Ophelia woke up the next morning with a heavy head and an even heavier heart.
Her silk nightwear was still disheveled, twisted around her body from the events of the night before.
Her hair was a wild nest, strands sticking out in every direction.
She rubbed her eyes and dragged herself out of bed, bare feet padding softly against the cool floor as she made her way to the kitchen.
She opened the fridge, grabbed a bottle of cold water, and brought it to her lips.
“Isn’t that too cold for the morning?” a deep voice said from behind her.
“You are a doctor, for goodness sake.” Ophelia froze as she slowly turned around.
Tristan stood leaning against the kitchen doorframe, looking far too composed for someone who had spent the night in her apartment.
He had changed into a fresh outfit: a crisp white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing strong, veined arms, paired with perfectly tailored black trousers and expensive leather shoes.
His dark hair was neatly styled, and he looked every bit the powerful CEO even in her modest kitchen.
He had sent for his assistant to bring in a new outfit for him as he had his bath in Ophelia’s bathroom.
Ophelia had slept all through the night till morning, she never heard him when he went to the bathroom.
The sight of him there, so casually at home in her space, sent a fresh wave of shock through her.
“Why in the world are you still in my apartment at this time? And how are you in a new outfit already,” she demanded, eyes wide.
Tristan folded his arms across his broad chest, staring back at her calmly.
“Your ex-boyfriend is still lurking downstairs near the garage. I didn’t feel like driving out and giving him the satisfaction of seeing me leave your building and as for my outfit…” he whispered, staring down at his outfit.
“Thats for me to know and you to keep wondering.”
Ophelia stared at him, then glanced toward the front door in disbelief.
“What? Why would he still be here after breaking up with me?”
Tristan raised an eyebrow.
“You should ask yourself that question.”
She glared at him, refusing to engage further.
Turning back to the fridge, she tried to take a sip of the cold water, but Tristan stepped forward and gently took the bottle from her hand.
He placed it back inside the fridge and reached for the kettle instead.
“Aren’t you going to the office?” he asked as he filled the kettle with fresh water and set it on the stove to warm.
Tristan didn’t rise to the bait.
He moved with efficiency, preparing a cup of warm water for her.
“For seven years, you have known me. I expect that one thing you should know is that I hate a tarnished image. So go take a bath, get dressed, and handle that situation at your office. Get the skunk out of your garage.”
Ophelia scoffed, arms still folded tightly.
“Excuse me? I have been living my life just fine. Tell me why in the world I should give a damn about your opinion.”
Tristan paused for a moment as something flickered in his eyes a flash of emotion he quickly masked.
He finished preparing the warm water and handed her the cup without a word.
“Whatever,” he said quietly, his voice low.
“Drink this. You are a doctor, you should know what won’t trigger your condition.”
Ophelia stared at the cup in her hands.
The simple gesture unsettled her more than his usual cold commands.
She cleared her throat, downed the warm water, and walked back to her bedroom without another word.
She felt exhausted, frustrated, and emotionally down.
Even the small moment of care from Tristan didn’t ease the storm inside her.
She had barely sat on the edge of her bed when her phone started blowing up with notifications.
Sighing heavily, she picked it up.
It was a call from Dana, one of the junior researchers at the institute, a girl who had always been slightly jealous and enjoyed stirring drama.
Well, more of her own dramas.
“Ophelia, oh my God, you are not going to believe this,” Dana said in a sugary, fake-sympathetic voice that Ophelia knew too well.
“I just thought I should call you before you walk into the office and get blindsided. Everyone is talking about your big speech at the gala last night. Some people are saying it was brave… but most are saying it was shameless. They think you were trying to sweep your father’s crimes under the rug by playing the victim card. And then there are rumors that you are already hooking up with rich men to clean up the family mess. Just like your father, apparently.” she said all in one breath as Ophelia’s stomach dropped.
“What are you talking about?”
Dana continued with barely hidden glee.
“Well… all your current projects have been reassigned. Your position has been temporarily withdrawn and the worst part is that you have been suspended pending review. They said until further notice. Sorry, girl. Tough break.”
The line went dead before Ophelia could respond.
Tears filled her eyes instantly.
She bit her lip hard to stop it from trembling.
She opened her phone and searched online, and she nearly lost it going through the brutal comments
“Of course, she got to speak at the gala. Sleeping with powerful men pays off.”
“Just like her criminal father. Trying to play innocent while ruining lives.”
“Did you see how she was dressed? Desperate.”
There was even a post from Liora that had gone viral, with her wicked carefully worded statement claiming Ophelia had begged Nicholas to help sweep her father’s case under the rug and offered herself as his mistress.
“Thank goodness Nicholas is a good man who chose honesty,” Liora had written.
Ophelia’s hands shook as tears streamed down her face.
Everything she had fought for was crumbling again.
Unable to hold it in any longer, she stormed out of the bedroom toward the living room where Tristan was still sitting.
Tristan looked up from his phone, frowning when he saw her still in her nightwear.
“Why aren’t you dressed yet? You need to…”
“What more do I have to do?” Ophelia cut him off, voice cracking with pain and desperation.
“As your mistress… What else do I need to do to make all of this stop? To clear every issue I am facing now and might face in the future?”
Tristan stared at her, momentarily shocked into silence.
Ophelia’s voice rose, bitter and broken.
“Do I need to have sex with you whenever you want? Give you every part of my body? Is that what it will take for you to fix everything?”
“Excuse me?” he asked, still in shock.
She smiled bitterly, tears still falling.
Then, without waiting for his answer, she reached down and pulled her nightwear completely over her head, letting it drop to the floor.
She stood before him completely naked, vulnerable, and defiant.
Tristan gulped down seeing her whole body at once, he had also wanted to see this for years.
Seeing this freely now without even speaking left him perplexed.
The first time she had gone bare it took everything for him not to lose it.
“Have you always been like this?” he forced out even though he knew he was stepping on her last bare of modesty.
“If that’s what people want to believe about me,” she whispered, voice trembling but steady, “then I will do everything to make me a girl with a fulfilled career.”