Ophelia/Odette's POV
I feel ten feet underground, my body aching, chest heavy. My eyes move but can't be opened.
My thoughts are scattering pieces of memories. Someone's laughter, someone's deep soft voice, a small hand of a child, a luxurious mansion.
Fuck! Am I dreaming again? Have I buried myself too deep into work that now I'm hallucinating??
My spine feels like it has been set on fire, my body stiff, so fucking heavy.
Did I eat too much pizza last night? Odette Elizabeth, you need to get your shit together!
Someone needs to stop the constant buzzing in my head. If I rip off my brain and dunk it in ice water, will this headache go away?
Tsk! Technology hasn't advanced that much. How great would it be if the brain was like a streamer? Throw water and it calms down.
Nonsense!
I struggle against the light slapping against my face. And then suddenly—
SLAP!!!
A strong palm lands against my cheek, making my head snap along with my eyesight, which had been floating somewhere.
My eyes flutter down to the floor—a ridiculously luxurious white carpet.
Confusion makes me frown. Rubbing my cheek, I slowly turn my head.
Rage already boils in my veins, jaw clenched tight, hands itching to punch the hell out of whoever dared to slap me.
"Do you have anything to say, Ophelia?"
I don't hear whatever that man—who just slapped me—said. I clench my fist and elbow that bastard who dared to touch me.
The tall, dangerous-looking middle-aged man groans in pain and crouches down, his hazel-green eyes wide in shock.
"OPHELIA!!"
Another guy, who looks like a younger version of this oldie, reaches out to grab me. But too bad—I've been beaten enough as a kid and teenager to let myself get beaten again.
I avoid his hand and do the thunderbolt kick my mentor taught me back in college after he saw my bruised face.
His jaw almost cracks from the impact and he falls back, groaning with a bloody nose and bruised lips.
Cold, peaceful satisfaction makes my stomach do those little dances it always does each time I close a deal.
And then I finally look around the massive white-ivory themed room, which looks like a royal study from Victorian dramas that I binge-watch to curse capitalism in the 21st century.
"What are you doing, Ophelia Blackwood?"
A woman with the shiniest blonde hair and thinnest heels stands up angrily. Her skirt flutters with each step, posture screaming 'I'm my daddy's little princess and every man wants me.'
My eyes squint in even more confusion. Because what in the hell of an opera show am I doing in this ridiculously luxurious study with three grown-ups teaming up against me?
Those two men slowly stand up. The elder one supports the younger.
What a waste of good looks!
"You beat Dad and your older brother? Is this what Harvard teaches you?" the woman says coldly, her voice carrying years of throwing commands.
And Jesus! That makes me want to drag her by the hair and show real authority.
"I don't know about Harvard, but you all are acting like back-alley thugs!" I grumble with my hands on my hips. My voice rises. "You dare to team up against me? Huh?"
I step forward and all three step back instinctively. Their eyes widen like Pikachu. The man with salt-and-pepper hair—who I'm sure is these two little brats' father—glares at me.
"Ophelia—"
I raise my eyebrow, threatening him to say one more nonsense and get struck again through my eyes.
And I freeze. My eyes widen slowly.
"Ophelia… as in Ophelia Blackwood!"
They frown. The younger guy spits blood. "What? Now you'll act like you forgot who you ar—"
My hand flies to punch his nose before I even realize it, and the older man tries to grab my wrist but I elbow him again.
The pretty lady tries to grab my hair, but I flip on my back before slapping her hard enough that her pale cheek turns red.
My heart is beating too fast, blood running hot and cold. And when my eyes catch my reflection in the window's glass—
Beautiful deep hazel-green eyes like a summer field in Switzerland, sun-kissed warm skin, perfectly curved figure, long wavy black hair like the quiet night sky, plump lips, and skin so perfect I suddenly feel judgmental of my own…
"Holy shit!"
I touch my face lightly, pinching slowly, feeling slight pain in my soft flesh.
Even my blinking is beautiful!!! And suddenly it makes sense...
I have been transmigrated into the world of Eyes of Glacier as the notorious villainess Ophelia Blackwood, who possessed the beauty of a summer goddess.
A nervous laugh leaves my throat. Slowly, I turn my head to look at the well-beaten humans who happen to be Ophelia's dad, brother, and sister.
My legs feel like jelly, lips pressed tight.
Raphael Blackwood, the patriarch of the Blackwoods.
He handsome daddy for sure—fck off, Odette, have shame. This man is your dad now.
Rhys Blackwood, the heir.
Damn… that jawline can cut women's hearts… shu shu, Odette, he is your bastard big brother.
And finally Ivy Blackwood, the princess of Blackwood.
Holy shit! Look at those assets… momm—NOOOO!!! STOP IT, ODETTE!!!!!
UGHHH THIS IS RIDICULOUS!!! Just last night I finished reading Eyes of Glacier, calling Ophelia stupid…
And fate really had to transmigrate me into this world full of handsome men and women…
"You are on drugs, Ophelia?" Ivy bites out every word.
What am I supposed to do? The real Ophelia was a totally devoted girl who would beg for love even after getting run down by these disgustingly good-looking rotten people.
Will I choose to live as Ophelia?
Hell nah!
I'm still the infamous attorney Odette Elizabeth, who once slapped a serial killer inside the courtroom and later got him executed.
Running my hands through my silky hair, my eyes bored, I say, "Shut up, blondie. Whether I do drugs or burn down palaces, you're my elder sister, so just clean up after me."
Raphael and Rhys's mouths hang open, eyes almost popping out.
Good. That's what I wanted. Forget Ophelia, who just wanted a little love but ended up used, abused, betrayed, and killed.
Don't worry, Ophelia. This elder sister of yours will now avenge you…
But as I think of Ophelia, my heart squeezes painfully just like it did when I read her story on those pages.
A slow, painful realization shadows me…
Ophelia and I have similar families...
Ophelia just didn't manage to escape her shackles.
And I only managed to run away because of my nanny…
My mouth feels ashy. Hatred for these people makes me see red, veins throbbing in anger.
How heartless. How cruel.
They look at me like I'm an uninvited outsider—which I am—but this outsider will serve justice to the real daughter who probably just wanted one warm hug.
"Pigs are better than you bunch of fuckers! Who treats the youngest of the family like a sinner?" My voice carries only disdain and hatred.
With that, I walk out, leaving the frozen, stunned family members of the real Ophelia.
Rage in my heart.
Revenge in my blood.
The real story can go to hell.
I will rewrite everything.
For the little girls who were cursed at birth and told they don't deserve to be loved..