Chapter 2 Finding Her

• In a moment of frenzied urgency, he rushed to help the figure sprawled on the ground. His heart pounded as he knelt beside her, his voice trembling with concern. "Cecilia, are you alright? Are you hurt?" His words were a plea, an earnest attempt to connect with her through the chaos surrounding them.
• The air was thick with tension, and Walter's voice cut through it like a knife. "You've gone too far, Ophelia. Even if you're upset with me, you shouldn't take it out on your sister," he thundered, each word laced with palpable anger.
• The sight of Evelyn and Walter encircling Cecilia, their tender concern enveloping her like a protective cocoon, left Ophelia standing on the periphery, enveloped in a profound and poignant sorrow. A hollow ache settled in her chest as she watched the affectionate display.
• What was the point of this heartbreak? What did it all mean?
• From the very instant she had been brought back into their world, Ophelia had known, with a chilling certainty, that her parents were deeply disappointed in her. Raised by the Remington Family, she lacked the grace and sophistication expected of a true heiress, a deficiency that seemed etched into every glance and whisper around her. She had no mastery of the arts, no traditional skills to speak of, and to the Lark Family, she was nothing more than a glaring source of shame.
• Ophelia's voice was a whisper, a confession tinged with remorse. "I'm truly sorry to disappoint you. Last night, I mistakenly ended up in the wrong room and spent the night with another man. I'm no longer the pure college student you wanted me to be. I can't help you with Mr. Kingsley now. Let Cecilia handle it—she was so eager to do so." Her words hung in the air, a testament to her rebellion and a plea for understanding.
• As she witnessed her family's affectionate display, something within Ophelia broke. She turned and left without a second glance, her steps resolute and unyielding, each stride a silent declaration of her independence.
• "Stop right there!" Evelyn's once beautiful face contorted with rage, her expression twisting into something almost unrecognizable, an embodiment of the fury simmering within her.
• Evelyn hadn't anticipated that the previous night's events would spiral into such a disastrous outcome. Particularly after witnessing her biological daughter's self-satisfied demeanor, Evelyn spat out, her words dripping with venom, "You are truly an ungrateful wretch. If you dare to leave, we'll immediately halt your adoptive mother's treatment."
• Ophelia felt as though her feet had been encased in cement, rooting her to the spot. She turned back slowly, her gaze meeting her biological mother's with a mix of shock and disbelief, realizing that the pretense of civility had been completely abandoned. The façade had crumbled, revealing the harsh reality beneath.
• "What do you want from me?" she hissed through clenched teeth, each syllable a shard of ice piercing the air between them.
• Evelyn's eyes gleamed with disdain, her command cutting through the room like a decree. "Since you're no longer pure, there's no reason to keep this face. To avoid upsetting Mr. Kingsley, start using a darker foundation from tomorrow," she declared, clearly displeased that Ophelia had outshone Cecilia, her voice a whip meant to lash at Ophelia's spirit.
• "Fine, I'll agree to that."
• Ophelia's acceptance came swiftly, her voice steady and devoid of hesitation. She had no qualms about it, no lingering doubts to hold her back. Her mind was already focused on her part-time job, the one thing that offered her a semblance of freedom. Money was her only means of resistance against the Lark Family, her singular wish to see her adoptive mother's illness treated serving as her guiding light through the darkness.
• In the dimly lit confines of the hotel room, Ethan stirred awake, basking in the lingering satisfaction of the previous night's indulgences. The aftermath of his revelries cast a warm haze over him, but as his eyes roved across the room, a growing realization pierced through his contentment: he was alone.
• His expression swiftly hardened into a scowl, the tranquility shattered by a disquieting thought.
• Had the woman left without a trace?
• A wave of frustration surged through him as he surveyed the suite with meticulous scrutiny. His gaze swept across the room, probing every corner and crevice, including the bathroom, but there was no sign of her.
• The absence of any indication of another's presence gnawed at him, an unsettling notion taking root. Was everything that had transpired the previous night merely an illusion conjured by his desires?
• In a fit of frustration, Ethan threw off the covers and noticed a smear of crimson on the bed. His eyes, once sharp, narrowed further with suspicion and unease. He seized his phone with a steely resolve and dialed his secretary with a clipped tone.
• "Investigate who tampered with my drink last night at the party. Also, find out who was in my suite," he commanded, his voice cold and authoritative.
• The secretary's response was prompt and efficient, cutting through the tense silence.
• Meanwhile, Ophelia had transformed; her foundation was now two shades darker, and her eyebrows were drawn with an exaggerated thickness. Though she retained a certain elegance, her beauty had taken on a more subdued allure. As she navigated the city on her electric scooter, a crowd gathered ahead caught her attention.
• With a sense of purpose, she approached the throng of people and peered through the sea of faces. There, on the pavement, lay an elderly woman, her frail form marred by a head wound. The onlookers, while concerned, seemed hesitant to intervene, their indecision a stark contrast to the urgency of the situation.
• Ophelia parked her scooter and pushed through the obstructive crowd with determination. Her heart ached as she observed the elderly woman, who clutched a KFC takeout bag tightly—a meal presumably meant for her grandson. The scene struck a chord within her, and a surge of empathy propelled her forward.
• Despite the murmured warnings from a few onlookers, cautioning her about potential scams, Ophelia could not turn away from someone in need. Kneeling beside the elderly woman, she addressed her gently.
• "Grandma, can you hear me?"
• The elderly woman's eyes fluttered open, and upon meeting Ophelia's compassionate gaze, she offered a faint nod of recognition. Relief washed over Ophelia as she helped the woman to her feet, guiding her to a nearby chair with tender care.
• "Young lady, did you rescue me?" the elderly woman inquired, her voice trembling with gratitude.
• "Yes," Ophelia replied softly.
• Noticing that the elderly woman's injury was merely a scrape and that communication was not hindered, Ophelia offered to assist in contacting her family. However, the elderly woman's grip tightened on Ophelia's arm, a visible plea for continued companionship.
• "Grandma, I have a class later. Let your family come and get you."
• "No, I'm scared to be alone," came the trembling response.
• Moved by the elderly woman's vulnerability, Ophelia's resolve softened. "Alright, I'll stay with you for a while."
• "Thank you," the elderly woman murmured, her voice laden with relief.
• Back at the hotel, Ethan awaited his secretary's arrival with a taut sense of impatience. Just as he was about to lose himself in frustration, his phone rang with a call from his grandmother. Upon learning of her fall, Ethan's face hardened with concern, and he immediately rushed to the address she provided.
• In the car, the secretary briefed Ethan on the events of the previous evening. "Mr. Moore, Gemma handled your wine glass last night. However, she tripped afterward and did not manage to locate you."
• Ethan's eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. "Leak her scandals to the press. And ensure that the Watson Family is held accountable for raising such a daughter."
• The secretary's nod was firm, yet his eyes betrayed a fleeting glimmer of sympathy. The Watson Family, one of the city's elite, stood in stark contrast to Ethan's immense power, which could obliterate any family with but a single gesture. Ethan, the undisputed ruler of the city, wielded his influence like a scepter of dominion.
• As a sleek black limousine glided to a halt at the curb, Ophelia barely had time to react. The car door swung open, and two impeccably dressed individuals emerged, their movements precise and assured. They approached the elderly woman with practiced grace and helped her from the ground.
• "Grandma, this is…." Ophelia began, her voice trailing off in confusion and concern.
• Before she could complete her sentence, the elderly woman's voice, imbued with a note of gratitude, interjected. "This is my savior. Bring her along as well."
• One of the men, responding to the elderly woman's command, seized Ophelia with a surprising strength and ushered her into the waiting car. Inside the extended limousine, a group of four or five people sat with stern expressions, their faces masks of inscrutable purpose. Ophelia, now thoroughly bewildered, was thrust into the luxurious interior.
• The scene felt orchestrated, each detail seeming meticulously arranged, and Ophelia's heart pounded with a rising unease. The number of people, the opulence of the limousine—it all hinted at a setup!
• Panic began to mount as Ophelia's face drained of color. She struggled against the man holding her, her hands pressing desperately against him in a futile attempt to escape. The car door slammed shut with a finality that sent a jolt of fear through her.
• "Let me out!" she demanded, her voice trembling.
• A man stepped forward with an air of authority, his presence commanding and resolute. He grasped Ophelia firmly to prevent any further escape attempts and pressed her back into her seat with dispassionate ease.
• "Don't be afraid, little girl. We won't harm you," he assured her, his tone smooth but devoid of warmth.
• The elderly woman, now tending to her minor wound with tender care, addressed Ophelia in a voice that was gentle yet carried an undertone of formality. "You needn't worry. We have no intention of causing you harm."
• As Ophelia settled into her seat, her initial terror began to ebb away, replaced by a cautious curiosity. The elderly woman's demeanor was reassuring, and the notion of a kidnapping staged with such extravagance seemed increasingly implausible.
• The elderly woman's gaze remained fixed on Ophelia with a discerning intensity, and then her eyes sparkled with a sudden excitement as she turned to her grandson. "Ethan, this girl would make a fine wife for you. She's robust and could bear many children, certainly making me a great-grandmother."
• Ophelia's eyes widened in shock, and she nearly choked on her breath. It was only then that she noticed another presence in the car. She glanced sideways and was immediately captivated by the sight of the man seated beside the elderly woman.
• His profile was nearly flawless, a sculpted visage of serene composure. His long legs were elegantly crossed, and he exuded an aura of aloof grandeur as though he were a figure of myth and majesty impervious to the common world around him.
• Hearing the elderly woman's enthusiastic endorsement, Ethan's gaze flickered toward Ophelia. There was something vaguely familiar about her, though he couldn't quite place it. Perhaps it was her darker complexion that made her blend into the crowd, a fleeting impression lost amidst the throng of faces. He turned his attention back to the old woman's injury, his expression one of detached scrutiny.
• His lips twisted into a disdainful sneer as he uttered a single, cutting word. "She is ugly."
• Ophelia jolted from her daze, irritation flaring at the man's superficial comment.
• How could someone be so ruthlessly judgmental?
• The elderly woman, with a warm and unwavering smile, reached out to gently hold Ophelia's hand. Her eyes sparkled with genuine affection as she spoke. "She seems quite good—gentle and kind-hearted."
• With an air of determined excitement, she guided her grandson toward Ophelia, positioning Ethan's strikingly handsome face directly in her line of sight. The elderly woman's endorsement was vigorous and unabashed.
• "Our family is a well-established name in Jeraque," she proclaimed, her voice imbued with pride. "We are not some obscure family. My grandson is exceptionally presentable. His parents have been abroad for years, which means there are no in-law conflicts. Moreover, he has maintained an impeccable reputation—clean, respectable, and entirely untainted by dubious associations."
• As the elderly woman completed her enthusiastic introduction, the butler, unable to contain his amusement, cast a glance at her. Her modesty was almost charming in its sincerity.
• The Moore Family was renowned as the second most prestigious in Jeraque, a position of unrivaled grandeur that none dared to contest. They were the epitome of high society, their name synonymous with opulence and influence.
• Ethan, in particular, stood as a paragon of distinction. He had established the Moore Corporation, an empire spanning diverse industries, from pharmaceuticals to coal to fine dining. In Jeraque, he was celebrated as the city's most eligible bachelor.
• As the elderly woman concluded her effusive praise, Ophelia felt nearly overwhelmed by the frigid demeanor of the man before her. The icy aura he projected seemed almost palpable.
• Raising her hand in a dismissive gesture, Ophelia said, "Never mind. I'm not worthy of this gentleman."
• Ophelia took a deep breath, composing herself as she realized she had misunderstood the situation. She had no desire to remain any longer. "Grandma, I have a part-time job to attend to. My vehicle is still outside. Since you're well, may I leave?"
• The elderly woman's face fell into a mask of reluctant sorrow. "What part-time job? Can you postpone it?"
• "No, I can't," Ophelia replied firmly, shaking her head.
• Disappointment clouded the old woman's features as she clung tightly to Ophelia's hand, casting a disapproving glance toward the window. "Ethan."
• Ethan, glancing at his watch, closed his documents with a sense of finality. His voice was flat and devoid of emotion. "Grandma, I have a business engagement. I'll have the driver take you home first."
• As Ethan opened the car door to exit, Ophelia followed closely, eager to escape the oppressive atmosphere. However, before she could reach the threshold, Ethan turned and blocked her path, his gaze piercing as he scrutinized her.
• His dark, phoenix-like eyes held a cold, evaluative intensity, and his tone was indifferent. "Grandma likes you. Stay with her and keep her company for the day. I'll compensate you for today's missed work and the lost car fare."
• Without waiting for her response, he closed the car door with a decisive click.
• Ophelia stood staring at the closed door, a lump forming in her throat. The sudden and unexpected nature of the situation left her grappling with uncertainty.
• "What kind of person is this?" she wondered silently.
• "Little girl, please stay and keep me company. Can you bear to leave me alone?" The elderly woman's voice, filled with a plea of genuine vulnerability, tugged at Ophelia's heartstrings. Her injured forehead and hopeful eyes softened Ophelia's resolve.
• "You're such a good child," the old woman murmured, her gratitude evident.
• As Ophelia accompanied the elderly woman back, she learned that this was not the old lady's first foray into such schemes. The woman had a habit of selecting strangers from the street to potentially become her grandson's wife.
• Reflecting on the man's almost star-like appearance, Ophelia felt her heart skip a beat. The grandeur of Ethan's presence lingered in her thoughts, mingling with the whirlwind of her emotions.