Chapter 5 A Cry for Help

• Ethan lingered in the doorway, his gaze anchored to her delicate features with an intensity that seemed to weigh heavily on her. Ophelia, feeling the weight of his dark, probing stare, blinked rapidly, her heart fluttering with a pang of helplessness. Was it truly necessary for him to confront her over a few idle remarks made in the shadows? Was there some cosmic discord that pulled him to her so insistently?
• "I didn't mention anything about unsellable goods. Who even brought that up?" she protested, her eyes wide and innocent as they met his.
• Ethan's eyes roamed over her face with critical scrutiny before he emitted a faint, almost imperceptible hum of disapproval.
• From her seat, Sophia rose with a deliberate grace. "You've been quite harsh with Ophelia since your return," she said, her voice carrying an undertone of reproach.
• She glided across the room, her hands guiding Ethan gently to the couch beside Ophelia, a gesture that seemed to align the two of them in perfect harmony, according to her discerning eye.
• "You two should reconcile your differences. I'm going to retire upstairs for a bit," she announced, her eyes twinkling with a hint of satisfaction as she left them to their own devices.
• The villa soon fell silent, save for the presence of Ophelia and Ethan. With Ethan's formidable presence looming next to her, Ophelia felt a ripple of unease shiver down her spine.
• "You stayed here all day just to wait for me?" Ethan's voice was a flat monotone, though a thread of irritation underlined his words.
• "I intended to leave sooner," Ophelia began, her voice a mixture of resignation and urgency. "But Grandma insisted I stay. Now that I've run into you, could you please reimburse me for the cost of the electric bike? I promise this will be the last you see of me."
• Ethan scrutinized her with a thoughtful gaze as if weighing the veracity of her claim. Up close, he observed the autumnal gleam in her eyes, a vibrant light that shimmered despite the thick glasses she wore.
• Ophelia fidgeted under his penetrating stare, silently lamenting that a CEO could be so consumed by something as trivial as an electric bike. Indeed, capitalists could sometimes seem like bloodthirsty vampires.
• Lost in her thoughts, she barely noticed Ethan's lips parting, his voice carrying a note of finality. "Remember what you just said."
• He then signaled to the bodyguard stationed outside, instructing him to add Ophelia as a friend and transfer the money for the electric bike.
• When the funds finally appeared in her account, Ophelia exhaled a sigh of relief, her tension easing. She cast a final glance toward the second floor, contemplating whether to bid farewell to Sophia before making her departure.
• Little did Ophelia realize that her hesitant glance only served to deepen the storm brewing in Ethan's eyes. The man's expression darkened, and his voice cut through the tension with a commanding edge.
• "Take the money and leave quickly," he instructed, his tone brooking no argument.
• Ophelia's face blanched as she absorbed his dismissive words. "Do you think you could just climb to greater heights?" His mocking undertone was unmistakable, and it struck her like a sharp blade. Did he believe that her reluctance to depart meant she harbored some romantic interest in him? The arrogance of his assumption was astounding, as if he were the sun around which everyone orbited.
• "Don't worry. Even if I were searching for a dog, you wouldn't be on my list," she retorted, her voice dripping with scorn. With a dismissive flick, she grabbed her bag and exited without a single backward glance.
• As she stormed out, her anger simmered just beneath the surface. Climbing into a cab, she barely had time to settle before her phone rang, the screen flashing with the number of the tutoring agency.
• "Ophelia, why didn't you attend class again today? Do you know how busy our child is?" The mother's voice crackled with irritation through the receiver.
• Ophelia offered a hasty apology, promising to make amends by attending the next day's session. Though the child's mother was often difficult and the child herself a challenge, the pay was decent, and Ophelia had endured the discomforts primarily for financial reasons.
• Each tutoring session spanned an hour and a half, typically involving two consecutive sessions. As she wrapped up her final lesson of the day, she encountered the child's father, Sebastian, lounging in the living room.
• "Miss Lark, you've finished tutoring?" His smile was overtly affable, yet Ophelia felt a shiver run down her spine. Sebastian had always exuded a dangerous aura, and his restrained demeanor when his wife was present did little to alleviate her unease. Today, however, his gaze felt disturbingly invasive.
• "Yes, Lenny is finishing his homework. I'm truly sorry for missing classes previously." She offered a slight bow of apology.
• Sebastian rose, his towering frame casting a shadow over her. "Everyone gets busy. The child's mother has a sharp tongue. Please, be patient with her."
• "You must be parched after a few hours of tutoring. Here, have some water," he said, extending a glass toward her with a too-sweet smile.
• Ophelia's brow furrowed at his increasing proximity and the insincerity in his gesture. "No, thank you," she replied, taking a step back to regain some personal space.
• "If there's nothing else, I'll be on my way now," she said, nodding as she prepared to leave. But as she turned, Sebastian's large hand closed around her wrist with a firm grip.
• "Miss Lark," he said, his voice low and menacing. "I've been instrumental in keeping your job by speaking favorably about you to the child's mother. Shouldn't you show some gratitude?"
• His other hand encircled her waist, and Ophelia felt a jolt of panic as his touch revealed just how much softer and more delicate her figure was than he had anticipated.
• "Didn't expect your figure to be so well-defined," he murmured, his breath hot and unsettling against her ear as his strong arms tightened around her.
• Her heart raced, and a wave of nausea surged through her. She struggled desperately against his embrace, her voice trembling with urgency. "Mr. Scott, please, have some self-respect!"
• "Self-respect?" His tone was cruel and mocking. "You must be in desperate need of money. If you were with me, you'd never have to worry about finances again."
• Sebastian's grip only tightened as he sensed her resistance, his eyes gleaming with a desire that burned hotter with every passing second. He had seen her exposed waist a month ago, and the memory had haunted him. Now, with her figure pressed against him, his longing intensified.
• "Stay with me, and I'll provide you with all the money you could ever need," he promised, his voice dripping with malice.
• Ophelia gritted her teeth and pushed against him with all her might, her struggle growing more frantic. "Let me go! Let me go! I'll report you for harassment!"
• "Report me?" he sneered. "With your looks? Who would believe you? I'd simply say you tried to seduce me and that I'm merely retaliating."
• The audacity of his threat was infuriating. Desperate, Ophelia seized a nearby glass and smashed it against his head. The glass shattered, and Sebastian staggered back, clutching his bleeding forehead, his eyes now seething with rage.
• "You filthy little b*tch," he spat, his voice a venomous growl. "You're so ungrateful."
• Seizing the opportunity created by his distraction, Ophelia bolted for the nearest room, slamming the door and locking it behind her.
• Sebastian's pounding on the door was relentless. As Ophelia pulled out her phone to call the police, she feared falling victim to his accusations. Her few friends, too distant to help in time, offered no immediate solace.
• In a panic, she fumbled to dial the bodyguard's number. Ethan engaged in a business discussion and noticed the bodyguard's puzzled expression as he answered the call.
• "Mr. Moore, it's Miss Lark," the bodyguard reported, his confusion evident. Having met Ophelia only once and unsure of her connection to Ethan, he hesitated but didn't hang up, seeking guidance.
• Miss Lark?
• Originally thinking that Ophelia wanted to flirt with the bodyguard, Ethan was about to say something sarcastic when he heard a woman's shaky voice saying something.
• "Save me. I'm at Holtz Villa No. 37—Ah!"
• What accompanied that was the sound of a broken door and a woman's scream, resulting in the abrupt end of her call.
• His expression turned grim.
• Ethan recalled briefly researching Ophelia and knowing she tutored at Holtz Villa No. 37.
• "Mr. Moore, Miss Lark appears to be in danger. It's in the neighboring neighborhood. Should we intervene?" the bodyguard asked.
• Ethan had initially planned to call the police, but helping her personally was a step beyond what he had intended. As he turned to leave, Ophelia's image flashed in his mind—her defiant stance, her chin raised as she glared at him.
• Irritated but moved by the thought of her distress, he tugged at his tie, muttering, "Grandma likes her. Go and check on her."