Book Ophelia Novels & Stories

Ophelia's POV Sitting down in the lavishly furnished living room of Dominic Blackwood's home I couldn't help but recall my conversation with him at the hospital two days ago. "Let’s discuss our CONTRACT marriage, shall we?" He had said. "Contract marriage?" I asked, my brows furrowed in confusion. "You see, Miss–" "Ophelia, my name is Ophelia," I corrected. "Aren't you supposed to be in a coma?" I asked, even though I know I sound stupid right now. He was standing in front of me, that's all the answers I should need.

Hundreds of books stood on shiny wooden shelves, but no one stepped a foot there. Father had told me stories about mother, a sad smile usually gracing his features and his gaze at nothingness. He'd mentioned she loved to read, so he built her a library with hundreds of books for her to pick from. She was there everyday, on the cushion chairs or long chairs, just reading. It was her sanctuary. Now, it was mine. My hand wrapped around the handle of the door, as I pushed it open. “What!? That's incredible!” A groan left my lips without warning. That was Keyleth and she was here with someone. My shoulders stiffened, and the sudden urge to sprint out of the castle engulfed me. I pushed it down an

The Delta laughed as she ran up the grand stairs, her dress soaked with her tears. However, the moment Ophelia was safely in the privacy of her rooms, she moved towards the bathroom and pulled out the button she had stolen from his suit. Right now, the one she had used to replace it was a tiny bomb. With her eyes focused on the mirror, she reached for her burner phone and typed a message, 'High Target 10's shirt. Detonate the bomb.' Exactly five minutes later, she received a message, 'Done. Target wiped out.' Ophelia Storm could barely believe her eyes, and had to zoom in severally.

Success is meaningless if you have no one to share it with, and the idea saddened me. Without thinking where I was going, I somehow found myself in Ophelia's old room. I sighed, inhaling her scent that still somehow lingered in the air. I missed her desperately and wished that I had handled things differently. I wandered through the empty space, randomly opening drawers, hoping to find something of hers left behind, but never expecting what I actually did encounter. In her bedside table was a small, leatherbound book that I had never noticed before. I hesitated briefly, wondering if it was right to invade her privacy this way. However, holding the book in my hands I had a moment of sadness s

“What did you just say?” She stared at me for what seemed like eternity but shutting her eyes briefly, as if trying to shut off the reality of whatever had appeared in her mind. “You were never ordinary, Ophelia. I saw that potential in you from the very beginning, and while I have no answers to your questions. I do have a question for you…” I stared at her with no response, a muscle in my jaw ticking as her words rang through my mind: I saw that potential in you from the very beginning?

Sir Walter Elliot, of Kellynch Hall, in Somersetshire, was a man who, for his own amusement, never took up any book but the Baronetage; there he found occupation for an idle hour, and consolation in a distressed one; there his faculties were roused into admiration and respect, by contemplating the limited remnant of the earliest patents; there any unwelcome sensations, arising from domestic affairs changed naturally into pity and contempt as he turned over the almost endless creations of the last century; and there, if every other leaf were powerless, he could read his own history with an interest which never failed. This was the page at which the favourite volume always opened:

I said, “I’m actually his boss.” “Nathan, can you pass me some more shingles?” Sophia asked one of the guys before she told me, “Well, I don’t know what the problem is. I’ve already received the money I inherited, I’m shutting down the opioid pharmaceutical company before I sell off the building, and I’m still waiting to hear from my grandfather’s assistant about switching to residential buildings, ma’am.” I felt nauseous after hearing her words and asked, “Why are you shutting down the pharmaceutical company, Miss O’Shea?”

Ophelia had blonde hair and hazel eyes. So... why did their daughter have dark chestnut hair and eyes the color of a forest? As though she could read the sudden turn of my thoughts, Ophelia’s brows furrowed. She didn't say a word, her expression guarded and wary. She pursed her lips and walked past me into the kitchen, setting Valeria down on the marble counter carefully.

I rounded the couch until I stood before her. Ophelia held a book in her hand and the reading eyeglasses she wore were about to slip to the floor. She still used the same glasses even after all these years. Catching the glasses before they fell to the floor, I took the book from her hands too and read the name. ‘The art of being an actor.’ A small smile tugged at my lips. It quickly disappeared when she stirred in her sleep and unconsciously pushed the grey blanket off her thighs. My eyes followed the movement to her fully exposed thighs.

Klark, ‘Tribid Greed’ by Steve Reynolds, and a lot of other books. One by one Trisha returned all the books she'd picked. When she was beginning to get tired and unmotivated, the corner of her eyes perceived a strange book on a shelf not too far from where she was. Its spines were tattered and appeared like spiky wires beneath the poor lighting.