Reborn To Change My Fate-Chapter 192 - Hundred And Ninety Two

The grand banquet hall of the Thompson estate was a spectacle of celebration.

Hundreds of candles flickered in crystal chandeliers, casting a warm, golden glow over the revelry below. The air was heavy with the rich scents of roasted meats, sweet wines, and expensive perfumes. Laughter and the clinking of glasses created a joyous din that masked any underlying tension.

Ashlyn moved through the crowd like a queen holding court. Her crimson velvet dress swirled around her ankles with every step, the gold embroidery catching the light. She paused at a table of wealthy merchants, her smile gracious and practiced.

"Is the wine to your liking, my lords?" she asked, her voice light and charming. "We opened the oldest casks from the cellar for this special occasion."

"Excellent, My Lady," a merchant replied, raising his glass in a toast. "Truly fit for a commander’s table. Your hospitality is unmatched."

Ashlyn beamed, soaking in the praise. She moved on to a table of minor nobles, her confidence growing with every compliment.

"And the food?" she inquired, gesturing to the platters of delicacies. "Is the roast duck tender enough? I personally selected the menu."

"Perfect," a lady gushed, dabbing her mouth with a linen napkin. "You have such a deft hand with hospitality, Lady Ashlyn. Your husband is a lucky man."

Across the room, Marissa stood beside Beatrice, the Dowager Duchess. They were receiving a steady stream of well-wishers, standing near the dais. Marissa looked calm, almost serene, but her eyes were sharp, scanning the room, checking the exits, checking the time.

"Congratulations to the family," a baron said, bowing low to Beatrice. "The Thompson line is strong. We look forward to hearing the good news."

"Thank you," Beatrice replied, her face glowing with pride. She leaned heavily on her cane, but her posture was upright. "We are very hopeful. Carlos has worked hard."

Marissa smiled politely, nodding her thanks. She didn’t speak. She just watched.

Just then, a maid ran into the hall. Her face was flushed, her breath coming in short, excited gasps. She skidded to a halt in front of the dais.

"Lord Carlos is back!" she exclaimed, her voice cutting through the chatter like a bell. "The Second Master has returned! The Royal military carriage is at the gate!"

Ashlyn’s face lit up with pure, unadulterated joy. She clasped her hands to her chest, her eyes shining.

"He is here," she thought, her heart soaring. "It is done. We have won."

Beatrice frowned slightly, checking the sundial outside. The shadow hand showed it was still early.

"Isn’t there still an hour left in the examination?" she asked, confusion clouding her eyes. "Why return early? Did something happen?"

Marissa smiled. It was a small, knowing smile that she hid behind her fan. She knew exactly why he was early. Failure didn’t take long.

Ashlyn, unable to contain her excitement, turned to Beatrice. She was glowing with confidence, her earlier doubts completely erased.

"Perhaps my husband’s thoughts flowed brilliantly," Ashlyn replied, her voice ringing with pride. "Perhaps he answered the questions so well, so perfectly, that he impressed the Generals immediately. Maybe they realized there was no need to test him further. They must have finished on time because he was simply too good."

She looked around the room, making sure everyone heard her.

"Genius does not need an hour to prove itself," she declared.

Beatrice smiled, her doubts erased by Ashlyn’s conviction. She nodded, wanting to believe it. "Yes. Yes, that must be it. He is a Thompson, after all. Tactics run in our blood."

Lady Anita looked at her husband, Lord Malone. They stood near the buffet table, holding plates of food. They exchanged a look of triumphant satisfaction.

"Our daughter," Lord Malone whispered, nudging his wife. "Has chosen well. We will be the parents of the Commander of the greatest army. We will be like royalty."

People started crowding around Ashlyn. They complimented her, eager to be close to the new power in the house.

"You are such a good wife," one woman said, touching Ashlyn’s arm. "Your support made this possible. A man needs a strong woman behind him."

"Please," a man added, bowing deeply. "Put in a good word for my son to your husband. He needs a position of a guard in the army. We would be forever in your debt."

Ashlyn basked in the attention. She felt invincible. She felt like she had finally stepped out of Marissa’s shadow.

"Play music!" Ashlyn shouted to the musicians on the balcony, throwing her arms wide. "Make merry! My husband has returned victorious! Let the whole estate hear the sound of our triumph!"

The band struck up a loud, triumphant march. Flutes trilled, and drums beat a steady, pounding rhythm that vibrated in the floorboards.

"Come!" Ashlyn cried, gathering her skirts. "Let us welcome him! Let us greet the new Commander!"

Everyone followed Ashlyn and Beatrice. They surged out of the banquet hall, a wave of silk, jewels, and excitement, heading for the grand foyer to greet the conquering hero.

The music grew louder as they reached the entrance. The heavy double doors were thrown open by the footmen, revealing the world outside.

Ashlyn stood at the front of the crowd, her heart pounding with anticipation. She expected to see Carlos striding in, perhaps holding a scroll, perhaps wearing a new medal on his coat. She expected a hero.

The flute stopped immediately. A screeching halt.

Then the drums fell silent.

The chatter of the crowd died instantly.

And finally, Ashlyn stopped. Her smile froze on her face. Her hands, which had been raised to clap, fell to her sides.

The sight they saw was unexpected. It was impossible.

Carlos was not striding. He was not smiling. He wasn’t even walking. He was hurled inside.

Two large soldiers, wearing the crest of the Thompson’s Army, threw him through the doorway. They tossed him like a sack of garbage.

He landed on the marble floor with a heavy, sickening thud. He slid a few feet, his body scraping against the polished stone, before coming to a stop right at Ashlyn’s feet.

He looked like a criminal. His new military coat, the one Ashlyn had bought with her mortgage money, was torn and dirty. His face was bruised, a large purple welt forming on his cheek. His hands were scraped raw.

He groaned, rolling onto his side, clutching his ribs. He coughed, spitting a little blood onto the floor.

Silence. Absolute, terrified silence filled the grand foyer. The guests stared, their mouths open. The servants froze.

Marissa stood behind Beatrice. She looked down at Carlos. She looked at the wreckage of Ashlyn’s dreams.

"Well," Marissa whispered to herself, a cold satisfaction settling in her chest. "It seems the Generals were not impressed."