Gracie Kubas

I watched Ismael as he stood with the children, his easy smile and carefree demeanor making him seem entirely out of place in the cold, suffocating world of the Kubas estate. The way he spoke to them, the warmth in his voice, the way they laughed in his presence—it was unlike anything I had ever experienced here. The children adored him, and I could see why. He wasn’t burdened by the legacy of the Kubas family. He wasn’t twisted by the resentment and bitterness that clung to the mansion like a shadow.

In my previous life, Ismael had been a distant figure, someone I barely knew. But now, seeing him in this new light, I realized how different things could be. The children needed someone like him—someone who could make them feel safe, loved, and important. But as much as I appreciated his presence, I couldn’t ignore the way Fritz’s sister, Anselma, and his cousins, Martel and Yvonne, looked at him with contempt.

Their disdain for Ismael had always been about his mother’s lower noble status. She had been a baroness, noble but nowhere near the prestige of the Kubas family. To them, Ismael was a stain on the family’s name, a reminder of Fritz’s indiscretions. And they made no effort to hide their feelings.

I could hear their whispered insults, see the way they sneered at him and the children. It was nothing new—they had always been like this, even in my previous life. But back then, I had stayed silent. I had let them walk all over me because I thought I needed their help. I had been so afraid of standing on my own that I let them take over, allowed them to drain the estate’s funds and undermine my authority.

Not this time.

I had been given a second chance, and I wasn’t going to waste it.

I took a deep breath, watching as Anselma whispered something to Yvonne, both of them glancing at Ismael and the children with thinly veiled disgust. Their arrogance, their entitlement—it was suffocating. And I had endured it long enough.

“That’s enough,” I said, my voice cutting through the tension.

Anselma turned, her expression one of mock surprise. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” I replied, my tone firm. “I won’t have you insulting Ismael or the children in this house. Not anymore.”

Yvonne scoffed, folding her arms across her chest. “Since when do you get to decide what happens in this house, Gracie?”

“Since I’m the head of the household,” I shot back, my gaze steady. “And as the head, I’m telling you to leave. Pack your things. You’re leaving today.”

Martel, who had been silent up until this point, finally spoke, his voice low and condescending. “You’re being ridiculous. We’ve stayed here to help—”

“No, you haven’t,” I interrupted, my patience thinning. “You’ve done nothing but take from this estate. You’ve used the funds, insulted the children, and undermined my authority at every turn. I should have sent you away years ago, but I was too afraid. Not anymore. You’re leaving today, and I don’t want to see you again.”

The room went quiet, the air heavy with shock. Anselma, Yvonne, and Martel exchanged glances, clearly not expecting me to stand up to them like this. In my previous life, I would have been too scared, too insecure to speak up. But this time, I wasn’t afraid.

“You’ll regret this,” Anselma hissed, her eyes narrowing. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”

“I know exactly what I’m doing,” I replied, my voice steady. “And it’s long overdue.”

For a moment, they all just stood there, stunned into silence. Then, without another word, they turned and left the room, their departure filled with simmering fury. I stood there, my heart pounding in my chest, but I didn’t regret a single word. I had taken control of my own life for the first time in years, and it felt liberating.

Ismael, who had been watching the entire exchange, stepped forward, a small smile on his lips. “That was... impressive.”

“Thank you,” I said, letting out a shaky breath. “It was necessary.”

Later that evening, the estate felt strangely quiet without the constant presence of Anselma, Martel, and Yvonne. The children seemed lighter, more relaxed, as if the weight of the relatives’ judgment had been lifted. Ismael stayed for dinner, and for the first time in what felt like forever, the house felt like a home.

But the peace didn’t last long.

The next morning, as I sat in the study, a soft knock on the door interrupted the calm. One of the estate’s maids entered, her face pale, her hands trembling as she held up a folded newspaper.

“Milady,” she stammered, “you... you need to see this.”

Frowning, I took the paper from her, unfolding it with a growing sense of unease. My eyes scanned the front page, and when I saw the headline, my breath caught in my throat.

Countess Yvonne Found Dead; Anselma and Martel Injured in Escape

My mind went blank as I read the article. Yvonne, Martel’s wife, had been killed in a brutal attack the previous night, after they had left the estate. The details were horrifying—the infamous serial killer that had plagued the region for years had struck again. Anselma and Martel had barely escaped with their lives, injured but alive. They had fled, abandoning Yvonne to her fate.

I stared at the words, my heart pounding in my chest. This hadn’t happened before. In my previous life, Yvonne had lived. Anselma and Martel had continued to leech off the estate for years. But now, everything had changed. They had left the estate that very day, and within hours, tragedy had struck.

Is it because I changed things?

The thought sent a chill down my spine. Was this the consequence of my second chance? Had my decision to stand up to them set off a chain of events that hadn’t happened before?

I didn’t know. But as I sat there, the newspaper trembling in my hands, I couldn’t help but wonder how much more would change. And how much of it I could control.