Ophelia Gets Thrown Out (Ophelia) novel Chapter 63

**Paths Lead To Purpose — Kevin Masters**
**Chapter 63**

Alaric’s eyes gleamed with mischief as he caught sight of Ophelia’s poorly masked smirk, and he let out a derisive snort that echoed in the tense air between them. Leaning in with a confidence that bordered on arrogance, he let his breath tickle her ear as he murmured, “If you’re so curious about their plans, why not skip the group? I can take you anytime.”

The unexpected closeness sent a spray of water from Ophelia’s lips, causing her to sputter in surprise.

With a sharp click, she set her glass down, shooting him a glare that could have melted steel. “Get over yourself. Just because I turned them down doesn’t mean I’m available to you.”

*When had he become so insufferably full of himself?* she thought, her irritation bubbling just beneath the surface.

“Maybe not,” he replied, a smug grin curling at the corners of his lips, “but since my advantage came from your refusal, I think I owe you a reward.” He regarded her as if she were a clever pet performing a trick, and it made her skin crawl.

“I’m not your dog, Alaric. Keep your rewards…” Her retort was abruptly interrupted as Alaric surged to his feet, yanking her against his chest.

A sharp hiss escaped his lips, close to her ear. “Look out.”

Disoriented and trapped in his embrace, Ophelia heard his pained inhale, and a moment of clarity washed over her as she pieced together what was happening.

“My deepest apologies! The tray slipped!” A flustered waitress stood nearby, her hands wringing nervously, her voice trembling on the brink of tears. “Sir, are you hurt?”

“Oh god, did you see that?”

“That must have scalded him badly.”

The anxious murmurs from the surrounding tables snapped Ophelia into action. She pushed away from Alaric’s arms, her heart racing as she quickly assessed the scene before her.

A waitress, struggling to balance a tray of soup, must have tripped, sending the tureen cascading toward their table.

Alaric had seen the disaster unfold and had taken the brunt of the spill. Had he not shielded her, the boiling liquid would have struck her directly, leaving her with burns of her own.

The words of protest that had been forming in her throat evaporated as she took in the sight of his drenched jacket, steam still rising from the fabric. Her medical instincts kicked in, overriding her shock. “Get this off. Now.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, she grabbed a fruit knife from the table and swiftly cut the sleeve from his wrist to shoulder. Working with methodical precision, she peeled the sodden fabric away from the angry, blistering skin beneath. The sight of the burns made her stomach churn, knowing that the scalding soup had already begun its cruel work.

She snapped her gaze toward a nearby server. “First aid kit. Now. And call an ambulance.”

She could manage initial treatment, but burns this severe required professional care—likely antibiotics and anti-inflammatory medication to combat the damage.

“Yes, right away!” The server scrambled to comply, just as the Rowle family descended upon them like a storm.

“Ophelia! What happened?” Dylan reached her first, his eyes widening in horror at the sight of Alaric’s injury.

Ophelia glanced at the terrified waitress, who stood frozen nearby, her face pale with fear.

She noticed the path the waitress had taken; it was clear she had either tripped or been knocked off balance by someone. But now was not the time to dwell on that.

“Just an accident,” Ophelia replied, her voice steady and measured, despite the chaos surrounding them. “The soup spilled on Mr. Caldwell. We need to treat this immediately to prevent infection.”

As she cleaned the burned skin with practiced movements, she directed the staff under the stunned gazes of the gathering crowd. “Get cold water, ice, and sterile gauze.”

Her commands were crisp, her actions efficient and assured. Dylan stared, dumbfounded, as he witnessed her transformation into a capable medic, a side of her he had never seen before.

Even Oliver, who had just arrived, watched with narrowed eyes, his curiosity piqued. He glanced at Dylan. “Since when does Ophelia have medical training?”

He remembered her vague mention of knowing some pharmacology, but this was an entirely different level of competence.

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