Chapter 2
Ophelia paid the taxi driver double the fare as promised, then stepped out at the entrance of Oak Haven Retreat.
The sprawling facility with its pristine white columns and manicured gardens looked more like a luxury resort than what it truly was—a prison disguised as a mental health facility.
"Thanks," She said with a sweet smile that didn't reach her eyes.
"No problem, miss." The driver glanced nervously at the building behind her. "You sure you want to be dropped off here?" He'd heard rumors about this place.
"Absolutely."
The taxi sped away, tires squealing slightly as if the driver couldn't leave fast enough.
As soon as the car disappeared around the bend, Ophelia's sweet smile vanished, replaced by a vacant, slightly manic stare—the expression she'd perfected during her three years here.
She circled around to the back of the facility, where overgrown bushes concealed a small gap in the fence.
Kicking away the loose bricks that partially blocked the opening, she crawled through, discarding her sunglasses and trench coat in the process.
Underneath, she wore the pale blue patient uniform. She mussed her long chestnut hair, transforming from the composed woman who'd left the Hayes mansion into just another troubled patient.
Ophelia shuffled toward the massive oak tree in the central courtyard, crouching beneath it like a forgotten mushroom. She rested her chin on her wrists, remaining perfectly still.
This had been her daily routine for three years.
Among the residents of Oak Haven Retreat, Ophelia was considered relatively "normal"—though that wasn't saying much.
The facility housed combat veterans with severe PTSD, former intelligence officers who'd cracked under pressure, and even a notorious hitman who'd claimed over a dozen lives in a single night.
Oak Haven Retreat wasn't a treatment center; it was where wealthy families buried their inconvenient relatives.
Ophelia had learned to survive here by using every ounce of her strength to avoid becoming a target.
Three years ago, she'd been sent here after refusing to marry a septuagenarian business associate of Richard. When drugged at a dinner party, she'd grabbed a fruit knife and stabbed the old man, ensuring he'd never father children again.
"You ungrateful little bitch!" Richard had screamed that night. "We arranged this match for your own good! All those years of education wasted on you!"
Education that had only been permitted because Emily had mentioned it offhandedly.
Ophelia's enrollment at Silver Bay University and subsequent forced withdrawal had both been determined by Emily's whims.
Her engagement to a man nearly seventy years old had also been Emily's suggestion.
Once, Ophelia had been pathetically grateful for any scraps of kindness from the Hayes family. Now, she found their manipulation darkly amusing.
Ophelia silently returned to her assigned bed, pretending to have been asleep the entire time. The ward doctor checked her room, nodded with satisfaction, and moved on.
Meanwhile, across town at Weston Tower, Blake Weston sat in his executive leather chair, fingers drumming rhythmically against the armrest.
The floor-to-ceiling windows behind him framed Silver Bay's impressive skyline, the late afternoon sun casting his sharp features in gold.
Across from him, Richard nervously spread financial documents across the polished conference table.
"Mr. Weston, these are the quarterly reports for the Hayes Group. Everything is perfect, exactly matching your investment criteria. Perhaps we could finalize our partnership for the next quarter today?" Richard's voice carried a desperate undertone.
Blake glanced at the papers with casual disinterest. The reports were indeed perfect—suspiciously so. Too perfect to be genuine.
"I'm not currently considering investments for the next quarter," Blake stated flatly.
Richard's expression froze, panic flashing in his eyes. "But Mr. Weston..."
Lucas Reed stepped forward, preventing Richard from continuing. "Mr. Weston doesn't repeat himself, Mr Hayes. You should leave now."
Richard wasn't ready to give up. "Mr. Weston, if business isn't working out, that's fine. I've reserved a table at the five-star restaurant downtown. Perhaps we could have dinner, build a rapport? What do you say?"
Blake raised an eyebrow. Was Richard really trying the personal approach now?
He picked up the proposal and tossed it back to Richard. "Mr Hayes, perhaps you haven't grasped your fundamental problem. This proposal—the amount of padding and fabrication it contains is perfectly clear to me. Your ambition is written all over your face. Focus on delivering actual results rather than fiction."
As CEO of the Weston Group and a former mathematics professor at a prestigious university, identifying the inflated numbers in a financial report took him mere seconds.
Richard had heard that Blake was impressive, but he hadn't expected this level of scrutiny. The man's youth combined with such sharp insight was a dangerous combination—for him.
After leaving Weston Tower, Richard arrived at the five-star restaurant he'd mentioned.
In private dining room 888, Victoria and Emily were already waiting, dressed elegantly.
When they saw him enter alone, their faces fell.
"Where's Mr. Weston?" Victoria asked, her eyes searching the doorway behind him.
Richard loosened his tie, exhaustion evident on his face. "Don't ask. He rejected both the next quarter's partnership and dinner."
"What?" Victoria was stunned, recalling Blake's handsome face from television appearances. "Are you saying he's difficult to approach?"
"Not difficult—he simply considers us beneath him." Richard collapsed into a chair. "We need another strategy. The Hayes Group is at a critical juncture. If our funding chain breaks, the consequences would be unthinkable."
Richard's face turned ashen as he contemplated the disaster that would unfold if the ledger—now missing from his safe—became public. His most important accounting book had been stolen, and exposure was an ever-present risk.
Victoria and Emily quickly moved to comfort him.
"Don't worry, there's always a solution for dealing with people," Victoria assured him.
"That's right, Daddy. Have you forgotten you have a clever, beautiful daughter?" Emily's voice carried absolute confidence.
Richard looked up at Emily, momentarily confused. "You? What can you do?"
Emily's lips curved into a determined smile. "Daddy, I'm a well-known social media influencer. My posts regularly get hundreds of thousands of views. That influence speaks for itself. I believe an exceptional man like Blake needs an equally exceptional woman by his side. Once I appear before him, he'll definitely make concessions for me."
Richard and Victoria exchanged glances, hope slowly rekindling.
"Emily, can you really save me?" Richard asked, grasping Emily's hand.
"Of course! Don't worry, Daddy. Just wait for my good news."
With Emily's assurance, Richard felt considerably better. He squeezed her hand tightly. "My wonderful daughter, if you can make this happen—get Blake to sign the partnership agreement for next quarter, maybe even secure funding for the Hayes Group—that would be perfect. But remember, Blake has quite a temper."
Emily barely listened to these warnings, lost in her own fantasies. She patted her father's hand dismissively. "Don't worry. I know exactly what to do."