Chapter 5

Ophelia thought she would die in the ocean. However, she did not. By some miracle, she survived and was rescued.

When she opened her eyes again, she was once again in a hospital room.

“You’re awake?”

Rowan stood by the door. His voice was impossible to read.

Ophelia’s throat was dry and raw. She struggled to sit up and reached for the glass of water beside her.

The next second, he knocked the glass from her reach, and it hit the floor with a sharp crack. Water spilled all over the floor.

His face twisted with mockery. “Thirsty? Get out of bed and lick it off the floor. Ophelia, you’re really asking to be taught a lesson. Was staging your own kidnapping fun?”

Ophelia lowered her eyes and replied in a hoarse voice, “Wasn’t I thrown into the ocean? Who saved me?”

Rowan laughed. He mockingly patted her cheek before tossing his phone in front of her.

“Who else? Your accomplices. Look how considerate they were. They were worried you’d get hypothermia, so they even found some clothes to cover you with. Now that they’ve got 30 million, how much will each of them get? I bet you’re taking the biggest cut, aren’t you?”

The photos on his phone showed several of the kidnappers about to cover the unconscious Ophelia with clothes.

“It wasn’t me. I don’t know…” She forced the words out.

“Enough!” Rowan cut her off irritably. “Aren’t you tired of this? What’s the point? The evidence is right in your face, and you’re still trying to deny it!”

An unbearable silence settled over the room.

Ophelia closed her eyes briefly and stopped speaking.

Perhaps Rowan could not stand looking at her face any longer, so he walked over to the window. With his back to her, he lit a cigarette and spoke without emotion,

“After Lydia’s wedding party, I’ll send her somewhere else. You two won’t have to see each other anymore, so you can stop going after her.”

Ophelia was exhausted. She did not want to explain anymore that none of this had been her doing.

She had tried to explain so many times, yet he never believed her even once.

She turned her head toward the window. “If you love her that much, you can divorce me and be with her.”

Rowan let out a cold laugh. “I’m afraid that once I divorce you, you’ll completely lose your mind. Then I’ll have a crazy woman following me and Lydia around all day.”

She opened her mouth. “I won’t bother you anymore. The day after tomorrow, I’ll…”

He cut her off with a hint of impatience, “Enough! There isn’t a single truthful word that comes out of your mouth. I don’t want to hear it. I have to go with Lydia to pick out the dress she’ll wear to tomorrow’s birthday party. You can stay here by yourself.”

Then, Rowan turned around and strode out without looking back.

Ophelia stared at the empty doorway and put on a faint smile.

…

Early the next morning, Ophelia did her makeup and changed into a fresh outfit.

Her marriage to Rowan was not over yet, so she was still his wife.

Rule number 673 of the Hart family code stated that a wife must attend her husband’s birthday.

Today was the last day. She did not want anything to go wrong.

At the birthday party, Ophelia was supposed to be the one standing beside Rowan. She was his wife, after all.

Yet the woman beside him was Lydia.

Amid everyone’s cheers and teasing, the two of them held the same knife and cut the first slice of cake together.

A handsome man and a beautiful woman, they were a match made in heaven.

Bathed in the glow of the lights, they looked perfectly suited to each other, like a couple hopelessly in love.

Ophelia stood in the shadows, silently watching it all.

She did not embarrass herself by stepping forward and making things awkward for everyone. Instead, she quietly found a corner and drank alone.

During the games that followed, Lydia targeted her at every turn.

When Ophelia lost, the rule was simple—the loser had to slap herself once, then drink three glasses.

When Ophelia won, the rule changed—the winner had to take off one piece of clothing. If she refused, she had to slap herself once, then drink three glasses.

It was the 99th slap and the 297th penalty drink.

Ophelia’s cheeks were swollen, and her stomach churned with a burning ache from the alcohol.

The entire room fell silent. The only person still speaking was Rowan, quietly coaxing the sulking Lydia.

“Don’t be mad. I even changed the rules to suit you. Why are you still crying? Come on. Stop crying, okay?”