Chapter 2 OPHELIA

== OPHELIA ==

The annual school charity event, which was expected to be glamorous, turned into a disaster due to heavy rain. The event hall's windows were pounded by heavy rain, with thunder ominously booming and walls shaking. The attendees in the room, dressed in elegant gowns and suits, toasted and chatted quietly, completely unaware of the turmoil unfolding right outside.

The chef was stuck, stranded with the desserts in a gridlock of flooded streets, while time was slipping away. What would be the case if we failed? Many people depend on this charity gala for their future, and I did not want to let them down.

This was also my moment to shine as the head of the event planning team in her final year. My team and I had laboured over every detail, from the design of the elegant invitations down to special sessions that were in store for our most valued attendees. This night needed to go just right.

Finally, in the rain, I saw a truck headlight approaching. "Thank goodness!" I ran outside, but the icy rain was like needles as it drenched my thin vest within seconds. Squinting into the storm, a deep melodic voice sliced through it.

"You're too beautiful to walk out there getting drenched," the tall man, clad in an expensive suit with dark hair slicked back, yelled.

"Need a hand?" he asked, his lips tugging into a playful smile that for a moment made me forget the storm's fury.

"Only if you're ready to get wet," I shot back, trying to sound steady.

He immediately took off his coat and revealed a white dress shirt underneath, which quickly became soaked. We quickly collected all the boxes we could hold and rushed indoors before the rain could drench us more. Others took the boxes away from us and began organising them in the hallway.

"Thank you for-"

"Owen Wraxall," he interrupted, introducing himself.

"Ophelia Loxley," I said, my heart quickly racing at the processing of the surname. Wraxall? Could he be from that European-based family-the one with businesses across all borders and a name that graced headlines and magazines almost each day?

I didn't send invitations to anyone like him. Reality weighed heavy: a man from the wealthiest family in the world wouldn't be standing in a school gym in the rain, helping me carry cookies and sandwiches. They're too arrogant for that.

Throughout the night, I continued to notice him in his chair, his gaze on me so intense that it made me uncomfortable.

Afterwards, I entered a peaceful room for a brief break, wishing for a moment to catch my breath. Before long, I noticed him casually leaning against the doorframe, observing me with an amused look.

"Don't tell me you are lost," I teased in a vain effort to divert the butterfly I'm feeling inside.

"Not at all," he replied, and he stepped inside. "I was looking for you."

"For me?" I raised my eyebrow, my pulse quickening.

I could see a spark dancing in his eyes. "Think I could get your number? I'd like to see you again."

"Ouchhh!"Feeling a mix of thrill and doubt, I nervously bit my lip.

We exchanged numbers, and then everything changed.

==========

For months after that, his texts brightened up my day, and his humour and wit turned into a stream of laughter. Lying on my bed at midnight, stifling giggles as my roommates threw pillows at me to be quiet, was pretty common. We went on late-night walks and cute impromptu dates in small cafes, and he even watched a horror movie that he overtly hated just to make me smile.

When he took my hand, the world receded, and we were two in a warm cocoon of understanding, no longer anything else.

One morning, my phone rang through the stillness of the room. The caller ID flashed: Father. I released a heavy breath and steeled myself to pick up the call.

"Ophelia! You won't believe what I have arranged!" he exclaimed, his voice filled with excitement. "The matchmaker helped me to set you up on a date with a wealthy family heir in Los Angeles!"

I forced a smile, my stomach churning. "That's great, Dad." The words sounded hollow, rehearsed to a routine heard many times before. Ever since our family went bankrupt, he had turned my life into an unremitting pursuit for social redemption.

"I've worked so hard this time!" he continued, perhaps noticing nothing. "You know how important it is to enter into a wealthy family, with all that has happened."

"Yes, Dad, I know," I said, suppressing the urge to argue.

I was aware from the beginning that my date with Owen would only provide a temporary escape. I would have to abandon it once my father found a match, unless I wanted to risk being disowned.

The day arrived at last, and I felt exactly like a marionette on strings. At least the location was near; no need for extensive travel this time. I got to the fancy restaurant early, standing outside the main entrance and admiring my reflection in the glass. It was essential to appear flawless.

With my heart beating rapidly, I made my way to the table that was reserved for me right at 10:00 a.m. At 10:30am, 11:00am, alright until 12:45 pm, my date was completely nowhere to be found.

By 1:00 p.m., frustration turned into irritation as the door swung open. A man entered the room with an air of superiority, his expensive suit emphasising his confidence. He approached with a grin that conveyed a lot of arrogance.

"You're the date? I expected someone... more," he scorned, looking at me as if I were some sort of nuisance.

"Nice to meet you, too," I said sharply, forcing a smile. "You're late."

"Traffic," he brushed it off. "Must be tough when... your family is this poor."

My stomach twisted. "At least my family has integrity; we don't need to look down on others to feel important." I spat, anger bubbled within me, and I struggled to maintain my composure.

"Integrity doesn't pay the bills, sweetheart. Besides, importance isn't something you're born with; it's earned. And, unfortunately for you, not everyone makes the cut." He smirked, leaning back in his chair, clearly enjoying my discomfort.

I couldn't ignore his rude remarks.

"And if arrogance counted as wealth, you'd be the richest person in the room." I shot back.

He was instantly pissed off. He leapt up from the couch, his hand raised as if to strike me. I was terrified, but before he could do so, a firm hand grasped his wrist from behind him.

"Don't even think about it," he warned in a deep voice, commanding and fierce.

I turned, relief washing through my senses as my eyes met with his blazing eyes. "Owen," I breathed, terror welling in my chest.

"Let her go," Owen ordered, protectiveness oozing from him.

The tension crackled in the air as the other man faltered, uncertainty flickering in his gaze. "Who the hell are you?" he bantered, all the bravado suddenly seeping away.

"I'm one who won't stand by while you humiliate her," Owen replied back, his voice steady and firm.