ODETTE / OPHELIA'S POV
Today is my engagement to Kayros.
If this had been a few weeks ago—before the incident with his stepmother and sister—I would have been excited. Arrogant. Perfectly in control.
Now I know better.
This is not a novel. This is not fiction softened by pretty words. This is the reality of the mafia—blood, violence, and power traded like currency.
I straighten my spine, keep my expression relaxed. My eyes are sharp. The eyes on me are sharper. Some are amused. Some weigh me with scrutiny. Others hold open hostility, even hatred.
The ballroom is massive, lined with pillars that seem endless. A champagne tower rises in the center beneath a crystal chandelier that must have cost a fortune. Fresh red roses weigh down the air under dim lights. Candles burn at the edges, their flames whispering over the murmur of people who could alter the destiny of entire countries.
So much power in one room makes my stomach twist.
And yet, among all these unfamiliar faces, three stand out.
Kayros—dressed in a suit and tie, looking like the most dangerous temptation ever created.
Czar—intentionally disheveled, appearing drunk when he is anything but, keeping himself small on purpose.
Alexander—eyes sharp as blades, gloves on his hands like a deliberate barrier between him and the world.
When I look at Kayros this time, my heart doesn't skip.
Instead, a chill slides down my spine. My guards rise. My words become measured.
His eyes catch mine, heavy with emotions I can't name. The tension between us tightens.
"Are you excited for the engagement you wanted so badly, ma chérie?"
His whisper is low, intimate, laced with honey and danger. My fingers twitch at my side. Still, I smile.
"Of course I am, sweetheart."
His lips twitch into a smirk. His gaze sharpens, satisfied, as if he's anticipating something I already know I won't like.
"How sweet."
He lifts his hand and tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear. His finger grazes my skin slowly, deliberately. My breath catches. Goosebumps ripple down my arms.
I feel like prey pretending to be a predator—while the real predator watches, amused by my effort, laughing behind his claws.
Heat blooms beneath my gown despite the perfectly controlled, cool air.
"You're touching again," I murmur, lacking the sternness I wish I had.
He doesn't pull away. His thumb continues its slow path just beneath my ear, and my hand starts to shake.
Damn it.
That spot has always been my weakness. And apparently, Ophelia's body shares it too.
Kayros's eyes remain fixed on me—predatory, hungry.
"I'm touching my soon-to-be wife," he says calmly. "I thought you liked it when I touched you."
My stomach twists, traitorous and warm. The room fades away. Ivy's glare means nothing. Raphael, Rhys Blackwood, the powerful men in tailored suits—none of them exist.
Within a five-meter radius, there is only Kayros and me.
And that is both thrilling and terrifying.
I look up. He's already watching me.
"You deliberately chose the dress my beautiful stepsister was meant to wear, hmm?"
I smirk and lean into his touch, catching him off guard. "I simply picked the most gorgeous one."
He lets out a low snort, shaking his head. "That's daring. My father is overly protective of his daughters. I wonder if he'll hold you accountable."
A warning. A threat.
The Mafia King.
My gaze drifts across the room.
Raphael is speaking with Kayros's father—Blake Nathaniel.
Nearly fifty, ruling the underworld for almost three decades. Tall, nearly Kayros's height, broader, more mature. His sharp blue eyes look like they can peel a person open and read every thought inside.
Silver hair. A neatly styled beard sharpening his already severe jawline.
Women still throw themselves at his feet for a single glance.
But his attention is on only one woman.
Helen Nathaniel.
She stands beside him in a sky-blue mermaid gown, a blue diamond necklace catching the light. She looks nothing like the hostile woman I met weeks ago.
Lia and Archie stand with their parents, dressed beautifully, like porcelain dolls in blush-pink gowns.
They greet everyone together.
Like a family.
The Blackwood family is trash, but Ophelia was never publicly cast aside. No matter how unloved she was in private, in public she always stood with them. Never behind. Never too far.
But Kayros—
I turn back to him.
His eyes are distant now, loneliness flickering through the sharp blue. Something soft breaks through his armor.
"Why aren't you with your family?" I ask quietly, carefully, as if my words might hurt him.
"I don't have a family," he replies simply.
Simple.
The word cuts deep. Something protective flares violently inside my chest.
"But you do," I say.
He turns to me, a bitter smile tugging at his lips. "And who would that be?"
"Me," I answer. "Your soon-to-be wife."
His eyes widen. His breathing stills. His fingers freeze against my skin.
For a moment, Kayros looks like a man who's just been handed the most impossible truth.
He swallows, leaning down until our foreheads almost touch.
"How daring of you, ma chérie," he murmurs. "Remember—I promised to ruin your life."
"I know."
His hand drops from my neck, only to wrap firmly around my wrist. He pulls me closer. I feel his breath against my forehead, his heat pressing into me, awakening emotions that are dangerous and irresistible.
"Then why haven't you run?" he asks, voice so low it belongs only to me. "Why are you still here?"
He dips closer.
"You aren't even the real Ophelia," he mutters, certain and confused all at once.
My lips curve into a small smile.
He knows.
He knows I am not Ophelia—and he hates me for being a different soul in her body.
He treats me like an enemy.
Yet even now, knowing how dangerous he is, I don't push him away.
"Because if you want to hurt me," I whisper, "it means you care enough to try."
There's no bitterness in my voice. Only acceptance.
It unsettles him.
He inhales sharply. I feel his pulse racing beneath my fingers, his heartbeat syncing with mine.
"Who are you?" he breathes, his lips brushing my forehead.
Who am I?
Odette Elizabeth. Notorious criminal lawyer.
But more than that—
I am Ophelia Blackwood. A villainess unloved, used, abused, betrayed, and killed.
I lift my head, meeting his gaze. Something between us sparks—logic clashing with something far more dangerous.
"Who do you think I am?"
His eyes soften, tracing my face as if memorizing it.
"My forbidden fruit." He pauses, my heart hold still under his intense gaze piercing through my soul,
" and my fucking family."