Ophelia/Odette's POV
Whoever said money can't buy happiness…
He was a fucking delusional philosophical bastard who lived broke, because if this luxurious mansion full of gems and gold, marbles expensive enough to fund a small country, curtains hand-woven from the rarest fabrics, and carpets so soft I feel like I'm walking on clouds can't buy happiness—
Then that person has never seen real poverty.
But as I walk into Ophelia's closet, I curse in five languages because… what do you mean…
THERE IS NO DIAMOND? NO RUBY? NOT EVEN A FUCKING PEARL!!!
I run my fingers through my hair, eyes squinting in disbelief while going through this sad excuse of a closet. It's clearly not tailored for her.
I nod to myself, remembering the details of the novel.
Ophelia never wore her own clothes. Everything was Ivy's used garbage. And she never demanded anything either.
"You were too good, Ophelia. If your bastard family can't love you, you're supposed to make their lives a living hell."
An evil smirk tugs at my lips.
Ophelia's wardrobe is all dark and depressing — and now it's time to set everything on fire.
Rolling up my sleeves, I tie my hair into a messy bun.
Starting from shoes to even underwear — as small as scarves — I gather everything and throw it all out the third-floor window of the mansion.
Servants gasp.
Maids murmur.
The butler goes pale and runs to Ophelia's daddy, who is about to become my sugar daddy—
Yeah, a sugar daddy who will get everything except sugar.
I dump everything into the lounge, the entire mansion buzzing with horror and confusion because the real Ophelia was always a good girl who let everyone walk over her if it meant being loved.
But not me.
Rhys Blackwood is the first to appear — panting, furious, jaw still red from being kicked by me.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING, OPHE—"
Before he can finish, I throw a shoe at his face.
Dead center.
He stumbles, face turning red from embarrassment and rage.
"Shut up, little fuck," I grumble, tossing another heavy party gown.
Rhys freezes. His lips part to say something, but one glare from me sends him trembling backward. I almost spit at him.
Typical.
Ivy rushes into the lounge next, her rage vibrating through her delicate little princess body. It peaks the moment she sees the pile of her old clothes.
"Ophelia, what is this?" she asks firmly, with the authority of a delusional bitch who thinks the world belongs to her.
I dig my ear, bored.
My expression alone makes her clench her fist in humiliation.
"Cleaning up the old shit in my closet, Mademoiselle."
Ivy gasps.
She raises her hand, but Rhys — who has already been kicked twice and shoe-slapped — grabs her wrist before she gets a fresh beating.
Tsk.
His cautious, protective posture toward Ivy…
It makes something bitter curl inside me.
One daughter gets treated like a princess.
Another daughter gets treated like a curse.
At least in my real world, all my siblings were treated like shit together.
Equal suffering builds strong bonds.
Ivy looks at Rhys desperately, begging him to "show me my place."
But Rhys only stares at me, horrified.
My eyes narrow.
"What are you waiting for?"
I step forward.
He steps back like a scared cat.
Ivy turns pale seeing her mighty older brother back away from their younger sister.
But who cares?
My main target isn't these two minions.
It's Raphael Blackwood — who storms in with the butler trailing behind him, sweating for dear life.
I wave cheerfully.
"I was waiting for you, daddy!" I chime, wearing a smile that screams trouble.
Everyone stiffens.
Raphael frowns, voice cold, dripping with decades of power.
"What is the meaning of this chaos, Ophelia? I haven't forgiven you for what you have done—"
"Then don't." I beam.
His shoulders tense. For the first time, Raphael Blackwood looks shaken. The butler wipes sweat from his neck like he's witnessing the end of the world.
Raphael clenches his jaw.
His presence is dangerous—
Tall, commanding, a man who makes presidents kneel—
Yet he got elbowed twice by me.
"I am not liking your behavior, Ophelia."
I almost scoff. Not liking my behavior?
He never liked Ophelia even when she was obedient and desperate for love.
Of course he won't like this Ophelia who shoves his dignity down his throat.
"You never liked me anyway."
I shrug casually.
Something flickers in his calm hazel-green eyes.
Something that always haunted the real Ophelia.
"Listen, daddy," I yawn, "you're too old for drama, I'm too lazy for drama. Just give me money. I need to go shopping."
Raphael Blackwood never gave Ophelia even the bare minimum.
But now?
He owes her twenty years' worth of cash — with interest.
His eyes darken, trying to decode this new Ophelia.
"You never asked for money," he mutters.
I raise a brow.
"Are you broke? Why are you crying over money, daddy?"
His jaw locks, veins popping.
Ivy and Rhys both look like ghosts.
Raphael is a titan to them — but to me?
I survived eighteen years of abuse, dry bread, water, Harvard Law, and slapping serial killers in court.
Raphael Blackwood is just another bastard.
"Mind your language, Ophelia Blackwood," he warns, voice low and dangerous.
But I am not normal.
I AM A FUCKING TRANSMIGRATOR.
"I need money, daddy. Simple. Transfer thirty million pounds in thirty minutes, or I'll expose the pin number of your gold vault in Switzerland."
Something snaps inside Raphael.
His face goes from red to corpse-white.
"You don't know—"
"2809120977."
I pause. Smirk widens.
His pupils dilate like he's about to faint.
"Do I need to finish, daddy? Or will you—"
He whips out his phone and snarls,
"SEND THIRTY MILLION POUNDS TO OPHELIA'S ACCOUNT RIGHT NOW!"
And just like that, the entire Blackwood family silently realizes:
I am not the Ophelia they can bully anymore.
I turn to head upstairs, but pause, smiling sweetly.
"Oh, and daddy? Don't slap me again."
I pout cutely.
"I'm a fragile little baby."
The butler chokes.
Rhys looks like a stunned duck.
Ivy trembles with malice.
Raphael?
Raphael is seconds away from combusting.
Yes, look at me, Sugar Daddy.
I need your money, power, and status.
To become the real villainess.
The one who only cares about herself.
"Oh right—can you arrange a meeting between me and Kayros?" I ask innocently.
Raphael groans, dragging his hand through his hair, flexing tattooed forearms.
"Ophelia, I don't give a fuck if you want to go crazy, but do not mess with Natheniel again."
I cover my mouth dramatically.
"Daddy, I've realized the truth of life."
I clasp my hands like a melodramatic actress.
"I've gone through self-realization and discovered the depth of my childish act—"
"Drop the drama," Raphael growls.
I grin.
"I want to marry Kayros Natheniel."
Hell yeah, as if I'm going to miss the chance to bag the most handsome, smartest, sexiest, darkest male lead in the ENTIRE UNIVERSE.
The female lead can try me — but Kayros is mine.
And I'll make him fall in love with me.
Oh God.
My Kay baby!!!
Your real lover is coming!!!!!
"You've gone nuts," Raphael mutters.
I was born nuts.
He just got unlucky because I transmigrated as his daughter.
"Just send my money, daddy."
"Stop calling me daddy!"
I blow him a kiss as I walk upstairs.
"My mouth — I'll call you whatever I want. Daddy or old fart Blackwood."
"OPHELIA BLACKWOOOOOD!!!"