Chapter 1: Winford's Fourth Wife

Ophelia Greene had been betrayed by her stepsister, Bessie Greene, and the love of her life, Cullen Pruitt. To help them claim an inheritance, Ophelia married a man she despised, only to discover it was all a lie.

Bessie, with a triumphant smile, sneered, “Ophelia, we’re finally rid of you. You know how much we hate you, how ugly you are? I still don't understand why Winford liked you—and he even died for you!” Her words dripped with venomous jealousy.

Ophelia’s eyes widened. “What? My husband is dead?”

“Yes, he's dead. Now it's your turn,” Bessie said, pressing a gun to Ophelia's temple. A gunshot rang out, and Ophelia collapsed.

Roger Riddle slammed the brakes of his black sedan, stopping abruptly at the intersection. In the back seat, Ophelia's eyes snapped open.

“Ms. Ophelia, get out now. Mr. Cullen is waiting,” Roger said, his voice jolting her from her daze. Cold sweat drenched her back; she was certain the bullet had killed her. Touching her face, she found it smooth, unmarked. Confused, she looked around.

Roger urged, “Ms. Ophelia?”

“Just drive,” she replied.

He hesitated, stammering, “But Mr. Winford Pruitt is gravely ill. Going there will be dangerous.”

“Take me to Sunset Vista,” Ophelia insisted, her voice shaky but firm. Privately, she was thrilled. Winford had gone to Minston for his health, intending to stay a year. This was the day she’d moved into Sunset Vista after marrying him, fulfilling a promise to his family.

The thought of Winford brought tears to her eyes. In her past life, she had feared and avoided him, yet he'd been the only one who truly cared. She’d even betrayed him, dragging him down, only for him to die protecting her.

This was also the day Bessie had manipulated her into eloping with Cullen. Through the rearview mirror, her bloodshot eyes met Roger's. She knew he worked for Bessie.

Startled, Roger stammered, “O-okay, Sunset Vista.”

Her phone buzzed. A message from Bessie: “Ophelia, leave with Cullen. I’ll handle the rest.”

Hatred flashed in Ophelia’s eyes. She switched off her phone.

Twenty minutes later, they arrived at Sunset Vista. On the second floor, Winford sat in his wheelchair, observing the car below.

“Mr. Winford, that’s Ms. Ophelia,” said Graham Burnet, Winford’s assistant.

Winford glanced down. “How many this month?”

Graham hesitated. “Three. She’s the fourth.”

Winford had publicly announced his search for a wife. Ophelia was his fourth in a month. The first bride had died within a week; the second had gone insane in two days; the third refused to marry him, claiming she’d rather die. His grandmother, Glenda Pruitt, deeply worried, had reluctantly agreed to his marrying Ophelia, though it was only a verbal agreement. Winford had since called off the engagement. Why was Ophelia here?

Graham thought, None of his wives lasted. With his reputation, I thought she’d run. This is unbelievable.

“Let’s go,” Winford said, his voice deep.

Ophelia sat nervously on the sofa, her suitcase beside her. The elevator doors opened, and her heart leaped. She saw Winford. His legs, injured in a recent accident, prevented him from walking. Graham wheeled him towards her.

Winford’s face was pale but handsome, his deep eyes exuding calm nobility. Ophelia stood awkwardly, her eyes red with guilt. His expression hardened as his interest waned.

“Someone, show Ms. Ophelia out,” he called. She's probably forced by her family too. Not again. I'm not that desperate, he thought.

“Hold on,” Ophelia blurted, approaching him.

He turned, his gaze unreadable. “What?” Even seated, his presence remained commanding.

“I… I’ve married you. So I’m staying,” she said firmly. She owed him too much. This was her chance to make amends.

Tears welled in her eyes as she recalled the truth she'd learned in her previous life's final moments.

Silence fell.

“You’re staying?” Winford asked, incredulous. Women had always shunned him. She was the first to defy that.

He met her gaze—her bright eyes revealed no reluctance, only unease, nervousness, and guilt. He couldn't deny he was moved.

A tense silence hung in the air as he considered his response.