18. Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Eighteen
Ophelia
I open my eyes to my apartment. It looks like it's been torn apart. Probably the police or Bella looking for me.
I’ve never realized how loved I am until I saw the way Bella and Rosalind were looking for me. They are heartbroken.
Although it may get worse for them, I know I need to see them, to explain as best as I can.
I look around the room for my phone and that's when I realizeBella has it. Figures. Because of course, on the one night I actually need it, I’m phoneless.
My gaze lands on the dusty old landline mounted on the wall. I’ve kept it for years—never turned it off, never really used it either. Just emergencies.
Well. This feels like one.
I grab the receiver and dial Bella’s number from memory. She answers before the first ring even finishes.
"Hello? Who is this and why are you calling from Ophelia's landline?" Bella spurts out all at once.
I hear Rosalind in the background yelling, "Who is it? Is it Ophelia?"
"I don't know, mom, but I'm going to find out," Bella responds.
"Who is this?" Bella says, back in the receiver.
"It's me, Bella," I say.
"You’re sick. Whoever you are, this isn’t funny," she says.
“I know how it sounds,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “But please, just listen—”
“You’re calling from her apartment. Do you think that’s clever ? You think you’re helping?” She’s shaking. I can hear it. “We’ve been searching for months —”
“Bella.” I cut in softly. “The last time we talked, you were crying on your bathroom floor. You’d just come home from work. A case with a kid named Marcus—you said his bruises looked like shadows someone was trying to hide.”
The line goes silent.
“You said if you filed the wrong report, you’d lose him forever. That if you did nothing, you’d lose yourself.”
Bella doesn’t speak.
“I made you tea,” I continue. “Chamomile with too much honey. You hate chamomile, but drank it anyway.”
A broken sound leaves her throat.
“Ophelia?” she whispers.
“I’m here.”
In the background, I hear Rosalind say, “Put it on speaker.”
A click.
Rosalind’s voice comes through next—low, clipped. “If this is really you, what did you give me for your first Christmas living with us?”
“My birth mother’s music box,” I say without missing a beat. “You said I didn’t have to. That it was too much. I told you that’s why I gave it to you.”
Her breath catches audibly.
“I thought you were dead,” she says. “Everyone did.”
“I know.”
Bella’s voice jumps in, thick with disbelief. “Where the hell have you been ?”
“I can’t explain everything. Not yet. But I didn’t choose to disappear. And I’m okay now. I’m safe.”
“That’s not enough,” she snaps. “You don’t get to vanish for months and call us from your apartment like nothing happened.”
Months.
I know that. I was told that. But hearing it from Bella makes it feel real in a way the Infernal Council never did.
Because for me, it wasn’t months. It felt like days. Maybe a week, if I stretch it. But not months.
“I’m not asking you to be okay with it. I just need you to understand that I didn’t leave you. I had to go somewhere. And now I have to go back.”
“What does that even mean?” Rosalind asks. “Back where?”
There’s a beat of silence on my end. One that stretches long.
“To the place I belong,” I say. “To who I’m supposed to be now.”
“You’re scaring me,” Bella says. “Just come home.”
“I am home,” I whisper. “It’s just… not where it used to be.”
Neither of them speaks.
“Dominic’s still looking for you,” Bella says quietly, like she’s trying to gauge my reaction.
I close my eyes.
“He filed missing person reports. Flew to cities you never even stepped foot in. Talked to your coworkers. Went to that field outside town every week. Just sat there and waited. Thought maybe you’d show up like a ghost.”
My throat tightens.
"I want you to go to the field," I start. "All of you."
"I'm bringing Rhys," Bella says suddenly.
I freeze. My fingers curl tight around the base of the landline. The name lands like a slap across memory.
"Wait—what?" I breathe.
"Rhys. Rhys Westwood."
I blink. Like maybe that’ll change the name she just said. “The investigative reporter?”
"Yes," she replies, softer now. “He’s the reason the search for you never stopped. He kept digging when everyone else gave up. And… he and I are together now.”
"You and Rhys," I echo. My voice is hollow. “Wow.”
I close my eyes. It doesn’t matter. Not right now.
“Okay. Bring him,” I say. “Leave now.”
She responds, low but certain. “We’re on our way.”
Before I leave, I need to start packing up my stuff and quick. I don't want to be away from Julian for even a night.
Ophelia: Julian?
Julian: Yes, love? Are you ok?
I sigh in relief, I know he's trying to give me this, but I also know how hard it is for him to be out of the loop.
Ophelia: I'm fine, but I need your help. I want to clear out my apartment today. We can figure out what we're going to do with it later, but I want to get this part over with. I have to meet everyone soon.
Julian: Say no more. We're on it.
Ophelia: We?
He doesn't answer because he doesn't need to. He pops in along with his brothers and cousins.
“Go do what you have to do, little artist,” Julian murmurs, pulling me into his arms like he’s memorizing the feel of me.
I press my face against his chest, breathing him in—ink and fire and something softer that only exists when he touches me.
He tips my chin up. His eyes are molten gold in the light.
“We’ll handle things here,” he says. “Just come back to me.”
He kisses me—not rushed, not desperate. A promise sealed in fire and tenderness.
I close my eyes and slip through, landing behind a tall tree near the edge of the field. The grass is cool beneath my feet, the air still and charged with something I can’t name.
I don’t want to scare them, not after everything. But I need to see who’s here first. Who believed me enough to come.
Bella stands at the center, arms crossed, eyes scanning the trees. Rosalind is beside her, tense but hopeful. Rhys hovers close, his hand brushing Bella’s back. And Dominic… he’s here too. His posture is tight, like he’s bracing for impact.
Relief mixes with something sharper.
Something moves in the corner of my eye.
Two more figures storm across the field with the kind of fury that turns the air electric. Melanie and Cassius. And just like that, the moment shifts. What the hell are they doing here?
Cassius lifts his chin, like he’s delivering a final, brilliant twist in some grand speech.
“You think that’s the whole story?” he says, smugness curling through his tone. “You don’t understand the magnitude of what I did.” No one speaks. The silence crackles with unease. “I didn’t just trade a feeling,” he continues. “I corrected a mistake. A flaw in the bloodline.”
Bella stares at him. “What are you even talking about?”
He glances her way, but his gaze slides past her. Fixed on something no one else can see.
“Calliope Arden was never meant to hold power like that,” he says, voice almost reverent. “She wasn’t obedient. She was erratic. Dangerous. And when I learned what she was—what she carried—”
He smiles. Too wide. Too pleased.
“I ended it.”
The reaction is instant.
Rosalind lets out a tiny gasp, a hand flying to her mouth. Bella’s breath catches. Melanie stiffens.
“You… killed her?” Rosalind asks, barely able to form the words.
“She was the Weaver,” Cassius says flatly. “And she refused to give it to me. So I made sure it passed somewhere else.”
“Passed what?” Bella snaps. “What are you even talking about?”
“The Loom,” he says, like it should be obvious. “Fate. It needed guidance. And I found someone worthy. Someone who could use it with me.”
He nods toward Melanie.
“Together, we could’ve shaped everything. Power. Legacy. Destiny.”
Melanie’s voice trembles. “You said it was just about building my career. About control over… image.”
He doesn’t even look at her.
“She was interfering,” he says. “Ophelia was never supposed to be part of it. She threw off the balance. So I corrected that, too.”
A long beat.
Rhys speaks. Calm. Cold. “You sound insane.”
Cassius turns, but Rhys doesn’t flinch.
Dominic shakes his head slowly. “You expect us to believe all this?” he says. “A Loom of fate? Magic threads? That you… what—rewrote the universe because your wife didn’t listen to you?”
“You don’t get it,” Cassius says, louder now. “This was never about magic. It was about order. We had a chance to—”
“To what?” Dominic cuts in. “Destroy anyone who didn’t fall in line?”
Melanie’s expression is unreadable. But she moves again. Just one step further away from him.
Even Rosalind’s voice hardens. “You sound delusional.”
Cassius laughs. But it’s brittle. Cracked.
Enough is enough.
I step through the veil and land in front of them—right in the clearing, where the air cracks like it’s been holding its breath too long.
One second, I’m hidden. Next, I’m there.
Magic coils off me in waves, heat shimmering through the grass as the bond settles. Bella gasps. Rosalind lets out a cry, stumbling backward as her hand flies to her chest. Melanie screams like she’s seen a ghost.
Cassius freezes, lips parting—but no sound comes.
I don’t wait.
“He’s not entirely wrong,” I say, my voice cutting through the air like a blade.
Dominic spins to face me. His eyes are wide. Rhys lowers his camera, stunned.
“But he didn’t know the kind of demon he made a deal with,” I go on, stepping closer. “Or who I really am.”
Cassius finds his voice, and it shakes. “You—You shouldn’t even be here. You’re not supposed to—”
I cut him off with a slow, deliberate motion, fingers curling around the collar of my shirt. I tug it down.
The mark glows faintly at my collarbone—elegant and brutal, the seal of the Duvain bloodline.
Julian’s mark. My mark. Cassius staggers back like it burned him.
“I’m not yours,” I say, voice steel-wrapped velvet. “Not your pawn. Not your sacrifice. And definitely not your redemption arc.”
I step forward again. “I’m his soulmate. And that makes your deal null.”
The air goes still. Cassius’s mouth opens, but it takes him a moment to speak. When he does, it’s not triumphant. It’s unhinged.
“No. No, that’s not how this works,” he says, laughing suddenly—dry and sharp, a man grasping at pieces that no longer fit. “That’s not the deal I made. That wasn’t what was promised.”
“You were promised power,” I say coldly. “Not me.”
He shakes his head, wild now. “She was mine. My blood. My legacy. You were just—”
“Wrong,” I say flatly. “You were just wrong.”
Melanie decides to speak. Her glare whips toward Cassius, her voice rising, brittle with frustration. “This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. You promised she’d feel nothing. You said she already felt nothing! That it wouldn’t even matter—”
She freezes. Everyone stares at her. My heart stops. “What did you say?” I ask, my voice low. Dangerous.
Melanie opens her mouth. Closes it again. Her lips press tight, but the damage is done.
“You said she already felt nothing.” My breath shakes. “That’s what he said. That’s what he told Julian when he made the deal.”
Panic tightens her face, her eyes wide with the sudden weight of what she’s revealed.
“You were there,” I whisper. “You knew.”
“I didn’t—”
“Don’t,” I snap. “Don’t lie. You knew exactly what he was doing. You just stood there. Let him do it. Took what wasn’t yours and played innocent.”
“I thought it would help me,” she blurts, voice cracking. “He said you didn’t even want it! That you locked yourself away, that you didn’t create anything—”
“And you believed him?” I laugh, but it’s hollow. Bitter. “You believed the man who called his own daughter poison?”
There’s a beat of silence.
Bella whistles, slow and stunned. “Well, shit,” she mutters. “You really are a good actress, Mel.”
Melanie doesn’t respond. Can’t. Her mouth twitches like she wants to argue, but nothing comes out. She looks away, ashamed. Cornered.
Dominic’s voice is quiet, cutting through the tension. “She’s not the better actress. She’s just been given a better script.”
And I finally see her for what she is. She’s not a lost fool, she’s just selfish enough to pretend that she was.
“You don’t get to rewrite fate. You just became a footnote in it,” I say, letting the words land.
Melanie doesn’t answer. Her hands curl into fists at her sides. Her breath stutters like she’s trying not to scream.
“I’m taking my place,” I add. “As the Weaver. And at Julian’s side.”
She jerks like she’s been slapped.
“No,” she snaps. “No—it was supposed to be me. That power… my power. He promised it to me.”
Her voice is raw now, cracking at the edges. Something in her finally breaking.
“You were never meant to have it,” I say, my tone quiet but firm. “You didn’t earn it. You stole it.”
“You don’t know what I gave up for this,” she hisses. “What I sacrificed—”
“You sacrificed me,” I whisper.
The silence afterward is deafening.
Dominic steps forward, voice strained. “Ophelia, please. Don’t leave.”
I look at him, and everything in me twists. His face is all the things he never got to say. But it’s too late for that now.
“I have to,” I say, softer this time.
“No,” Bella says, shaking her head. “No, you don’t. There’s got to be a way to stop this.”
“She’s right,” Rosalind says, her voice breaking. “You don’t have to go.”
“I’m not walking away,” I say. “I’m walking toward who I really am.”
The air rips open. Heat pulses through the clearing, a seam of pressure splitting the world in half. Julian steps through it, his coat trailing smoke, a scroll clenched in one hand.
He doesn’t speak. Not right away. Just looks at me. At them. Down at the paper like it might bite.
Cassius smiles slowly, like rot blooming in the dark. “Right on time,” he says.
Melanie narrows her eyes. “What is that?”
“The contract,” Julian says.
His voice sounds like it’s coming from somewhere far away. Like it hurts to say.
“The last clause is active,” Julian says, looking at me like it might break him.
I don’t breathe.
“Who?”
The scroll in Julian’s hand blackens at the edges. The ink bleeds with a name that sears through the page like fate can’t bear to hold it.
I look up, and my voice is barely heard. “Julian…”
His eyes meet mine.
And in them, I see it—grief. Grief like he's already lost me.
“I tried to stop it,” he says, barely louder than a breath. “But the contract has to be fulfilled.”
His gaze drops. His grip tightens. “It’s not your soul I’m here for. It’s hers.”