trying to look holy, but she saw him glancing at the silver buttons on the guards’ coats with greed.

"Of course, Grandmother," Marissa said.

She smiled at the priest. It was a cold smile.

"I will help her," Marissa promised. "I will make sure she has exactly what she deserves."