InkBlaze-w3

Chapter 1 Zachary Ashford, We're Done! "Zachary Ashford, you've got some nerve showing up with another woman. You're not afraid Ophelia Winters will dump you?" "Right? She looks like she has a temper." Ophelia had rushed through the pouring rain with a gift bag, ready to push the door open — and froze. She stood there with her fingers wrapped around the handle, a sharp pain blooming in her chest. Her feet felt like they'd been filled with concrete. Inside, Zachary had his arm around a woman's waist. With his free hand, he lazily tapped the ash off his cigarette, then let out a short, dismissive laugh. "I don't need to beg her. She'll come crawling back on her own." Those words nearly broke her. She couldn't breathe through the ache. She'd lost both her parents young and had grown up under the Ashford roof, side by side with Zachary. Back then she'd been withdrawn, too sensitive, too strange to fit in with his crowd of beautiful, effortlessly cool friends. It was Zachary who'd stepped in front of her when they turned on her. Zachary who'd shielded her. He'd adored her back then. Their friends had assumed they were together, and he'd smiled and let them think it. But now — Ophelia looked down at the gift she'd spent so much care on, and all she felt was the bitter irony of it. "Damn, Zachary — you're that good? She'd still forgive you for messing around? Where do I find a woman who loves me like that?" "He's gorgeous, that's why. Walks into any room and owns it." "Hey — stop, just —" Someone hushed the group, jerking their chin toward the door. Every head turned at once. "Ophelia's here..." She'd been spotted. She pushed down the chaos in her chest, steadied herself, and walked into the room. One way or another, she and Zachary needed an ending. "Zachary. I need to talk to you. Let's find somewhere private." Magnolia Ashton took one look at Ophelia's face and yanked herself away from Zachary, words tumbling out fast. "Ophelia, don't get the wrong idea — we were just joking around. Zachary and I are just friends." Ophelia gave her a thin, cold smile and said nothing. She looked only at Zachary. He didn't seem remotely concerned. His eyes slid over to her with that familiar lazy amusement. "Fia. We had a bet going — whoever walked through the door next had to finish this whole glass." He slid a tumbler of whiskey toward her. She'd told him. She'd told him her stomach couldn't handle the hard stuff. "Zach, that's not fair — let me drink it for her." Magnolia reached for the glass, but Zachary stopped her with a hand. "Your stomach's bad. Liquor's rough on you." Ophelia cut through them both. "Did you forget mine is too?" He paused. A flicker of something — not guilt, just inconvenience. "Of course I remember. So don't drink it. I wasn't forcing you. Don't make this weird." 'She just needs to know her place,' he thought. He'd let her get away with too much for too long. If she kept up this attitude now, she'd be a nightmare after they got married. And besides — every guy in this circle had his fun. That was just how it was. He just didn't want to look like a fool. He stood, spotting the gift bag still hanging from her hand, and smiled. "For me?" Ophelia glanced down at it. "Not anymore." She opened her fingers. The bag dropped to the floor. He picked it up anyway. Inside: a gray hand-knit scarf and a watch. Zachary collected luxury watches — a full glass cabinet's worth at home. The Rolex Submariner in front of him didn't register as anything special. What he didn't know was that it had taken her over a year of skipping meals and cutting corners to save up for it. "Changed your mind about giving it to me?" He set the watch aside without a second glance. "Keep it — I've got plenty. The scarf's nothing, I'll borrow it for now and give it back later." He pulled the knit scarf from the bottom of the bag, folded it, and laid it on the leather seat cushion. Then, without missing a beat, he gave Magnolia a firm smack on the backside. "Too cold to sit on leather, right? There you go. Sit." "This is kind of..." Magnolia shot a weak glance at Ophelia, flustered, and grabbed at his hand. He just gripped her waist and pressed her down into the seat. "Young Master Ashford, Ophelia's right here," someone said. The words had barely landed before Ophelia's fist shot out and shoved Zachary hard enough that he stumbled. She snatched her scarf back, wound it up, and cracked it across him. The decorative fringe she'd tied along the edge raked against his skin and he yelped. "You don't get to sit on my scarf. Both of you — you're disgusting." She looked him dead in the eye. "And Zachary — we're done. I hope you two destroy each other." Zachary blinked. Shook his head slowly. "Fia. Do you even hear yourself right now?" Everyone in that room knew Ophelia had followed Zachary around for years. She was his shadow. You couldn't shake her loose. A shove and a breakup speech? Nobody bought it. Ophelia didn't repeat herself. She didn't even look back. She turned and walked out, and the door slammed shut behind her. The room came back to life. "Zachary... she meant it this time." He was still stinging, and it showed. "Like I care." "Every time they fight, Ophelia's the one who comes back first. Give it a few days. She'll regret it." Zachary ran his tongue over his back teeth. He didn't argue. Just laughed under his breath. "Forget her. Let's keep going." ****** The rain was coming down hard. Ophelia ducked into the nearest upscale hotel bar and found a corner seat to wait it out. She worked there as a waitress sometimes, so the manager waved her in without a word. Her eyes were still red. But she was done crying. She pulled out her phone and opened a short video app to give her brain something else to do — and the very first video that played was Magnolia's. Magnolia posted her rich-girl life online sometimes. She was pretty, had a good figure, and had built up close to a million followers. Right now she'd posted a photo: two hands intertwined, one large with prominent knuckles, one small and fair. Who the man was didn't need to be said. The caption beneath it read: *Real love doesn't need to announce itself. Only the woman he doesn't love has to scheme and claw her way to his side.* Ophelia stared at it, and then she laughed — a short, quiet sound, entirely for herself. How had she been so blind. How had she been so stupid. "Ophelia? Can I ask you for a favor?" Manager Morrison was slightly out of breath, his voice tight. "A very important guest just arrived. Aria called in sick today and can't get here in time, and the girls we have on right now don't have the experience — I can't afford to have them offend someone like this. I was at a loss, and then I spotted you." He exhaled. "Go take care of the VIP room for me. I'll throw in a five-hundred-dollar bonus." Ophelia didn't hesitate. "Sure. Let me go change." "Go, go." She pocketed her phone and headed to the staff locker room. She changed, touched up her makeup enough to cover the redness around her eyes, and made her way upstairs. Five hundred dollars was two weeks of groceries. She wasn't going to let Zachary cost her that too. At the top floor, she knocked, then pushed the door open. "Oh, different girl tonight?" She was used to that tone from men like these. She kept her smile in place. "Aria's out today. I'll be taking care of you." She stepped forward to pour. "What's your name, sweetheart?" "Ophelia Winters. Ophelia's fine." "Nice name." "What, Young Master Grayson — you interested?" "Get out of here." Brooks Grayson laughed and waved him off. Across the room, Malcolm Blackwell lifted his eyes with mild, detached curiosity. They traced the line of her slender back, drifted to the curve of her waist, and settled. Ophelia kept quiet, made herself small, poured each glass carefully and passed them around without drawing attention. Then she shifted to reach something on the table and caught the edge of a glass. It tipped. Liquor splashed across the floor — and across the leg of the man beside her. Her stomach dropped. She grabbed a handful of napkins immediately. "I'm so sorry, sir —" Malcolm's hand closed around her wrist. Chapter 2 His expression was cold, remote. His eyes, unreadable. "It's fine." Ophelia nearly sagged with relief. The moment she looked up, she met his gaze—dark, inscrutable—and her heart kicked hard in her chest. "Sorry," she murmured, dropping her eyes. She stood and stepped aside. Malcolm wiped at the damp spot on his slacks. A faint, sweet scent seemed to linger there. His fingers paused. He tossed the napkin into the trash. Then he glanced at Ophelia, standing off to the side like a startled deer. Something flickered in his eyes. "Relax, sweetheart. No harm done." When it came to pretty girls, they could afford to be generous. Ophelia smiled faintly and said nothing. She just wanted to finish her shift, get paid, and go home. These Kingsford princes? She had no intention of getting tangled up with any of them. When she saw their glasses were empty, she stepped forward to refill them. As she poured for Malcolm, gratitude stirred in her chest. She pressed her lips together and offered him a small, soft smile. Two hours slipped by. "Mac's wasted. Hey, sweetheart, help him upstairs, will you? He's got a room up there." Brooks was scrolling through his phone, barely glancing up as he spoke. Ophelia looked over. Malcolm was slouched against the back of the sofa, fingers pressed to his brow. He did look drunk. "Sure." She crossed to him and said quietly, "Sir, let me take you to your room." Malcolm lowered his hand. His eyes, half-lidded and dark, fixed on her. She'd been too far away before. He hadn't really looked at her. Under the shifting glow of the lounge lights, Ophelia had no idea he was staring. Thinking he hadn't heard, she tried again. "Sir?" The next second, her shoulder dipped under a sudden weight. Warmth seeped through the thin fabric of her shirt, invasive, impossible to ignore. A tingling sensation spread across her skin. Ophelia's heart jumped. She turned her head, uneasy. Malcolm draped his arm over her shoulder, his voice rough. "Appreciate it. Top floor. Suite One." "Of course, sir." Ophelia pressed her lips together and helped him out of the private room, into the elevator. She hit the button for the top floor. 'Ding.' The doors slid open. Ophelia looked up reflexively—and froze. In the bright hallway ahead, two figures were tangled together. Zachary had Magnolia pinned against the wall, kissing her like he couldn't wait another second. At the sound of the elevator, he barely pulled back, then scooped her up and carried her through a door, swiping his keycard as he went. The air left Ophelia's lungs. Her body went cold. "What, you into watching people go at it in hallways?" The man's voice, low and mocking, cut through the static in her head. Ophelia snapped back to herself. Her pulse was a mess. She stumbled over her words. "No—no, I wasn't—" She hurried to help Malcolm toward Suite One. Once inside, she guided him to the bed, eased him down, and pulled the thin blanket over him. Then she turned to leave. "Get me some ice water." His voice, low and rough, stopped her in her tracks. Ophelia paused, then answered softly and went to the open kitchen. Her hands were shaking as she filled the glass. All she could see was Zachary and Magnolia. That kiss. That intimacy. And she hated herself for letting it get to her. "Sir. Your water." Malcolm sat up. As he reached for the glass, his hand closed over hers. Ophelia's eyes flew to his face. His gaze was predatory, pinning her in place. Before she could react, he pulled the glass from her grip. Then he yanked her into his lap. The sharp, clean scent of him—cologne and alcohol—flooded her senses. Heat rushed to Ophelia's face. Panic and fury tangled in her chest. She shoved at his shoulders, even tried to stomp on his foot. "Sir, you're drunk. Let me go." Her strength was nothing to him. He caught her flailing hands and pinned them behind her back, laughing softly. "Playing hard to get? You were flirting with me downstairs, weren't you?" Ophelia was livid. She'd actually thought he was decent earlier. Turned out he was just another entitled, narcissistic creep. She didn't bother with 'sir' anymore. "You're imagining things." "Mm." Malcolm didn't care. He leaned in, mouth seeking hers. "Stay the night. Name your price." Ophelia twisted her head away, struggling hard. The crude offer made her eyes burn. "I'm here to work. Not to sleep with anyone. Back off." Malcolm's body responded. This girl was exactly his type. His lips found the soft skin of her neck instead. "Then call it a first time." He didn't believe she could resist an offer like that. Ophelia went rigid. She thought of the night she'd told Zachary, shy and hopeful, that their first time should be on their wedding night. Now it all felt like a joke. When she went still, Malcolm let out a low sound. He tilted her chin up and kissed her, hard and claiming. Ophelia had no experience. One kiss left her weak, her face burning. The man on top of her was immovable. He gave her no room to escape. Slowly, she stopped fighting. Then, almost without thinking, she slid her arms around his neck. This was only the second time in twenty-two years she'd let herself go. If Zachary could betray her without a second thought, why couldn't she do the same? Besides, Malcolm was good-looking. He had a great body. She wasn't losing anything. Might as well enjoy it. The night was long. ****** The next morning, pale sunlight filtered across the rumpled bed. Ophelia ignored the ache in her body and carefully slipped out from under the blanket. She gathered her clothes from the floor and dressed as quietly as possible, trying not to wake the man still asleep. Once she was ready, she pulled out her wallet. Inside: two hundred fifty-seven dollars. Two hundreds, one fifty, one five, and two coins. She tucked all of it under the water glass on the nightstand. She didn't want his money. As far as she was concerned, she'd paid him. Then she left. Downstairs, she bought a box of emergency contraception at the pharmacy. No water. She dry-swallowed the pill. Her rideshare pulled up. Ophelia tossed the empty box in the trash and got in. She was exhausted. All she wanted was a hot shower and sleep. ****** Ashford Group. Executive office. Zachary had been standing at the floor-to-ceiling window for nearly half an hour, eyes on the parking lot below. In his first few years at the company, the constant drinking had wrecked his stomach. Ophelia had worried. Every single day, she'd brought him lunch. Taken care of him. Usually, she'd be here by now. Maybe traffic? But it was Sunday. Traffic shouldn't be that bad. The door opened. The knot in Zachary's chest loosened. A smile tugged at his mouth. Of course Ophelia would come. "Took you long enough—" His tone was almost teasing as he turned toward the door. Then his brow creased. It wasn't her. Chapter 3 Fire Ophelia "Magnolia?" "Zach." Magnolia smiled sweetly and set the breakfast on the table. "Your stomach's been acting up, so I grabbed you something to eat. From Stel & Rowe Hall — you love that place, right?" Zachary paused. It wasn't him who loved Stel & Rowe Hall. It was Ophelia. She was a Southern girl, and Cantonese dim sum was her thing. He'd built Stel & Rowe Hall for her. Stel & Rowe Hall. Stel & Rowe Hall. He stared at the food on the table, a dull irritation crawling under his skin. "You eat it. I'm not hungry." Magnolia blinked. She thought back to how Ophelia used to be the one bringing him his meals. Was he thinking about her right now? No. Absolutely not. Yesterday had been a turning point for them — he'd pulled back at the last moment, sure, but that didn't matter. She wasn't about to let Ophelia waltz back in and ruin everything. She stepped forward and curled her hand around his arm. "Zach, I know you're used to Ophelia taking care of you. But after the attitude she threw at you last night, I doubt she's coming in today..." "Your stomach, though. Just eat what I brought, okay?" At those words, the light in Zachary's eyes went flat. His brow pulled tight. Magnolia pressed her advantage. "Ophelia's just spoiled. She can't handle anything that doesn't go her way. She's probably still sulking about you right now..." His jaw locked. Anger pushed up through his chest. Nothing set him off faster than a woman who didn't know her place — throwing attitudes at him, making him feel the heat of her moods. He did care about Ophelia. But caring didn't mean she got to walk all over him. She needed to stay in her lane, keep the peace, and stop interfering with what he had going. He still had use for Magnolia. And besides — Ophelia was the Ashford family's adopted daughter. No money, no power, nothing of her own. He'd agreed to marry her despite enormous pressure from every direction. And she still wasn't satisfied. Face cold, he pulled out his phone and called her. --- On the other end, Ophelia was asleep. Her stomach had been hurting all night. She'd taken something for it and tossed and turned for a long time before finally drifting off. When her phone buzzed, she reached out blindly, found it on the pillow, and answered. "Hello?" "Ophelia. Where are you?" Zachary kept his voice level, but the anger underneath was obvious. The sound of his voice pulled her fully awake. She opened her eyes — and remembered she'd forgotten to delete his number last night. "Say what you need to say. Otherwise I'm hanging up." Flat. Distant. That tone nearly snapped his control. He forced himself to hold it together. "How long are you going to keep acting like this? Every guy in my circle plays around. Their girlfriends deal with it. Why can't you? Where does this princess attitude come from?" Ophelia almost laughed. She actually felt sick thinking about him and Magnolia together — physically sick, like something in her stomach had turned. "Zachary. Have you forgotten? We broke up." "Ophelia! Don't push me." She didn't have the energy for this. She hung up, blocked his number, and blocked him on WhatsApp. His rage spiked the second the call died. He tried again — and got nothing. Blocked. He slammed his phone against the floor. Magnolia tucked her satisfaction away and put on a concerned face. "Zach, don't be upset. Ophelia's young, she runs hot. Just go sweet-talk her later and she'll come around." "Sweet-talk her?" He was too far gone for that to land any other way. It was gasoline on an open flame. "I've been too easy on Ophelia for way too long. She needs to learn." He yanked at his tie and punched the intercom. "Fire Ophelia." Without him, without the Ashford family's name behind her, she was nothing. She had nothing. He'd wait, and she'd come crawling back. Magnolia's eyes lit up. She couldn't quite hide the smile. ****** After being jolted awake by that call, Ophelia couldn't fall back asleep. The pain in her stomach had gotten worse. She'd thought it was something with her digestion, but the medicine she'd taken hadn't helped at all. Worried about letting it drag on — she had work tomorrow — she decided to go to the hospital. She went in the late afternoon, close to the end of the day, so the wait wasn't long. After checking in, she was called back quickly. "What's going on today?" The doctor was a middle-aged woman with a kind face. "Stomach pain." Ophelia, pale and drawn, did her best to describe where it hurt. The doctor listened, then stood and pressed carefully on Ophelia's lower abdomen. "Here?" Ophelia sucked in a sharp breath. "Yeah. That's it." "That's not your stomach. That's uterine pain — caused by rough intercourse. Go lie down on the bed behind the curtain. I need to do an exam." The doctor said it matter-of-factly, without an ounce of judgment, but Ophelia still wanted to sink into the floor. She managed a quiet "okay" and slipped behind the curtain. Ten minutes later, she came back out, dressed. "I'll write you a prescription," the doctor said. "Take it after meals. No sex for a week — that's non-negotiable. And going forward, you need to be more careful. Nothing too rough." Ophelia's face burned so hot she thought it might actually bleed. "Got it. Thank you, doctor." The doctor gave her a few more instructions. Ophelia listened carefully to every word before she left. She picked up her prescription from the pharmacy and was crossing the main lobby when her phone rang. She'd set different ringtones for work calls and personal ones, and the second she heard it, she knew. She answered immediately. "Hello, Director." "Ophelia, your trial period is over. You didn't pass the evaluation. Come by the office whenever you're ready to collect your things. Your salary for this month will still be paid out at the end of it." She thought she'd heard wrong. Her performance had been outstanding — better than every other intern by a wide margin. How had she not passed? The person on the other end didn't give her a chance to ask. The line went dead. It hit her like ice water poured straight over her head. A full-body chill. Her hand tightened around the phone until her knuckles ached. A voice inside her screamed the truth loud and clear: Zachary was behind this. Ophelia closed her eyes. At her sides, her hands balled into fists. Her shoulders trembled, just slightly. A long moment passed before she pulled her lips into a sharp, hollow smile. The corners of her eyes had gone red. From thirteen to twenty-two. Nine years she had loved this man with everything she had. They always said love, in the end, came down to character. Well. Whatever conscience Zachary had left, something had gotten to it a long time ago. Fine. If this was how it ended, then good riddance. Leaving Ashford Group meant cutting the last thread clean. She opened a job search app and started over. ****** "Mac, what are you looking at? You seem far away." The old woman patted Malcolm on the shoulder. Malcolm watched Ophelia walk out through the hospital's front doors, then turned back. "Nothing, Grandma. Let's go." His grandmother squinted, following his line of sight. She didn't catch anything. Puzzled. She'd thought it was a girl. Apparently not. What a disappointment. "Malcolm," she said, drawing it out with all the weariness of a woman who'd been patient for far too long, "you're not exactly young anymore. Twenty-nine. When are you bringing a girlfriend home for me to meet?" She paused. "Or... are you telling me you're not actually into women?" "Grandma." He cut her off before she could get any further down that road. "Stop." "Well, if you liked women, how come there hasn't been a single one in all these years? Don't tell me you're too busy. I have plenty of time. I'll find someone for you." Malcolm pressed two fingers to his temple and guided her toward the exit. "Don't trouble yourself. I've got it handled." She kept going the whole way to the car. He answered just enough to keep her from escalating, his eyes forward, fixed on the road ahead. Then, at the edge of his vision — a figure by the roadside. Slender. That particular quiet kind of pretty that made her look gentle, almost innocent. Too innocent to believe. But he knew better. That girl only looked soft. She had edges on her — sharp ones. She'd left marks down his back and across his side last night, and none of them were accidental. And she'd had the nerve to sleep with him and slip out before dawn. The two hundred fifty-seven dollars he'd found sitting on the nightstand that morning had left him so furious he hadn't even known what to do with himself. He watched her from the car, his expression darkening. She was on the phone, scanning the street in both directions, rising onto her toes every few seconds to look further down the block. Then a car pulled up — a flashy red sports car that announced itself from half a block away. The man who stepped out was tall, sunglasses on, all black athletic wear and sneakers, moving toward her with the easy confidence of someone who knew exactly how he looked. He reached out and ruffled her hair like it was the most natural thing in the world. They talked for a moment. Then he slung his arm around her shoulders, and they got in the car together. Malcolm's face went cold. He pulled out his phone and made a call. "Morrison. That girl from last night —" Chapter 4 "Don't you have extra training this week? How do you have time to come over?" Ophelia buckled her seatbelt and asked Russell Riverside casually. The two had known each other since elementary school. They were as close as it got. Russell clenched his jaw, the muscles in his cheeks tight, anger simmering under the surface. He shot her an irritated glance. "That bastard Zachary went after another woman? And then teamed up with her to humiliate you? Why didn't you tell me about any of this? Do you even consider me your friend anymore?" She'd been hurt, and he only found out today. Just thinking about it left a bitter taste in his mouth. Ophelia pressed her lips together, a little guilty. Seeing that Russell was genuinely angry, she patted his shoulder in comfort. She tilted her head, eyebrow arched. "Do I look like someone who lets people push me around? Don't worry. I'm fine, aren't I?" Seeing Zachary with Magnolia had hurt, no question. Even now, she hadn't quite recovered. After all, you could raise a dog and grow attached—let alone someone you'd spent more than a decade with. But she wasn't about to trap herself in misery. Zachary, that heartless bastard—good riddance. She was lucky she'd seen his true colors before they'd gotten married. They'd known each other for years. Russell understood Ophelia too well. She could deliver the worst news like it was nothing. Clearly devastated, yet acting like she had everything under control. Stubborn as hell. "All right, I'm fine. Don't worry about me. Focus on training at the base. Don't you have a race in Mexico next month?" She knew exactly how much racing meant to Russell. With a competition coming up, she didn't want him distracted. Russell let out a sharp breath, frustration churning inside him. "I'll deal with him for you later." "Don't." Ophelia cut him off immediately, her gaze fixed on the congested road ahead. Her tone was flat. "I already broke up with him. From now on, we go our separate ways. We have nothing to do with each other." "Don't go looking for him." She was afraid Zachary would make things difficult for Russell. Russell caught the loneliness in her voice. He reached over and ruffled her hair with one hand. "Three-legged toads are hard to find, but two-legged men are everywhere. There are way better guys out there than Zachary. I'll introduce you to someone." Ophelia laughed, her eyes crinkling. She took it as a joke and played along. "Sure, I'll be waiting." Russell didn't correct her. Seeing her finally smile eased the tightness in his chest, and his lips curved up without thinking. Suddenly, her phone rang, breaking the mood. Ophelia saw it was Manager Morrison and answered. "Manager Morrison." "Fia, do you have time after work tonight? We're a little short-staffed at the club. I might need you to come in. Money and bonus—we'll make it worth your while." Manager Morrison lied without a flicker of guilt, though the phone call Malcolm had made earlier still had him on edge. "Sure, I'll come by tonight." She was out of a job now, which meant no salary. Until she found something new, she had to take her part-time work seriously. Manager Morrison clutched the phone, thrilled. "Same as always, then. Come in around eight. A little late is fine. Drive safe." "Okay." After a few more pleasantries, Ophelia hung up. Russell had been listening the whole time. He knew she worked at Nightshade Club. He'd offered to help her out more times than he could count, but she'd refused every time. She wanted to make it on her own. No use arguing. Once this girl dug her heels in, ten oxen couldn't budge her. All he could do was remind her over and over. "Be careful. Call me if anything happens." Warmth spread through Ophelia's chest. "I will." Russell had other obligations. He'd carved out time just to see Ophelia. After lunch together, he dropped her off downstairs at her apartment building, then headed back to the base. Before leaving, he told her he'd come see her next weekend. Ophelia went home, took a shower, took her medicine, then lay down in bed and opened her phone to check on her job search. She was confident in her abilities, but waiting was always torture. Nothing she could do about it. Ophelia set her phone aside and closed her eyes to catch up on sleep. She'd barely slept last night, and she had to work at the club tonight. Without rest, she'd never make it. She didn't know how much time had passed when her phone woke her. She answered. "Hello, Ms. Winters. I'm calling from Sinclair Corporation's HR department. The résumé you submitted to our company has passed initial screening. We'd like to invite you in for an interview. Are you still looking for work? Would you be available to interview?" Ophelia jolted awake, sitting bolt upright in bed, eyes wide with surprise. "Yes—yes, I'm available." "Then please follow the text notification we'll send for interview details." "Okay, thank you." After hanging up, Ophelia practically launched herself out of bed, her chest rising and falling with excitement. See? You can't stay unlucky forever. What goes around comes around—and she'd actually made it to an interview at Sinclair Corporation! An opportunity this rare—she had to hold on tight. The joy pushed back the frustration weighing on her heart. Ophelia's mood lifted considerably. Zachary, by contrast, was having a much worse time. At that moment, he was lying flat on the couch, stomach killing him. An empty bottle of whiskey sat on the table beside him. He'd been waiting since last night. He'd even gotten Ophelia fired. By all logic, she should have come to him by now. But she hadn't. She hadn't even sent him a single message. "Ms. Bellamy, is the congee ready yet?" Zachary's face was pale. He braced himself against the couch and sat up. The moment he moved, his stomach cramped with a dull, relentless ache. "It's ready." Ms. Bellamy brought the bowl out from the kitchen and set it on the table. Zachary scooped up a spoonful and tasted it. The red beans and barley weren't soft enough. The barley tasted chalky, and the peanuts weren't ground fine. The whole thing was carelessly made. Swallowing it didn't help. His stomach still hurt. There was none of the brief relief he usually felt. "Why is this different from before?" Zachary put down the spoon and glanced at Ms. Bellamy. Ms. Bellamy looked surprised. "Ms. Winters used to make it. The red beans and peanuts have to be soaked ahead of time, and the peanuts need to be peeled. The barley's even more work—it has to be toasted before soaking." Zachary froze, his throat closing as if someone had their hand around it. He couldn't say a word. Just then, the door opened. A flash of delight crossed Zachary's pale face. He knew it. Ophelia couldn't let him go. Of course she'd come back. Ms. Bellamy perked up. "That must be Ms. Winters! I'll ask her to remake it for you." Zachary frowned in displeasure. No matter what, Ophelia was his. Where did this housekeeper get the nerve to order his woman around? But he couldn't think about that now. Zachary pushed through the pain and stood, heading out of the living room to meet Ophelia. He'd deal with Ms. Bellamy later. "Fia—" Zachary's lips curved into a smile, but it vanished the instant he saw Magnolia changing into slippers in the entryway. "What are you doing here?" Zachary frowned. "How did you get the door code?" This apartment held the remnants of all the good times he'd shared with Ophelia. He didn't want another woman stepping foot in it. And right now, Magnolia was wearing Ophelia's slippers. He liked to play around, sure, but the one he cared about most was still Ophelia. Childhood sweethearts, innocent first love—that kind of pure, tentative emotion would stay with him for life. Magnolia's expression faltered. After finishing with the slippers, she slowly straightened. The moment she met his cold gaze, her heart skipped a beat. She'd thought that when he fired Ophelia yesterday, it meant his patience with her had finally run out. Turns out, he still had deep feelings for her. Looks like it would take time to remove Ophelia from his heart. "I heard from your sister that you were drinking last night. I was worried your stomach couldn't take it. I wanted to check on you and make you some congee. I even went to Stel & Rowe Hall yesterday to learn from the chef…" Magnolia moved closer to him, her eyes—clear as autumn water—now brimming with tears. The corners reddened. She lowered her head slightly, looking hurt. "I asked Josephine for the door code. I'm sorry. I won't do it again. It's just—I missed you. I was worried about you…" Hearing that, the sharpness in Zachary's expression softened. He wiped the tear from the corner of her eye. He sighed. "Next time you miss me, just call. I'll come to you." "I'm sorry…" Magnolia looked up at him, her eyes and nose red, utterly pitiful. Like a kitten that had been kicked and was hiding somewhere, crying softly. Zachary's resolve crumbled. After all, Magnolia had come because she was worried about him. She'd even gone to Stel & Rowe Hall to learn how to make stomach-soothing congee just for him. Meanwhile, Ophelia—two days, and she hadn't said a single word of concern. And he'd spoiled her all these years! "Stop crying. Come inside." He took hold of Magnolia's hand, which had been hanging at her side. Magnolia let him lead her, feeling the warmth of his palm. But her eyes were cold and sharp. She was consumed with jealousy. She was the one who matched Zachary in every way. What did Ophelia have? An adopted daughter—nothing but trash who didn't belong. No. She would never let Ophelia ruin everything she'd worked for. ****** Seven-thirty that evening. Ophelia arrived early at Nightshade Club, changed into her work uniform, touched up her makeup… Once she was done, she stepped out of the changing room, replying to a message from Manager Morrison as she walked. "Ophelia? What are you doing working here?!" Ophelia stopped. She'd recognize that voice anywhere, even if it were reduced to ashes. She frowned and looked up at the two people in front of her. Chapter 5 Terrified of Running Into Malcolm Josephine Fletcher Ashford looked at Ophelia like she'd just stepped in something foul — like Ophelia's very existence was a stain on the Ashford name. Magnolia tried to smooth things over, her voice soft and careful. "Josephine, I'm sure Ophelia has her reasons. Let's just talk this through calmly—" Josephine shook her hand off and turned the full force of her glare on Ophelia. "Talk it through?" she snapped, her face going red. Reputation was everything in families like theirs. She wasn't about to let some charity case drag her down. If word got out in Kingsford's social circles that the Ashfords' adopted daughter was working in a place like this — what would people think? What would people say? Dirty eyes see everything as dirty. Ophelia had nothing to say to either of them. She didn't have time for this. She kept her focus on her phone, calmly scrolling through messages. "Ophelia, have you lost your mind? Working here?" Josephine's thin brows twisted. "Zachary practically handed you a job at the company on a silver platter. People would kill for that opportunity, and you threw it away like it meant nothing!" Her voice pitched higher, sharp enough to cut. "The Ashfords never should have taken you in. We should've left you out there to starve. At least then you wouldn't have grown up to humiliate us like this!" That landed. Ophelia looked up slowly. She locked her screen and slid her phone into her pocket. Her gaze settled on Josephine — cold, still, without a trace of warmth. "You think that's funny to say?" Her voice was quiet. Controlled. "My mother paid the Ashford family — paid you, generously — to take care of me. You agreed. You took the money. So don't stand there and act like I forced my way into your home. "And while we're at it — in all the years I lived under that roof, who actually took care of me? Because it wasn't you. It wasn't any of you. Just Aunt Iris." She tightened her grip on her phone, her whole body bristling. Josephine's face contorted. "That money?" she sneered. "Who even knows where your mother got it from. Like mother, like daughter — both of you will do anything for cash." She let her eyes drag around the club with open contempt. "Fine, work here if you want. But don't you dare tell anyone you're an Ashford. We don't claim people like you." The air shifted. A cold draft swept through the room. Ophelia moved. She stepped forward and swung her hand straight at Josephine's face. Her mother was her line. The one thing no one got to touch. But the slap never landed. A hand caught her wrist and wrenched her back — hard. "Ophelia, are you insane?!" Zachary's voice hit like a blade. Cold, furious, instant. The force of it sent her stumbling. She went down hard, hitting the marble floor elbow-first. The pain shot up her arm like fire. She sucked in a sharp breath, face draining white, and stayed there for a moment — not because the pain was too much, but because something worse had knocked the air out of her. He hadn't even asked. Hadn't even looked at what happened. Just accused her. He knew what her mother meant to her. He had always known. Her eyes burned. She tilted her head back, jaw clenched, and breathed through it until the sting in her throat settled. She was not going to cry. Not here. Not in front of any of them. Zachary hadn't meant to knock her down. He hesitated, then bent toward her. "Ophelia…" Magnolia was faster. She swooped in with both hands outstretched, her face arranged into perfect concern. "Ophelia, are you hurt? Zach didn't mean to—" Ophelia knocked her hands away before they could touch her. "Save it," she said flatly. "Who's the performance for?" She pushed herself up slowly, wincing, and brushed off her skirt. Magnolia stumbled back dramatically, nearly losing her footing. Zachary caught her without thinking, pulling her against his chest. He frowned — barely, just a flicker — then looked back at Ophelia. "Fia. Magnolia was trying to help you. You don't have to accept it, but the least you can do is not be rude." Every word hit like a needle going in slow. She felt it. She felt all of it. But she wasn't going to be the only one bleeding today. That fall wasn't free. She crossed the distance between them and slapped him across the face. The sound cracked through the room. Everyone went still. Josephine and Magnolia stared like they couldn't process what had just happened. Ophelia had actually hit Zachary. Zachary's jaw worked slowly. He pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek, feeling the sting spread. The tendons in his neck pulled tight. Anyone who knew him knew what that meant. "Ophelia." His voice had dropped to something dangerous and low. "Don't push me." "Stop defending her!" Josephine cut in. "She doesn't even care about her own reputation anymore — working somewhere like this! If people find out, they'll think we've been mistreating her!" Zachary's eyes dropped to Ophelia's uniform. White button-down, black pencil skirt, heels. Those legs. He'd spent enough time in places like this to know exactly what kind of attention she'd attract. What kind of attention she was probably already getting. He reined himself in. Barely. "Fia." He kept his voice even. "Quit. Come home. Right now." Magnolia's eyes glistened, her voice soft with worry. "Ophelia, if it's money you need, we can help. You don't have to do this. A place like this — it's not safe for you. You'll get hurt." Not safe. Not clean. Zachary caught those words. His gaze snapped back to Ophelia — to the Rolex on her wrist — and something shifted in his expression. Turned red. That watch started at a hundred thousand dollars. Her internship salary was a joke. There was no way she could afford that on her own. Unless. The thought completed itself. His face went cold. "Last time," he said. "Quit. Come home. If you need money, I'll give it to you. Stop doing this." Stop doing this. Ophelia bit down on the inside of her lip until she tasted blood — metallic and bitter on her tongue. Of course. Dirty eyes see everything as dirty. She had taken this job to save up. To buy him that watch. Every single day she'd stretched her budget thin, skipped full-price meals, bought clothes off the clearance rack because every dollar had to count. There were nights she'd worked both her internship and this place back to back. She'd shown up here during her period, swallowed painkillers, and spent hours pouring drinks and cutting fruit in a private room because she needed the shift. For him. All of that — for him. And now she understood exactly what it had been worth. She blinked. Steady. Her eyes found his, and she held them. "I should've known," she said, each word deliberate and final. "All those years I gave you — I might as well have thrown them to the dogs." She turned away. The tears came the second her back was to them. She pressed the back of her hand hard against her face and kept walking. Behind her, Zachary stood very still. Something was slipping through his fingers — he could feel it, the way you feel sand falling no matter how hard you close your fist. "Fia." He moved to follow her. Then Magnolia made a small, pained sound. He stopped. "What's wrong?" "My ankle." She was pale, leaning slightly, her voice barely above a whisper. "I think I twisted it. Go after her — really, don't worry about me, I'll manage on my own…" "Don't bother!" Josephine crossed her arms. "After everything she just said? Why would you chase after her?" "She didn't mean it," Magnolia murmured softly, eyes downcast. "She's upset, that's all. She's young. She acts out when she's hurting. You know how to handle her — just go, I'll be fine…" There it was. That word again. Handle. It landed in exactly the wrong place. Zachary's expression closed off. He bent down and lifted Magnolia into his arms, already heading for the exit. "She needs to learn that behavior has consequences. I'll take you to the hospital first." Nestled against his chest, Magnolia smiled — small, private, satisfied. ****** In the restroom, Ophelia stood over the sink and scrubbed her hands until they burned. Her wrists were red. Her eyes were worse. But she had stopped crying. Not a single tear left. Her phone buzzed. "Fia." It was Manager Morrison. "You're here, right? The client's already waiting." She pressed her cold hands against her eyelids for a moment, then straightened. "I'm here. Give me a minute." She dried her hands and walked out. Manager Morrison's voice came through again, slightly careful. "Just head straight up to the client. Don't keep them waiting." Ophelia slowed. "Which floor?" A beat of silence. "Top floor. Go on up — the client's been waiting a while now." The words landed like a stone dropping into still water. The top floor. Ophelia's hand tightened around her phone. The top floor. Where she might walk straight into the man from last night. Chapter 6 Ophelia rubbed her temples, a headache already forming, but she had no choice. She started up the stairs. Forget it. She could only pray that man wouldn't be there tonight. Just get through tonight, and she'd finally be free. The second her shift ended, she'd hand in her resignation to Manager Morrison. She was done with this place for good. Once she started at Sinclair Corporation, she'd throw herself into work. No more chasing after some heartless bastard like an idiot. The thought loosened the knot in her chest. By the time she reached the private room, she'd steadied herself. She knocked politely, as always, then pushed the door open. Her gaze landed on the sofa in the center of the room. The man lounging there, elegant and languid, a fan of cards in his hand. At the sound of the door, he glanced up lazily, catching the flicker of panic in her expression. A faint smirk tugged at his mouth. He tossed down a card. "Brooks, you lose." Ophelia steeled herself and shut the door behind her, stepping into the room. Somehow, she could feel a burning gaze on her back, as if he were staring straight at her. But when she looked over her shoulder, there was nothing. She dug her nails into her palm. 'Stop overthinking.' They were both adults. Both single. One night of whatever that was. It didn't mean anything. The reminder worked. Slowly, the tension drained from her shoulders. She noticed the fruit platter was empty and went to refill it. "No way, your luck is insane tonight." Brooks shook his head with a grin, then noticed Ophelia. "Hey, sweetheart, you know how to play?" Ophelia set the platter on the table. "I do." When she'd first started here, there'd been three days of training. Card games were part of it. Sometimes, when a client stepped out, she'd take their place at the table. "Then sit next to Mac. There's a spot open." Brooks shot Malcolm a meaningful look. Malcolm's expression didn't shift. Calm as still water. He didn't even glance at Ophelia. Seeing how utterly indifferent he was, as if they'd never met, Ophelia felt a wave of relief. Besides Malcolm, the other two men were seated in armchairs. The only open seat was next to him. Ophelia gave a small nod and sat down beside Malcolm, nerves prickling under her skin as she picked up her cards. Her arm brushed against his shirt. The cool, woody scent of him swept over her. Before she could stop it, her mind pulled her back to that night. Every detail. 'God, stop it.' Ophelia was a mess. She wanted to slap herself. Her focus scattered as she fumbled through her hand. Midway through the game, Malcolm set down his cards and stepped out to take a call. By the time he came back, they'd already started a new round. He sat down beside Ophelia and watched. The faint trace of smoke mixed with that cold, clean scent curled around her. Her body locked up. Her spine went rigid. "Play the king." His voice, low and smooth, brushed against her ear. It sent a shiver down her spine. Her heart lurched, then plummeted, like a rollercoaster drop. Her fingers trembled as she pulled the king from the middle of her hand. "Move closer. I can't see your cards." Malcolm saw her trying to edge away. Ophelia said nothing. She shifted toward him, every muscle tense. "Is this okay?" They were close now. Too close. She could barely breathe. Malcolm didn't answer. Just gave her a brief, unreadable glance. Four rounds later, whether by design or coincidence, Ophelia won easily every time. Brooks swept the cards aside and poured a drink, sliding the glass toward Malcolm. "Mac, I heard you're interested in the Everwise Technology Park project. Planning to bid?" Malcolm said nothing. His silence was answer enough. Realizing they were talking business, Ophelia excused herself and slipped out to the lounge area. She found a chair and sat down to wait. When her mind wandered, it always drifted toward things she didn't want to think about. She pressed her fingers to her temples. After half an hour, she got up and headed back to the room. But when she opened the door, Malcolm was the only one left. He was leaning back against the sofa, eyes closed. Like he'd fallen asleep. Ophelia froze in the doorway, hand still on the handle. Finally, she stepped inside. She figured she should wake him. If he woke up on his own and found her gone, she didn't want to deal with the fallout. These Kingsford elites had money and power to spare. The last thing she needed was trouble. Ophelia sighed softly and tiptoed toward him. But as she got closer, she realized he wasn't asleep at all. His eyes were open. Flustered, she started clearing the empty bottles from the table. "Sir, your friends have all left…" 'So maybe you should too.' The sooner he left, the sooner she could clock out. "Does it still hurt?" Malcolm's dark eyes locked onto hers. It was the look of a wolf watching prey. The same look he'd given her that night. Her heart stuttered. She turned to leave. But a strong, burning hand clamped around her wrist and yanked her back, pulling her into his lap. "Ah—" Ophelia gasped, her face flushing red with a mix of shame and fury. She braced her hands against his solid chest, trying to push herself up. But he gripped her waist and pinned her down effortlessly. He buried his face in the curve of her neck, his voice rough and laced with desire. "Be with me. Name your price." His lips grazed her skin, feather-light. The sweet scent of her clawed at his restraint. Heat pooled low in his stomach. He was starting to think he was addicted to her body. "Have some self-respect! I work here. I'm not for sale! If you want someone, go find another woman! Don't touch me!" Ophelia's voice shook with anger. She raised her hand and swung at him. But he caught her wrist mid-air without even looking up. His black eyes flickered with irritation. Possessiveness, maybe. Something darker. "Three million a month. That's enough for the sports car, isn't it? Why waste your time with someone else when you could be with me?" Sports car? He was talking about Russell picking her up this morning. He saw that? Fury exploded in her chest. She wrenched her hand free and slapped him hard across the face. The crack echoed through the room. Malcolm's head snapped to the side. His expression went cold. His eyes turned glacial. Ophelia was past the point of reason. She didn't care if he was some Kingsford prince anymore. Right now, he was just a predator. "I work an honest job. I'm here to earn mon...