Chapter 9
Ophelia
“Take Care-Rihanna & Drake”
I wake up tangled in warmth that no longer exists.
For one beautiful, horrifying second, I swear Hayden was here.
The feeling of strong arms wrapped around me lingers like a phantom against my skin. My face is buried in my pillow, but the scent surrounding me isn’t detergent or lavender.
It’s him.
Smoke and Leather… Hayden.
My eyes snap open instantly, and I sit up too fast, searching the room frantically. “Hayden?” I call out but I’m greeted with silence.
Morning sunlight spills softly across my bedroom while my heart pounds in my chest. Tears burn my eyes as I press trembling fingers against my lips.
Because it didn’t feel like a dream. It felt real—too real.
My chest aches painfully remembering the way his voice sounded in my dream.
I’m right here, baby.
A shaky breath leaves me, and I look down, realizing I’m clutching his hoodie tighter than usual. Like someone tucked it back into my arms while I slept.
Goosebumps spread across my skin.
No. No. I’m losing my mind.
That has to be it.
But deep down… deep, deep down where my soul still belongs to Hayden Marks… I know he was here. I can feel it.
The realization both comforts and destroys me, because if he came here last night… why did he leave again?
A knock suddenly sounds against my door and I jump.
“Miss Ophelia,” Maggie calls gently. “Your father wants you ready for church in thirty minutes.”
Reality crashes over me like ice water. Church. Pretending. Smiling like my heart wasn’t ripped out of my chest less than twelve hours ago.
I wipe at my face before forcing myself out of bed and quickly rushing to the bathroom, slamming the door behind me.
Twenty minutes later, I sit at my vanity staring at my reflection in the mirror. The girl looking back at me barely looks alive.
Dark circles beneath swollen eyes. Skin pale. Lips bitten raw from crying.
Still… I paint on mascara. Curl my blonde hair. Pull on a soft, cream colored dress that reaches my knees.
The perfect daughter.
The perfect future wife.
The perfect little liar.
By the time I walk downstairs, my father is sitting at the kitchen island drinking coffee while reading the newspaper.
Calm. Composed. Untouchable.
The sight of him makes something ugly curl inside me now.
Because Hayden is alive and somehow… my father buried him anyway.
“Good morning, sweetheart,” he says smoothly without looking up.
I force a smile so fake it hurts my cheeks. “Morning,” I say as his eyes finally lift towards me, assessing.
Always assessing.
“You look tired,” he states, and I almost laugh.
Instead, I just smile.
“It was Brayden’s fight last night. Got in late,” I say, and his expression softens slightly.
“I heard he lost. Disappointing nonetheless,” he states, and I nod.
“I couldn’t agree with you more,” I say, sitting down and taking a sip of the orange juice that was left for me.
“How is school going?” he asks.
“Stressful.”
“You need to stop being so emotional all the time, Ophelia. It clouds your judgement,” he says, and I roll my eyes.
If he only knew.
If he only knew Hayden Marks crawled out of the grave he buried him in.
Instead of saying another word, I eat my breakfast in peace and then we leave for church.
An hour later, I’m suffocating in this place. Everyone smiles too much. Speaks too softly. Pretends too perfectly. Old women squeeze my hands telling me how beautiful I’ve become while men discuss business deals beneath stained-glass windows like God isn’t listening.
I sit beside my father with my hands folded neatly in my lap while the pastor speaks about forgiveness. Forgiveness.
My throat tightens painfully.
How am I supposed to forgive when my entire life feels like one giant lie?
Every now and then I catch myself glancing toward the church doors expecting Hayden to appear there somehow. Dark clothes. Green eyes, but he would never come here.
He told me once when we were running around the abandoned church at fourteen years old he would burn if he stepped foot inside, that there’s no holy water that will ever save a monster like him.
I smile at the memory.
Ugh, to go back in time to when things were much simpler.
After church, my father’s mask slips the second we get in the car. Silence stretches thick between us while the driver pulls away from the cathedral.
Then finally—
“What happened at the Dungeon?” he asks, and ice floods my veins instantly.
“Nothing,” I answer, staring out the window.
“Do not insult my intelligence.” His voice sharpens. “Brayden called me a few minutes ago furious. Apparently, you embarrassed him publicly,” he accuses.
Good.
I say nothing, and my father exhales slowly through his nose. “You are becoming increasingly difficult to manage,” he grits.
Manage?
Like I’m a problem instead of his daughter.
“He put his hands on me,” I whisper, but his expression never changes.
“Brayden is under a lot of pressure,” he says, and I physically recoil.
“That’s your excuse?” I say, turning to face him with narrowed eyes.
His jaw tightens as his hands turn into fists. “Watch your tone.”
“He called me names in front of everyone and treats me like property and that’s just okay?” I ask.
“You are his future wife.” He smiles, but his words slap me in the face ,so I stare at him in disbelief while tears blur my vision.
“Mom left because of you and it’s really starting to show why.”
Silence.
Dead silence and then he smiles coldly.
Fuck!
By the time we get home, he drags me into his office where punishment waits quietly behind closed doors.
No screaming.
No violence.
My father doesn’t lose control like that. No, his cruelty is precise. Calculated.
So he takes my phone, my car keys, and my credit cards. Then he locks me inside my bedroom for the remainder of the weekend like I’m some misbehaving child instead of an eighteen-year-old woman suffocating beneath his control.
“You will learn respect,” he says before shutting the door behind him.
The lock clicks loudly and something inside me snaps.
I pace my room and wait for the sun to go down.
The walls feel too tight. The silence is too loud and my thoughts are too painful. I can’t take another second trapped inside this house. But then the lock clicks and Maggie enters my room.
“He’s gone. He won’t be back for a few weeks,” she says, handing me back my stuff.
“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you,” I squeal, giving her a hug.
“You’re welcome, Miss Ophelia. Have a good night,” She winks then leaves my room.
I jump up and down, then head to my closet to change.
There is a party tonight and I am not going to miss it.
I pull into the warehouse, park, then get out and head inside. The party is massive tonight.
Cars, bikes, and trucks line the streets outside while people flood in and out of the old building laughing, drinking, and smoking.
I step inside and it’s nothing but pure chaos. Beer pong tables. Poker games. Clouds of smoke curling towards the metal rafters. Bodies dancing beneath flashing lights.
For the first time all day I can breathe.
“OOOOO!” Bianca yells, barreling into me and wrapping her arms around my waist. Her dark curls bounce wildly while she grins. “Holy shit, you look emotionally unstable.” And I laugh.
“Thanks?”
“That was a compliment,” she says, handing me a drink. “Now come disassociate with us.”
God, I love her.
Bianca Banks is the only real friend I have. She’s loud, reckless, and loyal. Completely unafraid to tell people to fuck off. She is also Justin’s twin sister.
She drags me deeper into the party where Reid sits at a card table counting cash.
“Well look who escaped the country club,” he drawls, and I want to laugh. His drawl is terrible.
“Barely,” I say as he studies my face carefully for a second before his teasing expression softens. “You good?” he asks.
No, I’m not.
“Peachy,” I lie, and he snorts.
“Liar.”
Across the warehouse, Ryker and Ryder Rivers lounge on a couch with their girlfriend sitting between them. Kayla.
God, I don’t know how they are still with her.
I would’ve thought they’d have kicked her to the curb by now. She notices me staring and rolls her eyes.
Wonderful.
Kayla hates me for reasons still unclear. Maybe because Ryder smiled at me once three months ago. Maybe because she just enjoys being a cunt.
Hard to tell.
“Well,” she says loudly as I approach. “If it isn’t Barbie herself.” But Bianca flips her off.
“Give it a rest Kayla.”
The bitch smirks into her drink. “Just saying. Didn’t know princesses knew how to sneak into parties.”
“I didn’t know insecurity could wear lip gloss,” Bianca fires back, making me laugh.
“There’s the first real smile she’s had all week,” Ryker says, and the comment catches me off guard, maybe these people really do see me.
More than my father ever has.
“FYI Kayla… I didn’t sneak in. I don’t need to when I’m a part of the crew,” I say, and she snarls, so I inch closer and bend down right in her face.
“Let’s not forget how and why you are even allowed in here,” I say as my eyes shift to the left and right of her as I lick my lips.
“These two are your reason. Maybe I’ll just take them off your hands.
” And I back away, but not before blowing her a kiss and snatching her drink from her hands.
“You fucking cunt,” she spits, but I pay her no mind.
The twins know their place, and they know she can’t touch me or else they will have to deal with Reid.
“Damn that was fun.” Bianca laughs.
I throw back the red Solo cup and swallow its contents, then let myself disappear into the noise for a while.
Cards. Music. Laughter. Smoke.
No Brayden. No church. No pretending. Just freedom.
Then the warehouse suddenly shifts, and I feel it before I see him.
The energy changes. People glance toward the entrance and conversations lower slightly.
My stomach drops.
No.
“B, uh there’s something I forgot to mention…” I trail off as I slowly turn, and there he is.
Hayden.
A black hoodie stretched across his broad shoulders. Tight jeans. His long dirty blonde hair tied up in a bun and those green eyes that scan the room before locking directly onto mine.
“Oh shit. What the fuck!” she says in shock.
“I—” But I don’t finish the sentence, because I physically can’t.
The entire world disappears.
Music fades.
Voices vanish and air leaves my lungs.
He’s real…still real.
For a second, neither of us moves.
Just staring.
And God… the look on his face wrecks me, because beneath all the anger, darkness, and pain… he looks heartbroken too.