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.

Ophelia's face went ashen. She wanted to refuse, but without Rome's permission, who in this city would dare let her leave? Without his say-so, she couldn't collect her mother's belongings, couldn't even walk out of the city. She had no choice but to bide her time, waiting for the right moment to slip away.

Drawing a deep breath, Ophelia followed Baylor into the lounge. As she brushed past Chen, he caught her hand and discreetly pressed a small knife into her palm.

Moments later, the lounge door swung wide. Baylor held out a glass. "Miss Olson, try the special cocktail I had mixed just for you."

Ophelia regarded the drink, her voice cutting through the hush like a blade. "Mr. Gibson, you've seen a lot in your time and you're not the type to strong-arm anyone. I never took you for a man who enjoys forcing a woman."

"It's just a drink," Baylor shrugged. "We had a bet going. I might get a kick out of stealing something from Rome, but that doesn't mean I'd hassle a lady."

Reassured just enough, Ophelia downed the drink fast.

Baylor's interest sharpened. "You know, you're way more fascinating than Amber. Why not ditch Rome and join me instead?"

But Ophelia's fleeting relief twisted into panic as a storm erupted inside her. Baylor's voice faded to a distant buzz. She knew the drink had been spiked.

Baylor frowned, about to speak again, but Ophelia bit down on her lip, whipped out the knife, and stabbed it straight into her thigh. As blood bloomed through the fabric, she grabbed the bottle and smashed it over Baylor's head, the shatter bringing her senses back for a split second.

"I don't like you, and I don't like Rome," she spat. "You both treat women like toys, like I'm nothing but something to play with."

Before Baylor could even react, Ophelia stumbled out of the room. Her legs wobbled, still sluggish from the drug, but she used every ounce of strength to make it outside the club.

Near the entrance, her vision blurred and then landed on the familiar shape of a Rolls-Royce Phantom. As she faltered, the scent of cedar wrapped around her and Rome bent down to scoop her up, his voice calm and detached. "Call Dr. Fu."

"And let that idiot from the Gibson family know the Alps project is his," Rome added smoothly, his words slicing through the haze as Ophelia slipped into unconsciousness.

She woke in a high-rise apartment. The dose in Baylor's little concoction had been light—meant more for seduction than anything else. After the doctor worked on her, her body recovered, except for the knife wound in her leg.

When she cracked her eyes open, she overheard Chen and Rome talking about European business connections. "The crap Baylor spilled might actually be useful. Once we lock down Europe, the family elders will be green with envy. But poor Ophelia—she seemed so meek, yet she stabbed herself and took Baylor down like that."

"Are you sweet on her?" Rome asked, his voice flat.

Chen knew Rome's moods inside out and waved the idea away. "More pity than anything. Now that Amber's back, just let the girl go. She deserves her own life. Marry Amber, and keep Ophelia on the side if you have to. Oh, and that protective charm blessed by the master for Amber? Three million. A pretty generous move on your part."

Ophelia lay frozen, listening to every word, her stomach churning. Eyes shut, her lashes fluttered, giving away the turmoil inside—a bruising mix of defiance and despair.

Rome's words haunted her—she wasn't as important as Amber. Yet he wouldn't let her go, kept her leashed to him. Why?

He wouldn't let her leave, and whenever it suited him, he used her to shield his precious true love from blame. In his eyes, what was she? A pawn he could toss aside whenever he felt like it?

She had watched her mother suffer up close, trapped in Franco Adams' snare, forced into a life she never wanted. Ophelia swore she would never follow that same path. No matter what, she'd break free from Rome's grip.

After Chen left, Rome noticed Ophelia had come around. "Awake?" His voice stirred her from her daze, and she slowly opened her eyes.

Steadying herself, she answered, "Brother."

Rome looked away, handing her a bowl of oatmeal. "You feeling okay?"

Ophelia shook her head and took the bowl.

Rome reached out and tucked a stray strand of hair from her face, his touch featherlight, and said softly, "What happened that day had its reasons. Chen and the others have handled everything. No one's going to hurt you. If Baylor gave you trouble, I'll deal with him, alright?"

Her hand trembled a little around the bowl, lashes casting shadows to hide the irony burning in her eyes. Baylor was scum, but wasn't Rome just as bad? He'd nearly thrown her to the wolves for his cherished one. Even now, with his reassurances, she no longer wanted a life decided by someone else.

"Thank you, brother," Ophelia replied quietly. "Miss Bishop is safe. That's what matters."

Rome kept his eyes on her, dark and unreadable, burning with a fierce, stubborn intensity.

"I figured you'd be upset."

"Not at all." Ophelia paused, forcing a smile. "If you feel bad about it, come with me to Dad's birthday soon."

She meant Franco Adams. In this world, power played a bigger role than feelings. Ophelia saw the whole ugly incident as leverage to reclaim her mother's belongings.

Rome's mood lifted, the corners of his mouth twitching upward. "Alright."

His agreement brought Ophelia a wave of relief. She was about to speak when Rome's phone buzzed, the name "Amber" lighting up the screen.

Rome hit the call button and after a beat, said, "Got it, I'm on my way." He ended the call and brushed Ophelia's cheek with his knuckles, his stare intense and swallowing her whole. "I gotta deal with something. Try to relax—your leg needs to heal, so just chill here for a while."

Ophelia hesitated a second before nodding.

But the moment Rome was out the door, she grabbed a cab straight to her apartment.

With Amber in the picture, she wasn't stressing about Rome finding out.

Sure enough, that afternoon the gossip blogs lit up with news that Amber had been stalked by some obsessed fan, and Rome was furious on her behalf.

The next day, the guy who'd been tailing Amber—a young guy named Baylor—ended up in a car crash. The rumor mill went wild, everyone saying Rome had a hand in it.

People were eating the drama up.

That night, Ophelia got a text from her college roommate, Blessing Garcia.

"Ophelia, tomorrow's the university anniversary bash. The professor's been asking about you—you gotta come. And it'd be amazing if you could bring Mr. Olson. The prof keeps saying how much he'd love to meet a young genius like him."

The university had been trying to get Rome Olson as a guest for ages.

Ophelia had mentioned it once before, but only during a really heated moment.

Blindfolded, at the peak of pleasure, Rome had wrapped himself around her from behind, his breath scorching her ear as he whispered, "Say something sweet, and I'll go."

The memory jolted her back.

She was planning to leave the city soon.

Her professor had been super supportive all these years, and she didn't want to let him down.

Plus, Rome had made that promise that night.

After thinking it over, Ophelia decided to call Rome.

But the voice that answered was syrupy-sweet and feminine. "This is Amber. Mr. Olson is tied up right now. Who's calling, please?"

Rome was a control freak who hated anyone poking into his private life.

Finding out he let Amber answer his personal phone was a shock.

Masking her surprise, Ophelia got to the point. "Hi, Miss Amber. It's Ophelia Olson. I was wondering if Rome is free tomorrow afternoon? I have an invite for him."

"Tomorrow?" Amber sounded surprised, then let out a light laugh. "Oh, sweetie, that won't work. Tomorrow afternoon Rome and I have a date."

Her voice had that fake-cute, hinting tone—the kind that screams intimacy and leaves too much to imagine.

Disappointed but with her answer, Ophelia was ready to hang up without another thought.

But Amber kept going, her voice dripping with false concern. "Rome won't let me out of his sight since I got back. That thing with Baylor really shook him. Good thing you covered for me that day, or the Baylor accident might not have gone so smoothly. Who knows what kind of mess would've happened…"

Ophelia listened in silence.

Amber let out a tiny laugh and added, "You were pretty reckless, honey. The Menzies are a big deal around here. Why pick a fight with Baylor? Making connections might beat dealing with those wild men…"

Her words echoed the city elite's whispers—how Ophelia was just a foster kid with no real background.

What could a foster child do except leech off the family connections?

Nobody knew the real reason behind her years of playing nice.

Nobody saw the fire behind her decision to walk away.

"Miss Amber," Ophelia cut in, voice steady, "If Baylor's your type, feel free to take him up on his offer and become Mrs. Baylor."

She hung up, not caring if Amber ran to Rome with it.

What Ophelia didn't expect was Rome showing up at the university anniversary the next day—with Amber glued to his arm.

Being the top university in the country, the event was crawling with Hollywood directors, academic legends, and power players.

But Rome still turned heads.

In his tailored suit, rocking the latest luxury watch and brooch, he glided through the crowd of scholars and socialites like he owned the place.

Amber at his side drew a stream of people paying their respects.

Rome barely talked, just nodding here and there.

Ophelia looked away, the chatter of her old classmates buzzing around her.

"Rome Olson at our school event? That's insane."

"He's obviously here for Miss Amber. She went here for a bit, and he's playing escort."

"But didn't Miss Olson say Rome was tied up?"

"Shh, one's a foster kid, basically a pet in the Olson house, and the other's the beloved 'darling'—there's no comparison."

The words sliced through Ophelia like ice, her lips pressed tight as a storm churned inside her.