Reborn To Change My Fate-Chapter 260 - Two Hundred And Fifty Nine

The heavy silence from Carlos seemed to press down on Marissa’s shoulders. Carlos stood silently, his chest heaving slightly from his dramatic announcement, his eyes darting away from hers. He had expected her to accept the narrative he had spun. But her challenge—her refusal to believe—had unsettled him.

Marissa stared at him for a long, agonizing moment. She gripped the broken locket in her hand so tightly that the jagged metal bit into her palm, a sharp, grounding pain that kept her from screaming.

She straightened her spine, drawing herself up to her full height.

"I’ll get to the bottom of this myself," Marissa declared. Her voice was cold, final, and echoed off the marble walls.

She turned her back on him, her dress swirling around her ankles with a sharp snap of fabric. She began to walk toward the inner doors that led to the private wings of the estate. She kept her head high, her steps measured.

But the moment she crossed the threshold, the moment she was out of Carlos’s direct line of sight, the strength that had fueled her confrontation suddenly evaporated.

Her knees buckled. The floor seemed to sway beneath her feet. She stumbled, her hand grasping blindly for the wall to stop her fall.

"Your Grace!"

Lily was there instantly. She caught Marissa by the arm, using her own body to support her mistress’s weight.

"I have you," Lily whispered, her face etched with worry and shared grief. "Lean on me."

Marissa took a deep, shuddering breath. She leaned on her maid for a second, closing her eyes against the wave of dizziness. She patted Lily’s hand, a gesture of reassurance she didn’t feel.

"I am fine," she murmured, though her voice was thin and brittle. "Let us go. We cannot stay here."

They walked into the house, moving deeper into the corridors, away from the suffocating presence of Carlos and his grim-faced soldiers. The house felt empty, cold, as if the heart of it had stopped beating.

As soon as they were out of earshot, in the safety of the east wing hallway, Marissa stopped. She pulled away from Lily gently and turned to face her. Her eyes, which had been glassy with shock, were now sharp and clear.

The grief was pushed aside, locked away in a box to be opened later. Now was the time for necessity.

"Lily," Marissa said, her voice low and urgent.

"Yes, Your Grace?" Lily asked, her eyes red-rimmed.

"Send people to watch over Ryan," Marissa ordered. Her voice was steel. "Immediately. Send the most loyal guards we have left. The ones who served Derek’s father. Send word to the northern estate."

She looked down the dark corridor, her mind racing through the terrifying possibilities.

"If this is a power struggle," Marissa explained, her mind working through the logic of betrayal, "if they have removed Derek to seize the title... then Ryan is the next obstacle. He is the son of the eldest brother. The law favors him over Carlos. He is the rightful heir."

She gripped Lily’s arm.

"They will not stop at one death," Marissa whispered. "If they killed Derek, they will kill a child without hesitation. He will also be in danger."

Lily nodded, her face pale with understanding. "I understand. I will send riders tonight. They will guard him with their lives."

"And," Marissa added, her thoughts turning to her next move. She couldn’t fight this alone. Carlos had the army’s tokens. He had the narrative. She needed allies. Powerful ones who could override a self-proclaimed Duke.

"Prepare a formal request," Marissa commanded. "I need to seek an audience with the Crown Princess."

Lily blinked. "The Crown Princess?"

"She owes me a favor," Marissa said, remembering the feathered cloak, the saved banquet. "She said I could ask for anything. It is time to collect. I need the Royal Family to intervene before Carlos takes control of the military completely."

Lily curtsied deeply. "As you wish, Your Grace. I will handle it."

They parted ways. Lily rushed toward the servants’ quarters to execute the orders, her footsteps light and fast. Marissa walked slowly toward her empty room, clutching the broken locket like a lifeline, the silence of the hallway pressing in on her.

In the west wing, the mood was entirely different.

Carlos walked down the hallway to his own chambers. He didn’t look like a grieving brother anymore. He walked with a swagger, a bounce in his step. He whistled a low, tuneless melody.

He reached his bedchamber door and pushed it open. He stepped inside and closed the door firmly behind him, turning the lock with a satisfying click.

He walked to the table in the center of the room. He poured himself a glass of water from a crystal pitcher, his hand shaking slightly—not from grief, but from the adrenaline of his lie.

Ashlyn was sitting by the window, staring out at the grey, overcast sky. She was wearing a simple house dress, her hands resting idly on her lap. She turned when he entered.

"Well?" Ashlyn asked.

Carlos drank the water in one gulp. He set the glass down. He turned to her, a wide, triumphant grin stretching across his face.

He told her the news. He told her about the ambush he had orchestrated. He told her about the arrow. He told her about the fall from the cliff.

"What!" Ashlyn exclaimed.

Her hand flew to her mouth to stifle a gasp. But it wasn’t a gasp of horror. Her eyes went wide with a sudden, bright, and terrible excitement.

She stood up and walked over to him. She sat down beside Carlos on the edge of the bed, leaning in close.

"Derek is really dead?" she asked. Her voice was filled with a glee she didn’t bother to hide. "Truly? No tricks this time?"

Carlos nodded.

"I saw him fall with my own eyes," Carlos said smoothly, believing his own deception. "I saw the arrow hit him in the chest. I saw him tumble off the cliff into the frozen river. No man could survive that. The height alone would kill him."

Ashlyn let out a long, shuddering breath. She leaned back against the bedpost, a smile spreading across her face like a blooming flower.

"With his death," she mused, staring at the ceiling as if seeing a beautiful future written there, "Marissa has no one left to rely on. Her shield is gone. Her power is gone. She is just a widow now. A childless widow with no claim."

She looked at Carlos, her eyes shining.

"Sister," she whispered, her voice dripping

with satisfaction. "So this is your fate. To be alone. To lose everything just when you thought you had won. You fought so hard, and for what? To wear black?"

Carlos pushed the empty cup on the table. It rolled and fell to the floor with a clatter, but he didn’t care. He turned to Ashlyn, puffing out his chest with pride.

"Choosing me in the marriage swap," Carlos boasted, taking her hand, "was truly your wisest decision, Ashlyn. You saw the future. You saw that I was the one who would rise. You knew I had it in me."

Ashlyn smiled at him. She reached out and stroked his arm, feeding his ego. She needed him strong now. She needed him to take the final steps.

"My husband is so capable," she purred. "You took control. You seized the opportunity when it mattered. You will surely make me the Grand Duchess soon. The title belongs to you now by blood and by force."

She leaned her head on his shoulder, acting the part of the devoted, admiring wife.

"When that time comes," she said, "I will share in your glory. We will rule this house together. We will throw Marissa out into the street."

"Naturally," Carlos agreed, placing his hand over hers. "It is just a matter of time. The King will have to appoint me. There is no one else. I am the only male Thompson left."

Ashlyn’s smile faded slightly. Her mind turned to the practicalities, the loose ends.

"With Derek dead," she said, her voice turning serious, "we need to move Ryan out of the way. He is the son of the eldest brother, Theodore. By law, the title passes to him before it passes to you."

Carlos frowned. "Ryan is a child. He is weak. He is in the north."

"He is a threat," Ashlyn corrected him sharply. "As long as he breathes, there is a claimant ahead of you. So that our child would become the heir after you get the title, Ryan must not return."

She sighed, her hand moving instinctively to her stomach. The joy of Derek’s death was momentarily overshadowed by her own secret failure. The phantom weight of the lie she carried pressed down on her.

"But we already lost him," she whispered, her voice tinged with bitterness. "The baby. The heir we needed to secure the claim. I am empty, Carlos."

She touched her flat stomach through the fabric of her dress.

"My pregnancy is supposed to start showing soon," she said, worry creeping into her voice. "The servants will notice. Grandmother will notice. It is becoming suspicious. I can only wear loose dresses for so long."

She looked at Carlos with desperate eyes.

"If they find out I am not pregnant," she said, "we lose our protection. We lose our excuse. Beatrice will turn on us. We need a child, Carlos. We need a son."

Carlos looked at her. He saw the fear in her eyes. He saw the desperation.

He smiled. It was a slow, confident smile. He felt powerful. He had killed a Grand Duke. Surely, he could make a baby.

He reached out and touched her cheek. His thumb brushed her skin, rough and callous.

"What’s so difficult?" Carlos asked softly. "It is nothing to me."

His hands moved from her face down to her waist. He gripped her hips, his fingers digging in possessively.

"We lost one," he said with a shrug. "We can make another. We are young."

He stood up and scooped her into his arms.

Ashlyn gasped lightly, wrapping her arms around his neck.

He carried her down on the soft mattress. He loomed over her, blocking out the light from the window.

"We just have to work hard," Carlos whispered, his voice husky. "To conceive another one soon. Tonight."

Ashlyn looked up at him. She nodded.

"Yes," she said. "Tonight."

She reached up and pulled him down.