1.
"Smile." The word came with a sharp jab to Ophelia Black's ribs.
She stumbled sideways, nearly dropping the tray of champagne flutes balanced carefully in her hands.
"I said smile, you ungrateful little bitch."
If hatred had a face, Ophelia Black had memorized every line of it. It stared back at her every morning from the dining table, wearing her stepmother's expensive perfume and her father's familiar eyes.
"Don't just stand there like an i***t," Veronica Black snapped, flicking a napkin onto the polished marble table. "The guests will be here in less than an hour, and this place still looks like a disaster."
Ophelia lowered her gaze before quietly reaching for the napkin. "I'm sorry."
"Oh, she's sorry," Helen mocked from across the room, not bothering to hide the laugh that escaped her crimson lips. "Maybe she'll apologize the dust away too."
A chorus of laughter followed. Marcus Black, her father didn't laugh. He simply watched, coldly. As though the girl polishing his dining table wasn't the daughter who shared his blood.
Ophelia swallowed the ache rising inside her throat and continued wiping the spotless surface until her fingers trembled. She had stopped asking herself what she had done to deserve this treatment years ago.
She had simply been born to the wrong woman.
Ever since her mother died, this house had ceased to be a home. It became a place where every mistake belonged to Ophelia, every chore was hers, every insult found its way to her ears, and every dream she dared to have was treated like an inconvenience.
"Are my shoes ready?" Helen called lazily without looking up from her phone.
"They're by the entrance."
"My dress?"
"I steamed it this morning."
"My perfume?"
"Inside your bag."
Helen finally glanced at her with a smug smile. "At least you're useful for something, sister."
Veronica smiled proudly at her daughter before reaching out to smooth an imaginary crease from Helen's glittering silver gown. "My princess is going to outshine every woman at the Imperial Grand Hotel tonight."
Marcus nodded in agreement. "Especially once Charles Montgomery sees you."
At the mention of that name, Helen's smile widened.
Charles Montgomery, the city's youngest billionaire. Cold, ruthless, and untouchable. Helen had spent months studying everything about him…his favorite wine, his preferred charities, even the colors he supposedly liked seeing women wear.
Tonight wasn't merely another gala, tonight was her chance. "He'll notice me," she declared confidently.
"He'd better," Veronica replied. "Do you know how much we spent on that emerald necklace?"
Helen touched the dazzling stones around her neck and admired her reflection. "It was worth every penny."
Marcus chuckled. "It wasn't cheap."
Ophelia paused. She knew exactly how expensive that necklace had been. She had accidentally seen the receipt while cleaning Marcus's office. The amount printed at the bottom was enough to pay for four years of her university education.
Enough to save dozens of struggling families and to erase every excuse Marcus had ever given whenever she asked why her tuition was always delayed.
"Why did you stop?" Marcus barked.
She immediately resumed polishing. "I'm sorry."
His jaw tightened. "You apologize too much."
Because you never stop giving me reasons to. The words remained trapped inside her mind.
...
By sunset, the Imperial Grand Hotel shimmered beneath thousands of golden lights, transforming the skyline into something almost magical.
Luxury cars lined the entrance. Everyone who mattered had received an invitation.
Ophelia stepped from the family car wearing a simple navy-blue dress that had once belonged to Helen. It had been altered three times to fit her.
Even then, Veronica frowned. "You still look plain."
Helen laughed. "No dress could fix that face."
Ophelia said nothing. She simply followed several steps behind as photographers rushed toward Helen instead.
"Miss Black! Over here!"
"Helen! One more picture!"
Flash after flash illuminated the entrance while Ophelia slipped unnoticed through the revolving doors.
She preferred it that way. Invisible people couldn't be disappointed when no one looked their way.
Inside, the ballroom glittered beneath crystal chandeliers. Soft music floated through the air while servers carried silver trays between elegantly dressed guests.
Everything sparkled.
Marcus pulled Ophelia aside before anyone could notice. His expression was straight. "I have something important to discuss with you."
Her heartbeat slowed. Those words had never brought good news. "What is it?"
He studied her for a long moment before speaking. "You've always said you wanted to help this family."
She nodded cautiously. "I do."
"Good."
He reached into the inner pocket of his tailored suit and withdrew a cream-colored envelope sealed with black wax. He placed it in her hands. "Read it."
Confused, Ophelia broke the seal. Her eyes scanned the first page. Then the second and the color drained from her face. Marriage Agreement.
Bride: Ophelia Black.
Groom: Edmund Hawthorne.
"What?” The whisper barely escaped her lips. "This has to be a mistake, Dad. Why is my name…"
"It isn't, my darling princess." He smirked.
She looked up, her hands trembling violently. "I'm twenty-three, Dad. I’m not ready for marriage…what about my dreams?"
"What stupid f*****g dreams, Ophelia?"
Ophelia flinched in fear, her body trembling as she looked into the eyes of the man that once treated her like a jewel but she couldn’t recognise those eyes anymore.
Marcus laughed…a harsh, humorless sound that echoed inside the quiet corridor. "Love doesn't pay my…our debts, girl."
Her breathing became uneven. "You can't decide my future." She stared at him, searching desperately for the father who used to carry her on his shoulders when she was little.
The father who promised she'd always be safe. She couldn't find him, only a stranger remained.
"This marriage will save the Black family," Marcus said. "And you'll sign the agreement tonight."
"What?! I’m sorry, but I cant do such.." The words surprised even her. For the first time in years, she had said no.
Marcus's eyes darkened. "So you've finally found a backbone." He leaned closer, lowering his voice until each word felt like scorching pepper. "And look where that backbone buried your mother. You better don't resist like that b***h and be a good girl."
