Ophelia was used to the never-ending mind games. In the family WhatsApp group, she typed, "Tell Franco Adams if I don't get my mother's stuff back within three days, I'll have Rome Olson step in personally." Fighting fire with fire—she'd picked up that trick living with the Olsons, learning to navigate their world of influence.
Even though she hated the idea, she had no choice but to show up at the poker game tonight. Until she got her mother's belongings back, she had to keep playing the part with Rome.
The next day, the parking lot of the swanky Brightview Clubhouse was packed with high-end cars—Rolls-Royces, Teslas, you name it, all worth a fortune. Rome climbed out of his usual Phantom just as Ophelia pulled up.
Amber Bishop was right on Rome's heels, chatting him up. Her designer wrap hung elegantly over her slim figure, and honestly? They looked like the perfect couple. Chen Jin and Fu Qi, Rome's buddies, were there too. Ophelia knew them a little, though Fu was usually the quiet type.
Chen, on the other hand, was always the friendly one. He walked over with a teasing smirk. "Ophelia, didn't think Rome would drag you out tonight. He used to keep you under wraps, always talking about setting you up with some guy…"
"Cut the crap," Fu cut in. "Menzies is here tonight. Stay sharp."
Ophelia froze. Menzies? Here?
The Menzies family was weird for this city—they did most of their business abroad. They never rubbed elbows with the local elite and didn't give a damn about high society. Menzies himself was a real piece of work—a notorious gambler with a sleazy rep, having destroyed plenty of women.
Even a social butterfly like Chen yawned and muttered, "If Rome didn't need to tap into his North American connections, nobody would give this guy the time of day. Ophelia, just stick with us tonight. Rome told us to watch out for you."
Ophelia nodded and murmured a quiet thanks, but her eyes drifted over to Amber nearby. Bathed in the October moonlight, Amber looked like a dream in that Victorian-style gown—like she was the moon itself.
Rome was holding her hand, guiding her inside step by careful step.
No wonder the local press called her Rome's jewel.
He'd never treated Ophelia that gently—not even in his softest moments.
She tore her gaze away and followed Chen upstairs.
It was her first time on the eighteenth floor—a place that wasn't just about poker tables, but was lined with every kind of fancy liquor you could imagine.
After knocking back a few rounds, they all moved to the card tables.
As the games went on, it came down to just Menzies and Rome. On the last hand, Menzies threw out, "Sick of betting properties and shares. Let's keep it simple—how about we wager on a drink?"
Rome hesitated, his hand hovering over his cards, and looked up.
Menzies' gaze landed on Amber next to Rome, a sly grin spreading across his face. "I know I shouldn't be eyeing what isn't mine. Everyone knows Miss Amber is your precious treasure, Rome, but I've always had a thing for her. If you lose, how about you let her share a drink with me tonight?"
"No worries. Win or lose, I'll give you the intel on Mr. Smith," Menzies tacked on.
Everyone knew just how much Amber meant to Rome.
The moment Menzies said that, the air got thick with tension, but Rome stayed cool as ever. "Fine," he said.
Ophelia's brows knitted together.
She remembered people always saying Rome was emotionally detached—ruthless underneath that polished surface. Would he really put Amber on the line?
They laid their cards down, and the final showdown was on.
Unfortunately for Rome, Menzies had the upper hand. He flipped the last card—a King of Hearts—and smirked. "Tough luck, Rome. Guess Miss Amber's having that drink with me after all."
Everyone knew what having a drink with Menzies really meant.
Amber went ghostly pale. She chewed her lip, clearly freaked.
"Rome, I—"
Rome stayed silent.
Menzies goaded, "You're not backing out now, are you, Rome? One drink for the North American pipeline—you're hitting the jackpot."
"Not a chance," Rome replied coolly. "Just one thing—you said you wanted to have a drink with my sweetheart. You might've got the wrong person."
Menzies raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued.
Ophelia felt her stomach drop, a chill running through her. And sure enough, Rome's gaze flicked her way, motioning her over. Her blood turned to ice.
She forced her legs to move toward him, every step heavy with dread.
His voice was casual. "All these years, the only person who's ever been dear to me is Ophelia. Wrong ID, Menzies."
Those words sent a cold wave crashing through Ophelia's body.
Then she heard him: "Come here, Ophelia. Have a drink with Mr. Menzies."
Ophelia bit down on her tongue until she tasted blood, something inside her chest shattering.
Cold. So damn cold.
No wonder he'd agreed to bring her along.
No wonder he'd been willing to gamble Amber.
He'd planned it from the start—let her take the fall for his real love.
Ophelia found the whole thing darkly hilarious.
After years of Rome's "care," he'd lose control sometimes, put her through hell when he was in a bad mood, then finish it off with exaggerated sweetness.
Sure, he was naturally cold and ruthless, but those rare flickers of kindness had been enough to make her believe he might actually care—just a little. Enough to help her survive this cutthroat social jungle.
But now, here he was, bringing the storm straight to her doorstep.
"Ophelia?"
Menzies' eyes locked on her, a new spark of interest flickering in them.
Menzies had a notorious weakness for pretty faces.
Amber's appeal was all lively and bubbly.
But Ophelia just stood there, silent—her big doe eyes glistening, those cherry lips and porcelain skin glowing under the early winter moon. One look was enough to hook any man.
Even the city's most talked-about beauties couldn't hold a candle to her.
At first, Menzies had been pissed that Rome was offering up his foster daughter, but now? His interest was definitely piqued.
"Why haven't I noticed you before, Rome? She's even more stunning than Miss Amber. You're actually willing to share?"
He shot Amber a knowing look. "Then again, how could a foster daughter ever compete with the one who really holds your heart?"
He smirked, eyes twinkling with mischief. "Miss Ophelia, the drink is ready. After you."
Everybody knew Menzies' rep.
Ophelia clenched her fists and finally met Rome's eyes, her voice barely a whisper. "Do I have to?"
Rome's stare was intense but completely dead inside—cold and distant.
"It's just one drink, Ophelia. Don't make a scene."
Amber let out a relieved breath, shooting her an apologetic glance. "Miss Ophelia, I'm allergic to alcohol, but don't worry—Menzies just really loves his drinks. He won't give you any trouble."
She looked genuinely innocent, like she had no clue what was really going on.
