Two weeks later
Ophelia sat cross-legged on the velvet chaise in her dorm room, a plate of chocolate-dipped strawberries balanced on one knee, phone pressed to her ear. The place was absurdly overdone for a boarding school. Marble bathroom, private study nook, and enough closet space to shame half the Capital's boutiques. Serathine hadn't been skimpy with money, and the administration knew better than to say no when the Duchess paid the invoice in full before the term even started.
She'd talked or written to Odin every single day since the moment she'd been escorted out of Serathine's mansion. Sometimes it was quick, a text or a short call between classes. Other times, it was late-night conversations that went on for hours, the kind where she forgot the rest of the world existed until she hung up and saw the unread messages piling up from people she barely liked.
