CHAPTER 30: CHAPTER THIRTY

With everyone gone, Carlos, his face a mask of cold fury, smoothed the front of his trousers with a series of sharp, angry movements. He walked over to where his formal coat lay discarded on the gravel path, picked it up, and began to dust it off with a detached, careful gesture, as if brushing away not just the dirt, but the entire sordid incident. And Ashlyn, his wife, his victim, he treated as if she were nothing more than a part of the dirt.

He turned and began to walk away, his back rigid, offering no word of apology, no glance of remorse.

Ashlyn, her mind still reeling from the shock of his slap and the cruelty of his words, scrambled after him. "Carlos!" she cried, her voice a ragged, desperate plea. "I am your wife! You did such a filthy thing today, in my parents’ home, and now you are not even willing to give me an explanation?"

He did not answer. He did not slow his pace. He continued walking, his determined stride a clear and final dismissal of her and her pain.

The injustice of it, the sheer, arrogant disregard, ignited a fresh wave of anger within her. It was a desperate, foolish act, but she could not stop herself. She ran, catching up to him just as he reached the garden archway, and grabbed his wrist, her fingers digging into his skin, forcing him to a halt. "Where have you placed me in your heart?" she demanded, her voice trembling.

He turned, and the look in his eyes was utterly devoid of the kindness she had so recently cherished. It was cold, hard, and terrifyingly empty.

SLAP!

His hand struck her again, the blow harder than the first. The force of it sent her stumbling backward, her head ringing.

"Explain?" he said, his voice a low, contemptuous snarl. "You want an explanation?" He took a menacing step towards her, his face a mask of righteous indignation. "You made a scene in public. You screeched and fought like a common fishwife. You embarrassed me in front of your family, all because of a mere maid. I haven’t even begun to think of a fitting punishment for you."

Before Ashlyn could even form a response, his hand shot out, his fingers wrapping around her throat. Her breath was cut off instantly. Panic, cold and absolute, seized her as she clawed at his hand, her feet scrabbling for purchase.

"I am still the head over you," he hissed, his face inches from hers, his eyes like chips of ice. "I am your husband. Dare to defy me again, dare to shame me again, and you will see what happens."

He held her there for a heart-stopping moment, demonstrating his complete and total power over her. Then, with a final, contemptuous shove, he released her. She fell to her knees, gasping, trying to fill her burning lungs with air as a torrent of hot, hopeless tears streamed down her face. He turned and walked away without a backward glance.

From a safe, hidden distance, standing in the shadows of a colonnade, Marissa watched the entire scene unfold. She watched as Carlos revealed the brutal truth of his character, and as Ashlyn’s carefully chosen world of happiness crumbled into dust. She felt nothing. No pity, no remorse. This was not cruelty; it was cause and effect.

She remembered the day before, visiting a modest, little-known house in a quiet part of the city—a house Carlos had bought for his mistress. Lina had opened the door, her face pale with worry. She hadn’t seen Carlos since his engagement was announced and was sick with a desperate, longing love. Marissa had made her an offer. Not a command, but a simple, tempting opportunity. A chance to work for her, just for a day, disguised as a Thompson household maid. A chance to be in the same place as the man who was avoiding her. Marissa had known, with absolute certainty, what a desperate heart would choose.

She looked at her sister, now a broken, sobbing heap on the gravel path. A small, cold smile touched Marissa’s lips. The husband you so carefully chose, she thought, has so many more surprises waiting for you, little sister.

Ashlyn returned to the Thompson estate early, and alone. The glorious homecoming had ended in a silent, humiliating retreat. She wandered the vast, empty gardens of her new home, the late afternoon sun casting long, lonely shadows on the path. Her cheek throbbed, her throat was sore, and her heart was a hollow, aching void.

She sank onto a cold stone bench under a large, weeping willow tree, the events of the day replaying in her mind. "In my last life," she thought, a new, unsettling confusion piercing through her grief, "I never once heard of Carlos having a mistress. He was known to be honorable, if unambitious. Why is it so different in this life?"

"Well, well. Aren’t you supposed to be having a glorious homecoming today?"

The voice, dripping with mockery, made Ashlyn jump. Lorena stood there, a cruel smirk on her perfectly painted lips. "Why are you back so early? And you look so heartbroken." She sat down on the other end of the bench, arranging her skirts with a small flourish.

Ashlyn, too broken to fight, just shook her head. "It’s because of Marissa," she mumbled, the name a bitter taste in her mouth.

"Oh, it’s always because of Marissa, isn’t it?" Lorena scoffed. "Why don’t you do something about it? Go and flatter Lord Carlos, use your charms to tie him down so he doesn’t stray. Or better yet, think of a real way to deal with your troublesome sister."

"What options do I have?" Ashlyn snapped, a flicker of her old fire returning. "She has the Duke’s favor, and she is clever. Even you have been struck down by her before."

Lorena’s face darkened with anger. "Watch your mouth," she hissed. "I underestimated the little snake. That’s all."

"I was just reminding you, Miss Lorena," Ashlyn said, her mind suddenly beginning to work again, seeing an opportunity in their shared hatred. A new plan began to form. She looked at Lorena, her expression shifting to one of sad, sisterly concern. "Speaking of underestimating her... at the homecoming today, she didn’t go alone. She went with the young master."

Lorena stiffened. "What?" she shouted, her voice sharp with disbelief and a sudden, fierce jealousy. "She took Ryan to your parents’ house?"

Ashlyn nodded slowly, carefully fueling the fire. "Yes. And you know, although Ryan isn’t your own son, you have raised him since his mother died. He has never once called you ’Mother’." She paused, delivering the final, devastating blow.

"Today, he kept calling Marissa ’Mother’, over and over again. It was so natural. They sounded like a real mother and child, so close already." She shook her head sadly. "Marissa... she truly knows how to manipulate people’s hearts."

The effect on Lorena was instantaneous and profound. The mockery and anger in her eyes were consumed by a deep, personal wound. Her connection to Ryan, the boy she had raised as her own, was the one pure, vulnerable thing in her life.

The thought of Marissa so easily and quickly stealing his affection was more painful than any public humiliation.

"That little witch," Lorena sneered, her voice a low, venomous hiss. Her hands clenched into tight fists in her lap. "She thinks she can win my Derek’s heart through Ryan? She thinks she can replace me?" Her eyes, when she looked up, were filled with a cold, murderous resolve. "I will show her what I am truly capable of."

Ashlyn looked down, hiding the small, triumphant smile that touched her lips. She had failed to destroy her sister’s marriage, but she had succeeded in something far more useful.

She had planted a seed of hatred in the heart of Marissa’s most powerful enemy. And now, all she had to do was wait for it to grow.