ODETTE/OPHELIA'S POV
[You think you can escape me and be normal, Odette?
No. You are the monster I created.
You can hide behind civility, but my daughter—you are the product of my experiment.
The perfect, destructive human weapon.]
Those were my father's last words before I locked him inside a cell with hungry hounds and escaped the research center where I'd been imprisoned since birth.
A thin girl. Skin layered with scars from countless medical procedures since age five. Dusty blonde hair. A body unnaturally strong, a mind unnaturally sharp—a perfect photographic memory.
That was Odette Elizabeth when she swam for seven days through frigid waves just to reach a shore.
For years, I refused to become that monster. The calm before the tsunami. The destructive force of an earthquake. The rage of a volcano. The criminal mind that could shock even the most notorious psychopath.
But here I am. Once again.
Standing outside the car Thomas brought, watching the 22nd-floor penthouse burn. Flames devour the last memories of Kayros's mother—his sanctuary, his safe haven.
I feel nothing but a chilling, cold satisfaction.
Imagine how Kayros will react. Betrayed. Haunted. Enraged. He'll want to tear me apart. But what proof will there be that I set the fire? Officially, I was taken back to the Blackwood mansion by my father after he "discovered" Kayros was holding me.
Thomas watches me through the rearview mirror. Fire engines wail in the distance.
"You look happy," he says, his tone observational, not judgmental.
My gaze doesn't leave the orange and yellow flames. I lean back. "Drive."
The sirens, the screams, the chaos fade as the car slides smoothly through the streets.
My head feels heavy, but… the devil is back at my door. And I've become the very thing I swore I'd never be again.
"Back home?" Thomas asks cautiously.
Home? What home? I don't have one.
"Yes. Blackwood Mansion."
---
The car glides through the heavy iron gates. The butler greets me silently and leads me to the closed family meeting room.
The mansion is eerily calm. Too quiet. My heels click against cold marble. Dim lights line the hallway, as if secrets are being woven in the dark.
The butler pushes open the large wooden door.
Inside, a large round table dominates the room. Twenty chairs. At the head sits Raphael Blackwood, a cigarette in one hand, a glass of whiskey in the other. Ivy sits to his right, expression grim. Rhys stares at a large framed portrait on the wall.
I don't need to be told who it is. The woman has gorgeous black hair and warm amber eyes. My face—Odette's face—is a carbon copy of hers, except for the eyes.
Susana Blackwood. The only woman Raphael ever loved. Even twenty years after her death, it's well-known he never remarried, never entertained another.
Raphael's eyes find mine. Ivy clenches her jaw as I take a seat across from her, to Raphael's left.
She inhales sharply. "Just what did you do, Ophelia? You burned down the penthouse of the late Lady Nathaniel!"
I say nothing. My expression doesn't flicker.
Rhys stays silent, his gaze fixed on Susana's portrait.
She wears a purple silk gown, seated on a couch, her hair flowing like a dark wave. Her smile is gentle. Her eyes hold the warmth of a woman who knew only how to love.
A tight, unfamiliar ache twists in my stomach. I can't look at her for more than a few seconds—my eyes sting too much.
Maybe because… she was the woman who knew her life was at risk if she had Ophelia, and she chose to have her anyway.
I remember a section in Eyes of Glacier where Ophelia found her mother's hidden notebook beneath a peach tree in the garden. Two hundred and eighty entries, each written by Susana from the moment she learned she was pregnant.
Doctors warned her of the risks. Raphael begged her to terminate. But Susana wrote:
[The world is a beautiful place. I hope you, my sweet baby, find all the happiness in it. I want you to see the world, grow up healthy, eat and laugh.
I have lived my share of joy. Now, I want to bring you into this world for your share of love. Mama can't wait to see you.]
Yeah.
Ophelia was loved by her mother. But unlike her mother's greatest wish, Ophelia was never happy.
Ivy's voice cuts through my thoughts. "Ophelia, what do you plan to do now? Kayros will come after you. Maybe after all of us."
She isn't wrong. Kayros will come.
And I don't give a fuck. I meant it when I said I'd ruin him.
"He started this," I finally say, my voice cold and empty.
Rhys stiffens at the sound. So far, since coming into this world, I've been blunt, sunny, outspoken. This bloodless calm is something they haven't seen—not from me, not from Ophelia.
"He promised to marry me in two weeks. Then he kept me as a hostage, broke our engagement without my consent, and put me on the table like a bargaining chip."
My eyes darken. My heart beats in a slow, familiar rhythm I know from my past life—the rhythm of a mind, soul, and thoughts aligning into a single, unbreakable thread. No noise. No doubt. Just clinical, logical execution.
Ivy's eyes widen. "Ophelia—"
"I will ruin Kayros Nathaniel and the entire Dimitri family, Ivy." My grip tightens on the armrest. "I never forgive betrayal. And if that means starting a gang war…"
Rhys's head snaps toward me in shock. Raphael simply sips his whiskey, his gaze measuring.
Sweat beads on Ivy's forehead.
"So," I continue, my voice dropping lower, "you either support me, or you burn with me."
Rhys inhales sharply. "Ophelia, it's insane to go against two major mafia families."
"Are you scared?"
He freezes under my sharp gaze.
"It's not about fear," he argues. "It's about precision. If we lose, the financial and manpower loss would cripple us. White Rose has never started a gang war before."
He's right. White Rose has never directly started a war.
"Who said we'd get involved directly?"
The corner of Raphael's mouth twitches into a faint smirk. His eyes gleam with something others might mistake for reflected light. But I know better—I was born and raised among bloodthirsty men and women who hid their violence behind civility.
Raphael lives for systematic chaos. The kind he controls.
Ivy gulps down a glass of ice water, curses under her breath, and looks back at me, shaken but determined. "What's the plan?"
I glance at Rhys. He groans in frustration. "Okay, fine. If we die, let's die together."
Raphael gives a single, approving nod.
I stand and walk to the blackboard in the corner. Flip on the light. Take a piece of white chalk.
For the next twenty minutes, the only sound is the scribbling of chalk against slate. Dust falls like tiny particles of possibility.
I turn around, letting them take in the plan I've drafted before their eyes.
Raphael uncrosses his legs and stands, staring at the board as if he's seen something he never should have.
"Y-you mean…" Ivy stutters.
Rhys doesn't blink, his eyes burning with an interest I've never seen in him before.
"Yes. I mean exactly what I've written."
Ivy runs a hand over her face and laughs—amused, almost unhinged. "Ophelia… you're playing with fire."
I tilt my head. "The worst that can happen is I burn to ashes."
Raphael looks at me. "You're touching the most sensitive spot."
I nod.
Yes. That sensitive spot is the Berlin New Year's Eve Massacre—the event that cost hundreds of lives, including Timofey's wife and daughter, and left Blake's first wife—Kayros's mother—paralyzed.
Both families are trying to forget the past, to unite through marriage.
But who said I'd let them have an uninterrupted reunion?
Kayros Nathaniel. Fasten your seatbelt.
This is going to be one hell of a ride.