Ophelia Gets Thrown Out (Ophelia) novel Chapter 36

**Paths Lead To Purpose — Kevin Masters**
**Chapter 36**

Victoria glanced over at Owen and Zoe, her voice carrying a hint of curiosity, “So, what do you two want for dinner? Any preferences?”

Owen, leaning back casually in his chair, replied with a nonchalant tone, “Just whip up whatever Ophelia likes. I’m fine with anything, really.”

Victoria’s gaze shifted to Zoe, who was staring down at her lap, lost in thought. A moment of silence passed before Victoria gently called her name again, “Zoe?”

Zoe blinked, as if pulled from a trance, and looked up at Victoria, a hint of confusion in her eyes. “Huh?”

“I’m just trying to figure out what you want for dinner,” Victoria reiterated, her voice warm but firm.

“I-I’m okay with anything,” Zoe replied, her voice barely above a whisper, a shadow of sadness creeping into her tone. “Mom, I think I want to retreat to my room and rest for a bit.”

Concern washed over Victoria as she noticed Zoe’s pale complexion. “Are you feeling unwell?” she asked, worry lacing her words.

Zoe shook her head slowly. “Maybe just a bit tired. I’ll be alright after a little rest.”

“Then go ahead and take a break. Chloe will come to get you when it’s time for dinner,” Victoria instructed, her voice soothing.

“Okay,” Zoe nodded, her shoulders heavy as she made her way toward the elevator, each step seeming like a chore.

Ophelia chimed in, “Mom, I’m heading back to my room too,” before slipping into her own space, the door closing softly behind her.

Once inside, Ophelia let out a relieved sigh and collapsed onto her bed, feeling the weight of the day pressing down on her. “Trying on clothes is more exhausting than surgery,” she grumbled to herself, rolling over and grabbing her phone to dial Ella.

“My dear princess, what can I do for you?” Ella’s voice came through, playful and teasing.

“Could you please speak properly?” Ophelia rolled her eyes, exasperated.

“Of course, Boss,” Ella replied, her tone dripping with sweetness. “So, how do you like the clothes?”

Ophelia sighed dramatically, “One outfit is more than enough. You went way overboard with this.”

“Oh, come on! You just returned to the Rowle family. I’m merely helping you make a statement. Besides, no one else could pull off those outfits quite like you,” Ella chuckled, her laughter light and infectious.

“Enough with the flattery,” Ophelia said, momentarily speechless before shifting the conversation. “How’s the task I assigned you going?”

Ella’s tone shifted to serious. “The divestment process is underway. So far, there’s been no response from the Vossen family.”

“Probably because Aaron has them all tangled up in a mess right now,” Ophelia replied coldly, her mind racing. “Speed it up.”

“Understood,” Ella said confidently. “I won’t give them a moment to breathe.”

“Okay,” Ophelia replied, ending the call.

She tucked her phone away, her expression darkening as the night began to settle in.

At Starbat House, Ophelia donned a T-shirt and jeans, looking effortlessly cool yet feeling out of place in the elegant surroundings.

As she entered the room, Alaric’s brow raised slightly at her choice of attire.

Ophelia was as striking as ever, her presence commanding attention.

“Mr. Caldwell,” she said, striding confidently toward him and taking a seat across the table.

“Should I call you Ms. Rowle or Dr. Rowle?” Alaric teased, a playful glint in his eyes.

With a cold glance, Ophelia replied, “Just Ophelia, please.”

She could sense his mockery; both titles were burdens she refused to acknowledge. The Rowle heiress was tied to their engagement, while the doctor was an identity she wanted to keep hidden. Yet, Alaric seemed intent on bringing both to the forefront.

“Alright, Ophelia,” he said, his demeanor unusually relaxed.

“If you’re willing to call off the engagement, I can do you a favor; any time you or your family need medical treatment from me in the future, you’ll get a fifty percent discount.”

Alaric, always a mastermind with a clear agenda, was definitely eyeing her medical prowess if he insisted on the marriage.

Suddenly, Alaric smiled, “Ms. Rowle, you’re quite perceptive. Initially, I was indeed drawn to your medical talents. But now that I’ve dug deeper into your background…”

Ophelia’s brow furrowed sharply. Her identity was meant to be a well-guarded secret; he shouldn’t have been able to uncover anything.

Sure enough, Alaric’s tone shifted. “Surprisingly, I found nothing—no record of your medical skills or your design talents. Both just recently came to light. Ms. Rowle, I must say, my interest in you continues to grow.”

Finding nothing only made him see her as a hidden gem waiting to be discovered.

A nagging feeling told him that the more he probed, the more astonishing secrets he would uncover.

Ophelia’s expression darkened instantly. ‘That damn fox! Not finding anything only makes him more suspicious,’ she thought, furious.

With a fierce jab, she stabbed her fork into the meat again, gnashing her teeth as if she were chewing on Alaric himself.

“Ms. Rowle, are you holding a grudge against that meat?” Alaric teased, his tone light and playful.

Ophelia wanted to retort, “It’s you I’m angry with. My freshly minted enemy.”

“Don’t call me Ms. Rowle,” she snapped, frustration bubbling over as she felt the weight of the identity tied to their engagement.

Alaric shrugged innocently. “Fine, then I’ll just call you Ophelia. It’s only a matter of time.”

That remark hit Ophelia like a punch to the gut, and she nearly bit through her own tongue in anger.

“You won’t get your way. As long as I’m alive, this marriage will never happen,” she declared defiantly.

“Then we’ll just have to wait and see,” Alaric replied, his hands resting casually on the table as he returned to his meal, confidence radiating from him. “I’m looking forward to our little showdown. But if you lose, you’d better be prepared to accept the bet and marry me.”