Chapter 4 What Are You up to Again?

On the third floor.

Ophelia reached the sanctuary of her room, ready to slam the door shut behind her. But seconds later, her breath stalledan unwelcome hand pushed against the doorframe, forcing the barrier wide open.

And there he stood, imposing and relentless.

Wyatt pushed his way inside, his presence dominating the small confines of her space. Then, he opened the crisply wrapped gift box in his hand.

"Mia," he murmured, his tone tender as he set the box down, "look at this. Look what I brought for you."

The silence that followed was deafening.

There was no response from Mia.

Wyatt was taken aback.

Although Mia wouldn't throw herself into his arms and act cute like Cindy did, as long as Mia heard his voice, she would immediately charge over to him.

Then, with adoring eyes full of affection, she would gaze at him and call him daddy in a sweet voice.

"Is she still asleep?" he asked, voice softening. "I'll wake her up."

He placed the gift on the coffee table and strode toward the room where Mia should have beena sanctuary that was now nothing but a void.

The bed lay undisturbed, linens smooth and unoccupied.

His eyes scanned the slightly ajar wardrobe, where Mia's clothes hung neatly alongside Ophelia's.

Returning to the living room, Wyatt stared at Ophelia and asked, "Where is Mia?"

Ophelia remained in the doorway, her gaze distant yet locked on the offending gift box.

"Mia? You'll never see her again."

Her soft voice chilled him to the core.

"What do you mean by that?"

Wyatt's reaction was instant, his expression contorted with confusion and anger.

He wondered if Ophelia was hiding Mia somewhere.

Ophelia didn't reply.

Instead, she moved forward with trembling hands, lifting the ornate gown from the boxa princess dress like that of Elsa's. Tears rimmed her eyes, a well of infinite pain threatening to burst its boundaries.

This was Mia's dream, her birthday wish.

He had promised he would give it to Mia.

Yet in the end, it had been worn by Cynthia.

Now, after Cynthia had worn it, he brought it to Mia.

What did he take Mia for?

"Wyatt, Mia doesn't give a damn about this!"

Stung and out of control, Ophelia acted out.

She threw the dress along with the box as though she were tossing out garbage.

Her daughter's urn was placed in the second bedroom.

She didn't want her daughter to see this.

Wyatt couldn't stop her in time. He watched helplessly as the box fell to the floor, the dress he had specially customized for Mia tumbling outright onto a cigarette butt that hadn't been fully extinguished. A large hole was burned into the fabric.

"Ophelia, enough is enough!"

Wyatt's eyes darkened with anger, his features tense and stormy.

"Get out."

Ignoring his rage, Ophelia coldly demanded he leave.

Wyatt's expression was frighteningly stern.

Just as the atmosphere was thick with tension, his phone rang.

It was Isabella calling.

Eyes still fixed on Ophelia, Wyatt answered the phone in her presence. "Isabella," he said, his voice gentle.

But his gaze toward Ophelia remained icy.

Isabella's soft, gentle voice asked, "Have you picked up Mia? Disney just called me to ask when you and Mia will arrive. They want to make preparations in advance."

"No, Mia isn't here."

Wyatt never took his eyes off Ophelia.

As he thought she was acting indifferent, his eyes grew even colder. "Cancel the Disney arrangements. I'll come to you and Cindy."

With that, the line went dead abruptly.

Before leaving, Wyatt delivered his parting words with an icy edge, "Ophelia, if you want to hide her, better not let her call me again."

Without waiting for her response, he turned on his heel and walked away with resolute steps.

The door had scarcely closed behind him when a resounding "thud" echoed through the room.

He turned instinctively, his focus snapping back. There she was, Ophelia, who had been standing so composed just a moment ago, now crumpled on the floor, her back turned to him.

"Ophelia, I warned you. Don't resort to such cheap theatrics in front of me!"

Ophelia lay motionless on the cold floor, her consciousness teetering on the edge.

She heard his words through the fog of her disorientation, each syllable laced with disdain, each one colder than the last. A biting chill seeped into her, curling through her veins, numbing her to the bone.

Of course, he thought she was feigning unconsciousness, desperately attempting to hold him back.

To him, she was nothing more than an unscrupulous woman, willing to stoop to anything to keep him tethered to her.

In his opinion, Ophelia had orchestrated his downfall with meticulous cruelty five years ago.

Drugging him on his anniversary with Isabella, she had dragged him into her bed, ripping Isabella out of his life and leaving her adrift overseas.

Alone. Forsaken. Isabella had barely clung to life through a harrowing premature delivery, bringing into the world her frail, sickly daughter, Cynthia. Her existence was an unrelenting struggle.

And now, with Isabella and her child back in his life, he thought Ophelia's envy had risen like bile. He thought this time, she had incited Mia to feign illness, seeking to wrest his attention away from the genuinely sick Cynthia.

Ophelia had been unable to deny the machinations of five years past.

But this timeit was different. Mia was sick. Truly, undeniably sick. She'd pleaded her case over and over, but Wyatt remained unmoved, ensnared by suspicion.

Ophelia wanted to rise up and shout at him, to demand that he leave, but her strength had deserted her.

Her body felt hollow, limp, as if the ground beneath her had drawn her deeper and deeper into oblivion. She reached out once feebly, but dizziness swept her under, and she succumbed to unconsciousness.

Outside the door, Wyatt paused, his gaze narrowing. Her stillness unnerved him.

He strode back into the room, and without hesitation, reached down and hauled her from the floor.

"Ophelia, don't think that just because Grandmother shields you, I won't lay a hand on you!" The venom in his voice coiled like a whip.

But before he could finish, her weight slackened in his grip, her body folding like paper as his hold weakened.

His fury faltered.

Instinct overcame him, his arms locking around her just before she collapsed to the ground again.

Looking down at the pale, lifeless figure in his arms, her eyes shut tightly against the world, Wyatt swallowed hard, the realization sinking inshe was not pretending this time.

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