Birds sing outside, and snow melts under the soft, warm rays of the morning sun, reflecting a picture entirely different from yesterday.
Three maids help Ophelia shower and dress for the day. Her golden-brown skin glows, as if the sun itself is kissing her gently.
She wears a sheer ivory blouse with wide, billowing sleeves embroidered with soft pink and grey florals. A long ribbon falls from the collar, ending in tassels at her waist. It's paired with a high-waisted blush skirt that flows in smooth, elegant pleats.
The maid does her makeup—flawless skin, softened edges, pink shimmering eyeshadow, winged eyeliner, warm-toned blush, and maroon lips. Her hair falls in perfect curls, parted to the side. One maid places a simple pink diamond necklace around her neck, paired with matching earrings and sapphire bracelets.
"These are gifts from Young Master," the maid says.
Ophelia feels a strange wave of emotion rise in her chest as she looks at the elegant, beautiful reflection in the mirror.
She has never worn such luxurious ornaments, never worn a dress that feels so soft against her skin.
The best things had always gone to Ivy.
Ophelia received the simpler, used items.
Even Vincent never bothered giving her anything—Ophelia never showed the neediness for luxury when all she wanted was just love.
"Did he ask for anything?" Ophelia asks skeptically, her heart uneasy at the unfamiliar exposure to luxury. The maids exchange glances, sharing a silent secret.
The ash-brown-haired maid with warm amber eyes steps forward with a gentle smile. "Young Master only asked that you meet the wedding planners after breakfast. Everything will be arranged according to your preference."
Ophelia's breathing hitches. Her chest tightens. A whisper of disbelief escapes her lips.
"Everything according to my preference?"
Nobody ever cared about her preference even when she screamed out.
The maid—Alaska—nods softly. "Yes, Young Lady. Nothing will be arranged without your approval. So please have breakfast. The wedding planners are already in the tea room waiting for you."
Something recoils inside Ophelia at this unfamiliar kindness. Since yesterday, every maid and servant has been gentle to her—the same people she killed in her second life.
The butler arranged three maids to assist her at all times: Alaska, Red, and Mimi. In the Eyes of Glacier, these three were Jessica's most trusted maids.
But they are assigned to her now. At least until Jessica comes.
Ophelia nods and stands. Mimi drapes a soft white fur coat over her shoulders, smiling. Ophelia doesn't push her away, but her heart trembles at the warmth in their expressions. She reminds herself under her breath:
"This is just a contracted marriage."
The following hours pass with Ophelia being stuffed with delicious food she has never tasted before, and giving her opinions on the wedding preparations.
Butler Marcus hovers around her, excited and beaming. Ophelia narrows her eyes suspiciously.
"Aren't you a little too happy for a contracted marriage?"
Marcus only grins while scrolling through flower arrangements on the iPad.
"Does that matter? Marriage is marriage."
Like a bird fluttering its wings against the bars of a cage, Ophelia feels that familiar restlessness.
Marriage is marriage?
She tries to understand the heavy meaning behind Marcus's words.
Seeing her brows crease, Marcus rests a hand on her head and gently pats her.
Ophelia's eyes widen, warmth blooming in her bones.
Marcus has that elderly, gentle grandfather look as he says,
"Young Lady, you're too young to carry the weight of the world. This marriage is just a marriage—not the conclusion of your identity."
Ophelia's fingers twitch, toes curling inside her shoes.
A small voice whispers in her mind, hopeful—like a little bird seeing sunlight for the first time inside the cage she has lived in for decades.
"I'll… keep that in mind."
Marcus's heart swells with pride at the faint flicker of warmth in her blank eyes. A smile breaks across his lips.
"Now let's choose the flowers. Young Master knows more about gunpowder than flowers."
A small chuckle escapes Ophelia—something unfamiliar and foreign even to her own ears.
(Even if it's momentary… it's not a sin to soak in this warmth, right?)
The door of the tea room opens. Kayros walks in—white shirt, grey trousers. Simple, yet his presence weighs down the room. His blonde hair is pulled into a neat man bun, sharpening his jawline.
His glacier-like eyes sweep over the wedding planners, who bow their heads. Ophelia looks up, frowning.
"Aren't you supposed to be outside London?"
Czar walks in behind him and waves brightly. "Hey, Little Sister-in-Law. You look beautiful, like a princess."
Kayros shoots him a side-eye, but Czar ignores him and reaches Ophelia.
"You're here too?" she asks, even more confused.
Czar grins mischievously. "Your soon-to-be husband is hopeless when it comes to flowers and women's things. I refuse to let this wedding become a disaster under my watch."
He presses a hand proudly to his chest, as if announcing his duty to protect the world, smiling so brightly it could light up an entire city.
Kayros shakes his head in disbelief. Marcus snorts behind his hand. Ophelia's lips twitch at the childishness of a man called the 'Hunter of the Underworld.'
Kayros huffs and pushes Czar aside, taking the empty seat next to her.
"Ignore this idiot. He's just over the moon knowing he's becoming my brother-in-law."
Czar shakes his head dramatically.
"Nope, correction—older brother-in-law."
"Do you want to die?" Kayros growls, irritated. Czar only grins wider. Their banter feels too familiar, too normal.
Ophelia feels like someone pulled her out of her darkness and pushed her into warm spring sunlight.
She has never had relationships where even small arguments felt normal and safe.
A soft giggle escapes her.
Kayros freezes, then slowly relaxes.
"You're enjoying seeing me get bullied?" His tone is half offended, half annoyed.
Ophelia shakes her head lightly, still smiling.
"No. I just wasn't expecting two powerful heirs to banter like schoolboys."
Czar gasps, clutching his chest.
"Ugh! My Little Sister-in-Law called me childish!"
Kayros kicks him lightly, making everyone—including Ophelia—laugh.
"Get a life. Your fiancée is Ivy, not me. Stop hovering around me."
Czar bats his eyes innocently.
"But you're my first wife!"
Ophelia snorts, shoulders shaking. Kayros looks around desperately for help, but both Ophelia and Marcus are red from holding in laughter.
"This is unbelievable! Did I just become the sacrificial goat for everyone's amusement?" he exclaims, offended, palms slamming softly against the table.
Ophelia presses her lips together, holding back laughter.
"If a little sacrifice can make everyone laugh, why not?"
Kayros scoffs.
"Who cares about their laughter?"
Despite the sternness in his gaze, something warm ripples under it.
His chest flutters as he sees Ophelia smiling—her cheeks catching the room's light. His breath slows, as if he wishes he could freeze this moment.
He swallows hard. His throat goes dry. Something deeper stirs.
And the realization makes him clench his fist under the table.
(If it's for this smile… God help me, I'd let myself be dragged through mud if it means her eyes crinkle like this.
Heavens… I'm gone. Completely gone for this little woman who's to become my wife.)