Chapter 2: Unexpected Guest
“Bertha, take Mrs. Pruitt upstairs,” Winford instructed. His words calmed Ophelia’s nerves, and in her excitement, she rushed forward, giving him a brief hug. “I’ll take good care of you,” she said seriously. It was the closest she’d been to him since their first meeting. Her face flushed as she registered his scent and warmth, but she quickly pulled away, her face burning even after reaching the upstairs hallway. Regret immediately set in—Winford was a germaphobe and detested being touched. She worried he’d resent her.
Winford froze, processing her words. The warmth of her touch lingered against his chest. His expression shifted subtly, as if surprised. No one had ever spoken to him like that.
Graham observed Winford’s reaction, thinking, “Mr. Winford isn’t upset? That’s odd. The last time Ms. Lara Gomez tried to hug him, he looked grim and lashed out.”
Bertha Sherman, the housekeeper, led Ophelia down the corridor. Ophelia sensed Bertha’s dislike. They stopped before a door. “This one?” Ophelia asked, surprised. In her past life, she'd spent years in this house, knowing every corner. This was an ordinary guest room, far from Winford’s. As his wife, she'd expected something more.
Bertha remained stern. “You arrived unannounced. We need time to prepare a suitable room. Please use this one for now.” It was a reasonable explanation, and challenging someone who’d served the Pruitt family for years and earned their trust seemed unwise. Ophelia accepted without protest.
After unpacking, Ophelia attempted a shower, only to find the water system malfunctioning—no hot water. Bertha oversaw every detail of Sunset Vista; she must have known about this and still assigned Ophelia this room. “Did she do this on purpose?” Ophelia muttered, her eyes narrowing. She sought another room.
“A shower?” Madeline Larson, the maid, hesitated before saying, “Alright, come with me.” They arrived at a much larger room. “Here you go. You can go in,” Madeline said. The room was luxuriously decorated, but its cold tones felt uninviting. Ophelia’s eyes softened with nostalgia; it was Winford’s room.
“Okay, you can get back to work,” she said casually, entering. “Oh, and bring me some clean clothes.” Ophelia hadn’t packed clothes, having planned a light escape with Cullen, but she knew spare clothes were always available for guests.
Downstairs, Bessie struggled to conceal her excitement. Unlike women who avoided Winford, she thought differently. “He’s wealthy and powerful. I wouldn’t mind marrying him, even if he hasn't much time left. Being his wife would have many advantages,” she mused. Bitterness lingered, however. She felt no less deserving than Ophelia; they were sisters, after all. Ophelia’s mother was deceased, and Bessie’s mother was now the lady of the house. A shift in the engagement to Bessie seemed only natural. “Now’s my chance. I’m going to be Winford’s wife. Ophelia’s such a fool. A few words from me, and she ran off with Cullen,” she thought with a smirk.
“Mr. Winford, this is Ms. Bessie, Ophelia’s sister,” a servant announced.
Bessie looked up, her confidence wavering. Her heart pounded uncontrollably; she’d never seen anyone so striking. Graham wheeled Winford closer, and Bessie rose. “Hi, I’m Bessie,” she said, shy and nervous, a flicker of hope in her eyes.
Winford, with an indifferent expression, asked, “What do you want?”
“I’m here to apologize for my sister,” she said, affecting remorse. “She’s young and naive. She heard rumors and panicked, which is why she left.”
Upstairs, Ophelia finished her shower and realized Madeline hadn’t brought clothes. Frowning slightly, she opened Winford’s wardrobe, selected a robe, and put it on. It was far too large, dragging on the floor. She adjusted it, tying it loosely at her waist. As she went to find suitable clothes, a familiar voice from downstairs caught her attention.
“I’m willing to marry you for my sister. Please don’t blame her or our family.”
Bessie sounded like the perfect, self-sacrificing sister. Ophelia’s face darkened.
Bessie stood tall and composed, her head held high, eyes slightly red. She waited confidently for Winford’s response, believing she was no less worthy than Ophelia. If Winford had accepted her sister, why not her? “Besides, Ophelia has run off with someone else,” she mused.
“Bessie, what are you doing here?”
Ophelia’s sweet voice echoed from the staircase.
Bessie’s eyes widened in shock. Seeing Ophelia descending the stairs, her face shifted, barely concealing her disbelief.
Winford, snapping out of his consideration of Bessie’s proposal, also looked up. He was struck by Ophelia’s beauty at that moment—her damp hair loosely pinned back, her skin glowing, her eyes sparkling and captivating. Ophelia had always been pretty, but she’d never captivated him like this. Then his gaze fell on the robe.
Winford instantly recognized it, his eyes narrowing in displeasure. Nearby, Graham and the servants exchanged uneasy glances. Winford was fiercely territorial; he hated anyone touching his belongings or entering his room without permission. Ophelia had broken every rule upon arrival.