Betrayed Into His Arms

2.

"And look where that backbone buried your mother. You better not resist like that b***h and be a good girl." Marcus' words sounded like a mockery. Ophelia's eyes watered as she mentioned, “But she was your wife.”

Marcus rolled his eyes, “f**k your dead mother, Ophelia. You don’t need to be emotional here, you want to pay for your tuition, right? You need money and….” He took a pause and whispered, ‘Edmund is filthy rich. Don’t you want your family to survive?”

Ophelia couldn’t believe her ears for a minute.

She stood alone in the corridor, the cream-colored contract still trembling between her fingers. Marriage to Edmund Hawthorne? Every word blurred until the ink became meaningless black stains.

"You've gone pale." Marcus's voice cut through her thoughts like broken glass.

"I... I can't marry a man I've never met."

His expression never changed. Then Marcus's palm crashed across her cheek, the force sent her stumbling against the marble wall.

Pain bloomed across her face. "So that's how you want to play this?" he said, his voice dangerously calm. "You think because you're in a fancy hotel you can embarrass me?"

Veronica folded her arms, approaching the corridor with her daughter, Helen. "I warned you she'd become difficult the moment we paid for university."

Helen rolled her eyes dramatically. "I told you, Dad. She's always been ungrateful."

Ophelia pressed a trembling hand against her burning cheek. "I've done everything you've ever asked of me."

"You've done what was expected," Veronica corrected sharply. "Don't mistake survival for generosity, bitch."

Marcus snatched the contract from her hands before shoving it back into her chest. "You're taking this upstairs."

Her stomach tightened. "What?"

"Suite 2808."

"He'll be waiting."

"I don't want to meet him."

"You don't have to want to." Marcus stepped closer until there wasn't enough room for her to breathe. "You simply have to obey."

Helen glided closer until her lips were almost brushing Ophelia's ear. To anyone watching, it looked like an affectionate sister sharing a private joke.

Instead, her voice dripped with venom. "You'd better do exactly as you're told," she whispered, a cruel smile tugging at her lips. "Or your precious father will die mysteriously... just like your worthless mother."

Ophelia's blood turned to ice. Before she could even process the threat, Helen took a dramatic step backward, let out a startled gasp, and stumbled as though she'd been shoved.

Her performance was flawless. The warm, innocent smile she wore a heartbeat ago twisted into one of wounded disbelief.

Ophelia stared at her in shock.

"What are you doing?" Helen's eyes instantly filled with fake tears.

Marcus rushed over. "Helen!"

Ophelia's chest tightened. "Dad, she.."

Smack! The slap echoed through the corridor. The force snapped her head to the side, leaving a burning sting across her cheek.

She slowly looked back at Marcus, her eyes shimmering with tears she stubbornly refused to let fall. "Why?" her voice cracked.

Marcus glared at her as if she were nothing more than an embarrassment. "How dare you bully your stepsister?" he barked. "Can't you let her enjoy one evening without causing trouble?"

"Dad, I didn't…"

"Enough!" His voice cut through hers like a blade. Only a handful of guests had witnessed the scene….three, maybe four…but that was all it took.

Not one of them questioned what had happened. Instead, they exchanged disgusted glances before whispering among themselves.

"That's the girl the Black family raised out of pity."

"What an ungrateful little thing."

"Imagine biting the hand that feeds you."

"I heard she pushed Miss Helen."

"A servant's daughter will always have a servant's manners."

Each whispered insult struck harder than the slap. To them, Ophelia Black had never truly been a member of the Black family. She was merely the orphan they had taken in... the burden they tolerated... the girl who would never belong.

Her vision blurred as tears finally slipped down her cheeks. She wiped them away before anyone could mistake them for weakness, but the ache in her chest refused to fade.

“I've had enough.” The thought settled heavily in her heart. Maybe... just maybe... getting married will finally free me from this place.

She clenched her trembling fists so tightly her nails dug crescents into her palms.

"Fine." The single word came out barely above a whisper.

Without sparing any of them another glance, Ophelia turned and walked upstairs, refusing to let them see how completely they had shattered her.

...

Across the ballroom, Charles Montgomery loosened the cuff of his tailored suit. He was just another person pretending to care about charity while calculating profits.

"Boss." Alex appeared at his side. "The Fox Eyes delegation has checked in."

Charles nodded. "We'll speak after the chairman arrives."

As he reached for another glass of sparkling water, someone intercepted him. "Mr. Montgomery."

Charles turned.Helen Black offered a dazzling smile that had undoubtedly taken an hour to perfect. "I've been hoping we'd finally meet."

"I see."

"My parents speak very highly of your company."

"I'm sure they do."

She laughed softly. "I was wondering if you'd save me a dance."

Charles regarded her with polite indifference. "I don't dance."

"Oh."

"You should ask someone who enjoys pretending."

The smile on Helen's face faltered. "I thought…"

"I know." He looked beyond her shoulder. "You thought wrong."

Suddenly, Helen Black felt invisible, she clenched her jaw before forcing another smile. "Perhaps another time."

"There won't be one."

She walked away with graceful steps. The moment she reached her mother, the smile vanished. "That arrogant jerk ignored me."

Veronica frowned. "Impossible, you dazzle like the morning star."

"He barely looked at me." Helen followed Charles's gaze. Her irritation deepened as she noticed that the billionaire wasn't watching the celebrities or politicians, his eyes had settled on Ophelia.

"What?” Helen's fingers curled into fists. "Why is he looking at her?"

Charles couldn't explain how among hundreds of perfectly dressed guests, one woman stood apart. She wasn't laughing or networking.

She looked frightened, there was literally something haunting about the sadness in her eyes.

Before he could think further, warmth spread strangely through his body. He frowned as his vision blurred for an instant.

Alex noticed immediately. "Sir?"

"I'm fine."

"You don't look fine."

Charles pressed two fingers against his temple. "Probably exhaustion."

"You've barely slept this week."

"I'll rest upstairs for a few minutes."

"I'll come."

Charles shook his head.

"No."

"But…"

"Stay here." His gaze swept across the ballroom once more. "And keep an eye on the Fox Eyes representatives."

Alex hesitated before nodding. "Understood."

Ophelia stood alone for several long seconds before forcing herself toward the private elevators, each step felt impossibly heavy.

The polished corridor stretched endlessly ahead of her. Her reflection followed in the mirrored walls, a frightened young woman clutching a contract that would decide the rest of her life.

She pressed the elevator button and the doors slid open with a soft chime. Inside, there was only silence. As the elevator climbed, she closed her eyes.

“Mom… What am I supposed to do?”

When the doors opened again, the hallway was empty. Luxury suites lined both sides, their numbers gleaming beneath warm lights.

She glanced down at the keycard.

2808.

Her vision blurred with unshed tears, the numbers on the polished brass plaques swimming before her eyes.

She stopped outside Suite 2806, fumbling through her handbag for the keycard Marcus had given her. Her trembling fingers barely cooperated.

The corridor was eerily quiet.

At that exact moment, a hotel attendant hurried past with a cart of fresh linens. As he unlocked the neighboring suite to prepare it for an arriving VIP guest, another staff member called his name. Distracted, he turned, accidentally dropping a second keycard onto the plush carpet without noticing.

Ophelia, too lost in her misery to pay attention, swiped her own card.

A soft red light flashed.

Access denied.

"What...?" she whispered, wiping her damp cheeks.

She glanced at the room number again, but her vision was still hazy. Had her father said 2806 or 2808? Her mind was too overwhelmed to remember. Everything from the gala replayed relentlessly in her head…the slap, the humiliation, Helen's threat.

She looked down and spotted a keycard lying near her feet. Assuming she had dropped hers in her panic, she picked it up without a second thought.

She slid it through the reader.

A green light blinked.

The lock clicked open.

Relieved, Ophelia let out a shaky breath and pushed the door open, never realizing she had entered the neighboring suite.

At the opposite end of the hallway, Charles stepped out of the elevator, rubbing his temples as an inexplicable dizziness clouded his thoughts.