Chapter 28
Ophelia
“Gasoline-Halsey”
The rest of the gala feels like drowning slowly in expensive perfume and fake smiles. I can’t breathe right after Hayden leaves. My chest physically aches watching him disappear through the doors like he’s trying to outrun how badly this hurts too.
And God… the look in his eyes before he walked away. I’ve never seen Hayden look defeated before. Angry? Yes. Violent? Constantly. Possessive enough to start wars? Absolutely, but defeated? No—not until tonight.
Because he’s right. This isn’t enough anymore. We got one taste of what loving each other freely could feel like—and now everything else feels unbearable.
“You okay?” Brayden’s voice suddenly cuts through my spiraling thoughts.
I blink quickly, realizing I’ve been standing frozen near the champagne tower for who knows how long.
“I'm fine,” I lie, and he studies me carefully.
He noticed Hayden. Maybe not who he was exactly… but enough. And Brayden is many things—cruel, entitled, manipulative—but stupid isn’t one of them.
“You’ve been weird all night,” he grunts while adjusting his tie.
I force a smile so fake it hurts my face. “I think I’ve had too much champagne for one night.”
“That’s not it,” he accuses, as panic curls low in my stomach, because if he figures out who Hayden is to me and that he is alive before I know what Hayden plans to do about my father… everything will burn.
“Was that guy bothering you earlier?” he asks with narrowed eyes.
“No.” Too fast. “He was just returning my phone like I told you,” I lie again, but he doesn't say anything as my father appears beside us.
The tension grows and I feel suffocated. My father looks perfectly polished in his expensive suit and charming smile. Evil wrapped neatly behind money and power. The same man who buried Hayden alive for loving me.
“Smile more, Ophelia,” he says softly while sipping whiskey. “People are watching.”
I immediately straighten. Years of conditioning.
Brayden slips his arm around my waist possessively while my father nods approvingly.
“There’s the future Mrs. Augustine.”
The words nearly make me sick but I smile anyway. Because survival in this family means pretending until you rot from the inside out.
***
The gala finally ends sometime after midnight. Thank fucking God.
I feel emotionally flayed open by the time Brayden walks me toward his Mercedes. My heels ache. My head hurts. My heart feels like Hayden left with half of it bleeding across the marble floor.
Brayden opens the passenger door for me. Such a gentleman. If you ignore the monster underneath.
The second we pull away from the country club, silence settled heavily inside the car. Not peaceful silence. The dangerous kind.
He drives with one hand while the other twitches in his lap.
“You embarrassed me tonight,” he says as I stare out the window.
“How?”
“You checked out halfway through the night.” His voice sharpens. “And that guy clearly knew you.”
“I told you. He just gave me back my phone.”
Wrong answer.
His jaw flexes. “Don’t fucking lie to me,” he spits as fear flickers low in my stomach.
Not because I love Brayden. Never that, but because I know exactly how quickly his moods turn. One second charming, the next terrifying.
“I’m not lying.”
“You looked at him like you wanted him to bend you over the fucking balcony.”
“Brayden—” I gasp.
“Was it Marks?” he asks, and ice floods my veins instantly.
“What?”
His grip tightens on the steering wheel. “The guy from school. Was it Hayden fucking Marks?” he grits.
How the fuck does he know about Hayden?
“No.”
Lie. Lie. Lie. Because if Brayden finds out Hayden’s alive before Hayden’s ready? Someone dies. Maybe all of us.
Brayden suddenly jerks the car hard into an empty parking lot overlooking the water. My pulse spikes instantly as the Mercedes slams into park.
“Look at me,” he commands, but I don’t.
Big mistake.
He grabs my jaw roughly, forcing my face toward him. “I said look at me,” he growls as pain shoots through my cheeks. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately,” he snarls. “But I’m getting real fucking tired of your attitude.”
I shove his hand away. “Stop touching me,” I shout, and his eyes darken.
“What did you just say?”
“I said stop touching me.” My voice shakes despite trying to stay calm. “You're hurting me.”
He laughs softly but there’s nothing normal in the sound. “You know what your problem is?” he mutters. “You keep forgetting who you belong to.”
Rage flashes through my fear instantly.
“I don’t belong to anyone,” I say, and the slap comes so fast I barely process it. Pain explodes across my face while my head whips sideways violently. For one stunned second everything goes quiet, then he grabs my throat.
“You are my property,” he hisses. “Do you understand me?”
Tears instantly sting my eyes. Not from heartbreak but from pure fury.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I choke out as his grip tightens slightly.
“Careful,” he warns.
“One minute you’re talking about loving me,” I spit angrily. “Then the next you are a fucking psychopath!” I yell, and his expression twists into something ugly.
“You should be grateful,” he states, and I laugh bitterly despite the fear clawing up my spine.
“For what? Being treated like an object?”
“For me wanting you at all!” he growls.
There it is. The truth. Not love. Ownership. Possession. A shiny trophy wife standing beside the Augustine name while he controls every breath I take.
“You need help,” I whisper shakily. “Seriously… what the fuck happened to you?” I ask, and something dangerous flashes across his face.
Then suddenly, he leans closer, smiling coldly.
“You know what happens to girls who embarrass men like me?”
My stomach drops.
“They disappear.”
Fear finally crashes fully through me then.
Real fucking fear. Because Brayden says it so casually like he’s thought it before.
Like maybe he already knows exactly how easy it would be to bury me somewhere nobody will ever find me, or better yet, throw me inside Hillsboro Institute where no one will ever come looking.
“Don’t threaten me,” I whisper as his fingers tighten briefly around my throat before finally letting go completely.
“You keep pushing me, Ophelia,” he growls as I bring my fingers to my neck, rubbing the ache while tears blur my vision.
“I don’t know who the fuck that guy was tonight,” he says darkly.
“But if you embarrass me again…” He leans closer.
“I’ll ruin your life so badly you’ll beg your father to send you to Brimstone House. ”
My blood runs cold because he knows exactly what that place means to me. Exactly what kind of threat that is. And suddenly, Hayden's words from earlier echo violently in my chest. He needs to die.
For the first time… I understand exactly why Hayden kills so easily. Because men like Brayden don’t stop. They escalate.
The rest of the drive home passes in horrible silence.
By the time we pull into my driveway, I feel emotionally scraped hollow. He cuts the engine before looking at me one final time.
“You’ll apologize tomorrow.”
I stare straight ahead. “No.”
The answer visibly shocks him. Good. Because I’m tired of being afraid.
“You think somebody’s gonna save you?” he asks through gritted teeth, and immediately, my mind betrays me with Hayden’s face. Always Hayden.
“You should leave,” I whisper instead as he stares at me for a long moment before finally grabbing my chin roughly one last time.
“You're gonna marry me eventually,” he growls. “Might as well learn obedience now.”
Then he lets me go and I climb from the car shaking. Not weak shaking. I’m furious.
Seconds later, he peels out of my driveway before another set of headlights appear. My father. Perfect timing.
I quickly wipe my tears before he notices.
He steps out of the car looking strangely pleased tonight. “You handled yourself well at the gala,” he says calmly while adjusting his cufflinks. “Brayden spoke highly of your behavior.”
The irony nearly makes me laugh hysterically.
“Thank you,” I say, and he nods approvingly.
“I’m leaving tonight for another work trip,” he says as relief crashes through me so hard my knees almost buckle.
Gone. Thank God.
“How long?” I ask carefully.
“A few days,” he says.
Not enough. Never enough. Still… I breathe easier immediately.
He studies me briefly. “You look tired.”
“I am. It's been a long night,” I answer, and he nods again.
“Good.” He starts toward the front door before pausing. “Keep this behavior up and perhaps there’s hope for you yet.”
Hope. A funny word coming from a man who destroys everything he touches.
I wait until he disappears inside before heading upstairs. My cheek still throbs from Brayden's slap. My throat aches where his fingers bruised my skin.
And somehow through all of it—all I want is Hayden. His hands, voice, and rage. Because unlike Brayden's cruelty… Hayden’s violence has always come from love. Twisted, possessive love but love nonetheless.
I close my bedroom door quietly before collapsing onto the edge of my bed exhausted. The house feels too quiet without my father stomping around downstairs, and for the first time all night, I finally let myself cry.
Not delicate tears. Broken ones.
Because I'm trapped between monsters and somehow only one of them feels safe.
I don’t know how long I sit here before the cold night breeze suddenly brushes across my skin. I gasp, turning my head towards the window, and slowly… it slides open.