Revenge Of The Jilted Bride (Ophelia)

Downstairs, Ophelia was busy piling an array of delicate pastries onto her plate with a pair of silver tongs, her attention entirely on the delicious treats in front of her. She didn't notice when she bumped into someone holding a glass of wine. "Oh, I'm so sorry," she murmured, her eyes momentarily flicking upward before returning to the strawberry mille-feuille the had been eyeing. Just as she reached for it, a hand clamped down on her wrist, stopping her mid-motion

"Ophelia What are you doing here? The voice was unmistakable-sharp, full of disdain. She slowly lifted her gaze, only to be met with the piercing stare of Miles, a man who had once been a beacon of hope in her life but later threw her into the darkest depths. "Of all the people here, why him? she thought, her mood souring. The grand hall was packed with people, yet she had to run into the very person she least wanted to see.

Miles sneered, his voice dripping with contempt, "How did you get in here? Following me again, are you? I've told you countless times-Emily is the only one I care about. Honestly, I used to feel sorry for you, but now you just disgust me. Stop clinging to me! Huh? What nonsense are you talking about? Ophelia asked, her voice laced with sarcasm.

She stared blankly, wondering how she could have ever been in love with this man in her last life. Is he really the same boy who saved me when I was little?' she thought.

"Stop playing hard to get, Miles continued, clearly agitated. "Whatever tricks you're up to, it's not going to work. I will never ever fall for you?

Ophelia's patience snapped. "Thanks. Now, can you get out of the way? You're blocking my dessert," she said coolly, not even. bothering to look at him anymore.

She pushed him aside as if he were nothing more than a minor inconvenience, her voice as cold as the icy glare she spared him. Even if he had been that boy from her past, she had repaid him tenfold in her last life.

Miles stood frozen for a moment, stunned by her indifference. Something was different about her today-there was none of the affection he was used to. Annoyed and confused, he glared at her. "Ophelia, don't tell me you're planning to do something to Emily again. I'm warning you "

Before he could finish his sentence, Ophelia clamped the silver tongs down on his pointing finger and twisted it backward. hard.

"Ow-damn it," he hissed and glared at her, his face twisted in pain as his finger started turning purple.

"Oh, Emily isn't with you?" Ophelia smiled sweetly, though her eyes glinted with sarcasm. "Could it be that you didn't manage to buy any item tonight? Or maybe she's found someone else, seeing how useless you are!'

Her words were like a knife to his pride. Miles, with his need for control and reputation, couldn't stand being talked down to. On the outside, he projected the image of a refined gentleman, but Ophelia knew the truth-he was an arrogant, controlling man who couldn't stand being made a fool of

As she released his hand, she casually tossed the tongs back onto the table with disdain, grabbed her plate of pastries, and strolled over to a nearby couch, sinking into it while enjoying her treats as if nothing had happened.

Miles seethed, clenching his fists, his face flushed with anger. His eyes followed her every move as she sat down, entirely unfazed, nibbling at her pastries.

It didn't help that a group of wealthy young men, his friends, gathered around her, trying to chat her up. Ophelia didn't even look up, merely focusing on her food with a calm, almost lazy demeanor.

Watching her surrounded by admirers, something inside Miles stirred. It wasn't jealousy-at least, that was what he told himself-but an uncomfortable feeling settled in his chest. He used to be the one she looked at like that What annoyed him even more was that despite her simple dress, Ophelia looked captivating. She hadn't bothered with an extravagant gown, but there was something about her tonight that made it impossible to look away Miles

es shook his ad, frustrated. His eyes darted around the room, searching for Emily, but she was nowhere to be seen

Against his will, Ophelia's parting words echoed in his mind.

"Mr. Lewis." A young woman came running up, holding the hem of her gown as she hurried over to him. "Mr. Lewis, you need to come quickly. Emily... Emily's been thrown into the fountain outside."

"What?" Miles scowled, looking once more toward Ophelia, who sat leisurely enjoying her desserts as if the world outside didn't exist. Without another word, he stormed off toward the hotel entrance, his mind racing

A crowd had gathered around the fountain outside the hotel, with journalists snapping pictures from a distance. Curious whispers floated through the air as onlookers speculated about the soaked woman in the fountain. "Isn't that Emily Hastings, the heiress to the Hastings family? What's going on?" one person asked, craning his neck for a better

view.

"I don't know. All I heard was a scream, and when I looked over, she was already in the water, someone else responded, her voice tinged with curiosity.

"Maybe she had too much to drink and fell in?" another suggested, stilling a laugh.

"Who knows?" someone mocked as a few guests chuckled under their breath.

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Some people laughed, others were intrigued, but all wore the same expression-one of amusement at someone el misfortune.

Miles shoved his way through the crowd, his heart sinking at the sight of Emily sprawled in the shallow water, completely drenched. Though the fountain wasn't deep, she was soaked from head to toe, miserably trying to cover herself-one hand shielding her face and the other desperately clinging to her chest to keep from exposing herself.

Each time she attempted to stand, her sodden gown caught under her feet, sending her tumbling back into the water with an unceremonious splash.

Ignoring the flashing cameras and the murmurs of the crowd, Miles stormed forward, lifting Emily out of the fountain without a word.

His face was a mask of cold fury as he carried her back into his hotel suite, quickly ordering someone to track down the photographers and get the pictures deleted.

"What the hell happened, Emily?" Miles asked, his voice a mix of concern and frustration,

He wrapped a plush towel around Emily, who was now shivering and red-eyed, her tears mixing with the water still dripping from her hair. She looked utterly humiliated, her face pale and vulnerable, but remained silent.

Her shoulders trembled under the towel, and she choked back more sobs. She didn't want to relive the mortification of what had just occurred. She had snuck into Kenneth's suite and had barely exchanged a few words with him when, without so much as glancing her way, he'd ordered his bodyguards to throw her out-literally. She had never felt so small, so utterly humiliated.

"Was it Ophelia?" Miles asked, his voice tight with certainty. It has to be her, he thought, 'Every time Ophelia is around, Emily ends up being humiliated or hurt. The thought of Ophelia's composed, unbothered expression earlier only confirmed his suspicions. "Stay here. I'll go deal with her," Miles growled, venom in his voice as he moved to leave. But before he could reach the door, Emily grabbed his arm, stopping him.

She couldn't let him go back to the ballroom. If someone said something and he found out what had really happened, the consequences wouldn't be in her favor.

"No, Miles, please," Emily whispered, her voice trembling. "I don't want more people to know about this. Just stay with me. I'm scared" Her plea worked. Though she hadn't said it outright, her tone left no doubt that she believed Ophelia was behind this Miles's fury softened at her words, and he sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"Alright," he murmured, wrapping his arm around her, pulling her close in a gesture of comfort. I'm not going anywhere. I'll stay with you. Don't be scared. I've got you"

Meanwhile, at the back entrance of the hotel, near the restrooms, Ophelia had no idea that she was being blamed for

5:43 PM c d

something Kenneth had done. She was hiding behind a large decorative vase, her eyes narrowing as she eavesdropped on a conversation between Owen and a mysterious woman.

Owen's voice was calm, almost reassuring. "Did you see our daughter? She's grown into such a fine young woman. You don't need to worry anymore."

"Alright." The woman's voice trembled with emotion, her head bowed, arms crossed tightly over her chest. "I didn't have the means to raise her back then. That's why I left her with you, Mr. Hastings. You know that. I don't want to disrupt your family."

From her hiding spot, Ophelia could see their backs clearly. Owen gently placed a hand on the woman's shoulder, his tone soft as he comforted her. "I know. But I won't let you suffer either. Don't worry. I'll take care of our daughter. One day, the three of us will be together again."

The woman leaned into Owen's shoulder, and after a few more whispered words, the two of them disappeared into the elevator, leaving Ophelia alone with her thoughts,

She had only wanted to use the restroom, but she had stumbled upon something much more revealing.

"Their daughter? What does that mean?' Ophelia mused, her brow furrowing. 'Owen has a daughter with someone else? Or maybe...

Her mind raced, piecing together fragments from her last life. Slowly, a theory began to form, a truthThis is the property of Nô-velDrama.Org.