Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
OPHELIA
For the rest of the week, I ignored my new housemates. They kept busy with their businesses and rarely came home.
I like it this way.
But this morning, they’re sitting at the table with me, shoving the food our chefs made into their stupid mouths like we’re a family.
Like this is normal.
I’m eating pancakes loaded with syrup because food is like an old, smelly stuffed animal a child clings to when upset. Food brings me comfort. Even on the shittiest days, I can find peace in my favorite meals.
A bowl of mint chocolate chip ice cream. A plate of loaded nachos with jalapenos. Moussaka from Mykonos.
Today, I go with an old favorite. Mom made me pancakes every morning before school. She’d slather them in butter and syrup, kiss the top of my head, and say, “Eat, my sweet girl. You need brain fuel to take on the day.”
Then she’d hand me a lunchbox that always had a note inside. As a young girl, I cared more about the notes than the food. Each day, she wrote something different.
You are brave.
Strength is beauty.
You are special.
You are loved.
Be bold.
Beauty comes from within.
I miss her so much I have to choke back a sob. Of course, Atlas notices, his head snapping at me with a look of interest. He says nothing, but I know he knows.
He doesn’t know what I’m feeling or thinking. But he knows it hurts. Atlas offers me a tiny smile that doesn’t reach his big, brown eyes, and then his attention returns to his book. He’s been doing that nonstop. I’m dying to know what’s so important he can’t eat without drawing.
“Ophelia,” Athena says in a singsong tone that makes me want to stab her with my fork. “How would you like to accompany me to pick out your bridesmaid dress?”
I want to say that I would rather remove my eyeballs with this fork, clutching it in my fist like a weapon.
“I can’t,” I lie, forcing a smile that hurts my face. “I’m busy until the wedding. Pick a dress for me. I’m sure it will be acceptable.”
“I would rather you try it on,” she insists. “The seamstress needs your exact measurements.”
I hate going dress shopping. They never have my exact size, and because I’m a little bigger than average, it always costs more.
“We can help you try it on,” Ares whispers in my ear, sliding his hand to my knee.
I push his hand away, hating how my stupid body responds to him. He’s barely touched me, and I have to clench my thighs. “No thanks. Keep your inked hands to yourself.”
“Phe,” Dad says when I don’t answer his new bride. “This is important. Please make time.”
“Honestly, Dad, I would rather get this all over with and return to my normal life. I don’t care what dress I wear.”
“This is the new normal.” He grits his teeth, anger flaring in his dark eyes. “Get on board, or we will have a problem.”
Another threat.
Asshole.
Why is he so pussy-whipped that he will cast his only daughter aside for her? For them. He acts as if I should be happy to have a family again. But I want the one I already had, not my mother’s traitorous best friend and her wicked sons.
I hold his gaze and say, “I’m still adjusting to you marrying Mom’s best friend and moving her sons into our house.
This is a lot to take in, okay?” I lift the cloth napkin off my lap and chuck it onto the table—because it feels good to fling shit when I’m mad.
“Maybe I would get on board if you’d get off my back! ”
“Ophelia Cora Drakos,” he says, shaking with anger, his cheeks flushed. “If I have to tell you one more time to behave yourself, you can kiss the clubs goodbye.”
Motherfucker.
“Threatening me won’t help me accept this situation any sooner, Dad.
” I rise from the chair, heart pounding in my chest. “You know what? I don’t need you or your money.
” I kick my chair backward with my boot.
“How about I go down to Kallidromo and see how much the daughter of the great and all-knowing Belen Drakos is worth at auction? I bet your enemies would pay good money to stick it to you.”
“I know I would,” Ares mutters.
Dad is out of his chair in seconds. “Ophelia, I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but I will do whatever is necessary to keep you from hurting yourself. Even if that means sending you away.”
I’m done with this shit.
I attempt to leave, and Apollo pushes out his palm, stopping me dead in my tracks.
“Don’t go. You will regret walking away from your father.”
I want to ask why until I remember his father is dead and wonder if his last conversation ended this badly.
Of his brothers, Apollo is the most grounded.
While Atlas has his head in the clouds and Ares has his head up his ass, Apollo is always in control.
You would think he was the oldest with how he carries himself.
I turn to look at my father. “I will shop for a dress with Athena and go through the motions of this wedding and sing Kumbaya if I have to, but I want you to sign over your stake in Olympus to me.”
Uncle Alexander owns the other half. I’d rather be in business with him than have my father hold my future over my head.
“No,” Dad says without consideration. “You’ll inherit Olympus after I retire, and not a minute sooner.”
I have to reason with him.
Losing me is a bad idea.
“If I leave, so will my girls,” I tell him. “I hired them, and they are loyal to me.”
He snorts with laughter. “Whores are a dime a dozen, Ophelia. I can replace them.”
“Not my whores,” I fire back. “Our customers love them. I hand-selected them myself. If you ever came by Olympus, you would see that our regulars are there for them. They can go to any other club in the city, but they choose The O Club because of the environment I created. They come to fuck the girls I trained.”
His eyes widen at the last part.
Yep, Dad, I said trained.
Deal with it.
“I’d like to see this training firsthand,” Ares mutters, and I want to slap him.
I know how this sounds.
I swear I’m not a pimp.
The ground floor of Olympus is open to the public. We have top-shelf liquor, VIP seating, and the hottest DJs in the country playing live every night. But downstairs at The O Club, we cater to a wealthy clientele.
The women are there willingly, of course. I’m not in the business of human trafficking. But as their Madam, I show them what men want.
“I have a counterproposal,” Dad says after a long silence.
“You have one month to turn around your attitude. That means acting like you’re part of this family and treating Athena and me with respect.
You will go dress shopping and pose for photos at our wedding.
I don’t want to hear a single complaint from you.
And if you have learned to control yourself, I will give you one-quarter of Olympus. ”
One month.
I can do this.
I flash a victorious smile. “When do we go dress shopping?”