Chapter 5: She's Something

As Ophelia approached Winford's bedroom door, she unexpectedly encountered Graham, recently dismissed by Winford, and a servant carrying a medical kit. The servant's pale face betrayed his apprehension; he wouldn't enter.

Sighing, Ophelia took the kit. "Give me that," she instructed.

Stunned, Graham cautioned, "Mrs. Pruitt, Mr. Pruitt… isn't in a good mood."

"I know," she replied, her anxiety evident. She was genuinely worried about Winford.

Graham, noting Winford's different treatment of Ophelia, directed the servant, "Give Mrs. Pruitt the medical kit."

Ophelia opened the door and entered. The room was dark. A ferocious voice boomed, "Get out!"

The faint light from the window revealed a tall figure in a wheelchair. His back was to her, yet his deep exhaustion and air of decay were palpable; he could have been mistaken for an old, dying man. Her heart ached.

Winford was only twenty-seven! Had he endured this despair in her past life as well? Back then, her only concern had been escaping him; she hadn't cared.

She slowly approached him. At the sound of footsteps, Winford lunged. "I said, get out!"

His force was such that Ophelia cried out in pain. Recognizing her, he loosened his grip. "Out!" he demanded.

The faint light revealed his tense jaw and attractive profile. Though his expression was obscured, his aggression was unmistakable.

"Graham said you weren't feeling well," she said softly. "I'm worried about you."

"Worried about me?" His aggression lessened; she sensed he was looking at her.

"Yes." She crouched beside his wheelchair, gripping the armrest with one hand while reaching for his in the darkness. Her hand accidentally touched his thigh; his muscles instantly tensed. He grasped her wrist.

This time, his grip was less forceful. She couldn't escape, but she wasn't hurt.

"What are you doing?" His voice was strained, as if he were suppressing something.

Ophelia, embarrassed by the accidental thigh touch, explained innocently, "I wanted to hold your hand, but I couldn't see."

"My hand? Why?"

Gripping his wrist, she secretly checked his pulse. "You're upset, right? I'm trying to help."

Winford was silent. Surprisingly, he didn't pull away. A moment later, she reached a conclusion, a mixture of happiness and frustration.

She could treat his condition. Those doctors' grim predictions wouldn't come true; he wouldn't die before thirty. But she lacked a crucial ingredient for his medication, one only produced after months at the Sapphire Botanical Institute, her mother's legacy. Furthermore, her grandfather, not she, owned the Institute.

Her expression darkened as she considered her grandfather and his family.

"Mr. Pruitt? Mrs. Pruitt?" Graham's hesitant voice called from outside.

"Yes?" she responded loudly.

Graham, poised to enter, was startled by her voice and loosened his grip on the doorknob. It seemed nothing had happened; the long silence made him doubt Winford hadn't harmed Ophelia. It was a miracle Winford hadn't raged.

In the room, Ophelia released Winford's hand. "How about I turn on the lights and change your gauze?" she offered cautiously.

After a pause, Winford said, "No need."

"But your injury…" she worried.

"Tell Graham to come in."

"Okay!" She didn't care who changed the gauze; her concern was his refusal to let anyone near him. She rushed to the door. "Graham, come in and change Winford's gauze!"

"Huh?" Graham was slow to react.

"What are you waiting for?" Winford snapped.

Graham recovered, glancing at Ophelia in shock as he passed. She appeased Mr. Pruitt so quickly? he thought. She's something.

Ophelia sensed Graham's gaze, puzzled for a moment, but dismissed it, returning to her room, feeling content. Remembering her phone had been off all day, she powered it on.

Immediately, Cullen called. Her gaze turned cold as she rejected and blocked the call without hesitation. Then Samuel called.

"Your phone was off all day?" he demanded coldly.

"The battery died," she replied flatly.

"You're at Sunset Vista?" he asked.

"Yes. What's up?"

"Behave yourself. Now that you're married to Mr. Pruitt, don't overstep. Make a clean break with certain people," he warned sternly.

"Certain people?" she challenged.

"Don't pretend. Bessie had a slip of the tongue, or I wouldn't know you planned to elope! Thankfully, Bessie talked you out of it, or our family would be ruined. Mr. Pruitt is influential; no one messes with him."

Bessie? Ophelia's gaze froze. Bessie had a slip of the tongue? Talked me out of it? How laughable.

Samuel had two reasons to call. "Since you're Mrs. Pruitt, discuss funding for our family company with him."

Ophelia rolled her eyes. "He's not easy to talk to. Later, perhaps." She hung up.

Samuel exploded. "That damned girl! Her first day married, and she disobeys me already?"

Erin, sitting beside him, comforted him. "I'll ask Ophelia to talk tomorrow. She always listens to me."

Samuel softened. He patted her hand. "Thanks for treating her so well. You're like her mother; of course, she listens to you."

He cherished Erin's kindness. Ophelia was his and his late wife Harriet Whitaker's daughter, but Erin never mistreated her, always doting on her. Outsiders would think Erin was her real mother.

"It's what I should do," Erin smiled gently. "Harriet was like a sister. Of course, I'd treat Ophelia well."

Back at Sunset Vista, after the call, Ophelia remembered she hadn't warned Winford. She returned to his bedroom. Graham was gone; the door was ajar. She peered inside, finding the room empty. The bathroom light was on; he was showering.

Hesitating, she was about to leave when a loud bang erupted from the bathroom. Her expression changed; she rushed in, flinging the door open. "Are you…"

A second passed. Another loud bang. Without hesitation, she slammed the door shut.