Reborn To Change My Fate-Chapter 194 - Hundred And Ninety Four

The grand foyer was a cathedral of shocked silence, broken only by the sharp, collective intake of breath from hundreds of guests.

The soldiers’ accusation hung in the heavy air like toxic smoke.

Then, the murmurs started. It began as a low hum, a vibration in the floorboards, and swelled into a buzzing hive of judgment.

"Did you hear that?" a woman whispered behind her silk fan, her eyes wide with scandal.

"Bribing the Minister of War? With gold?"

"A disgrace," a man replied, shaking his head slowly, his face grim. "A Thompson stooping to bribery? The great General Ellis and his son Theodore must be rolling in his grave this very moment."

The two soldiers, their duty done, bowed stiffly to the Dowager Duchess. They turned on their heels, their armor clinking, and marched out the open doors, leaving the wreckage of a reputation behind them.

Beatrice, who had been leaning heavily on her cane for support, straightened up. Her face was not sad. It was furious. Her eyes, usually so warm for her family, were cold stones. The trembling in her hands stopped, replaced by a rigid, iron tension.

She looked at her grandson.

"You fool," Beatrice hissed.

She didn’t shout. The quiet venom in her voice was far worse than any scream. It echoed in the silent hall.

Ashlyn stared at her husband. The man she had bet everything on. The man she had mortgaged her mother’s estate for. He was on his knees, covered in dirt and bruises, looking like a beggar who had stolen a coat.

"Carlos!" Ashlyn cried out, her voice shrill with panic. She grabbed the lapels of his torn, dirty coat and shook him. "Didn’t you say you had everything under control? You told me you had a plan! You told me you were ready! What happened?"

Carlos looked up at her. His eyes were wide, wet, and terrified. He looked like a child caught in a lie.

"I..." he stammered, his lips trembling. "The Minister... he took the money... he promised..."

"He promised?" Ashlyn shrieked, her voice cracking. She shoved him away in disgust. "You trusted a man you bribed? You threw our future away on a criminal deal?"

The guests were not being quiet anymore. They were emboldened by the Dowager’s anger. The veneer of politeness shattered.

"Generations of imperial favor," a wealthy merchant scoffed, his voice loud enough for everyone to hear. He set his wine glass down on a table with a hard clink. "And it produced such a disgrace. A man who thinks he can buy honor like a sack of potatoes."

"Being dragged home like a criminal," another noble sneered, looking down his nose at Carlos. "Throwing money around as if gold can buy lives on a battlefield. If he had led the army, he would have gotten our sons killed."

A woman in the back, an old friend of the family, spoke up. Her voice trembled with disappointment. "He has shamed the Thompson ancestors. Duke Ellis and Theodore built this family reputation with their blood and their swords. And he stains it with greed." 𝐟𝐫𝕖𝗲𝘄𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝕧𝐞𝚕.𝕔𝕠𝐦

Beatrice heard every word. Each comment was a lash against her pride. She had defended Carlos. She had hoped for him. She had believed he would make it because of what he achieved in her last life. She had let herself be fooled.

Now, she saw the truth. And it burned.

"Guards!" Beatrice called out. Her voice cracked like a whip.

Two large household guards stepped forward from the shadows. They looked grim. They knew what was coming.

"Take this fool," Beatrice commanded, pointing her cane at Carlos as if it were a weapon. "Take him to the family shrine. Punish him according to the family rules."

Carlos’s head snapped up. Family rules. That meant the whip. That meant confinement.

"Fifty lashes," Beatrice ordered, her voice devoid of mercy. "And confinement until I say otherwise. Get him out of my sight."

Carlos raised his head. His face was a mask of pure terror. He reached out a hand toward her.

"Grand... Grandmother," he whispered.

The guards grabbed him. They hauled him to his feet, his legs dragging uselessly.

"No!" Carlos shouted as they began to drag him out of the grand foyer. He dug his heels into the marble floor, his boots screeching against the stone. "I just had a moment of stupidity! A moment of stupidity! I wanted to win for the family! I did it for us!"

He looked back at Beatrice, his eyes pleading.

"Grandmother.... Grandmother! I was wrong!" he screamed, fighting the guards.

"Grandmother!!!"

His voice echoed down the long hallway as he was dragged away, fading into the depths of the estate until the heavy door to the east wing slammed shut, cutting off his cries.

The silence returned, heavier than before. It was the silence of a funeral.

People started talking again, their voices low and critical.

"How could the Thompsons produce such a useless descendant?"

"The apple has fallen very far from the tree."

"And the wife? Look at her. She is just as bad."

Ashlyn stood alone in the center of the room. Her crimson dress, which she had thought made her look like a queen, now felt like a costume. She felt exposed. She felt the weight of hundreds of eyes on her.

She looked around for support. She needed someone to stand with her. She looked for her parents.

Lord Malone and Lady Anita were trying to hide their faces behind their hands as they hurried toward the main door. They were moving fast, trying to escape the association before anyone stopped them.

"Father! Mother!" Ashlyn called out, her voice desperate. She took a step toward them.

Lord Malone stopped. He turned slowly. His face was a deep, ugly purple with rage and embarrassment.

He marched over to where Ashlyn was standing. He didn’t comfort her. He didn’t look like the father who had doted on her.

He pointed a shaking finger at her face.

"You," Lord Malone spat. "You have shamed the Austen family."

Ashlyn flinched as if he had hit her. "Father..."

"You still had the audacity," Lord Malone continued, his voice rising, "to host this lavish banquet? To invite us here? To make us sit in the front row and watch your husband be dragged in like a dog?"

He looked around the room, seeing the judgment in the eyes of his peers.

"Did you think this was a game?" he shouted. "Did you think you could play at being great?"

This was the first time her father had ever shouted at her. He had always chosen her over Marissa. He had always told her she was the special one. Now, he looked at her with the same disdain he used to reserve for her sister.

"Father... Mother," Ashlyn whispered, looking past him to Lady Anita.

Lady Anita looked at Ashlyn with pity. She fiddled with her pearl necklace. She wanted to hold Ashlyn and comfort her but Lord Malone grabbed her arm.

"We are leaving," he announced loudly. "Do not write to us until this stain is cleaned. Do not come to the manor."

He dragged Lady Anita out of there. They disappeared through the front doors, fleeing the scene of their daughter’s ruin, leaving her stranded in the wreckage she had created.

The dam broke. The other guests, seeing the parents leave, took it as a signal. The show was over.

"Well," a baron said, setting his wine glass down on a tray. "I think the party is over."

"Indeed," his wife agreed, pulling her shawl tight. "What a waste of a good evening. And the food wasn’t even tasty."

They started leaving. One after another, the nobles and merchants filed out. They didn’t bow to Ashlyn. They didn’t say goodbye. They just shook their heads, whispering their judgments as they passed her.

"Disappointment."

"Foolishness."

"Arrogance."

Ashlyn watched them go. Her party. Her victory lap. It was emptying out, leaving her standing alone in a sea of wasted food, unused napkins, and disgrace. She stood there, trembling, her hands clutching her empty stomach.

Marissa stood near the stairs. She hadn’t moved. She hadn’t spoken. She was just a silent observer.

She watched Ashlyn’s world crumble. She watched the isolation settle around her sister like a shroud.

Marissa pressed her lips together tightly. She felt a bubble of laughter rising in her chest, but she held it down. It wouldn’t do to laugh now. It would look cruel to the servants. She had to maintain the image of the dignified, suffering sister-in-law.

But inside, she was cheering.

"The prophecy," Marissa thought, her eyes dancing with amusement.

She remembered the day in the market. She remembered seeing Ashlyn bump into the blind priestess.

Ashlyn didn’t know. She would never know.

She didn’t know that the "priestess" was an actress Marissa had hired before the encounter. She didn’t know that Marissa had found the woman in a theater troupe, paid her a pouch of gold, and given her a script.

She didn’t know that Marissa had orchestrated the collision.