Chapter 9: Stand Up for Her

Ophelia instantly understood Elva's intentions. Instead of reacting, she observed the unfolding drama with quiet amusement.

"Move out? What happened?" Graham asked, glancing at the silent Winford.

"Someone here thinks I'm an eyesore," Elva said, glancing at Ophelia and biting her lip, her sadness evident despite her attempt to suppress it. Her eyes were red-rimmed. "She said I'm the maid's daughter. I don't deserve..."

Several of Winford's subordinates, friends of Elva's, glared at Ophelia. Elva's pointed glance ensured everyone understood her meaning.

"Elva is Bertha's daughter. Only Mr. Pruitt decides if she can live here," Alfred Duarte, one of Winford's loyal, young, and impulsive subordinates—who would later die because of Elva—stated coldly, fixing Ophelia with a hostile stare.

Unaffected, Ophelia looked at Winford and asked delicately, "Honey, I'm the hostess of Sunset Vista, right?" Despite her frequent use of the term, the word still stirred his heart. Looking into her captivating eyes, he leaned back, a subtle darkness entering his own. "Of course," he replied calmly.

"Then...who is she?" Ophelia asked, gesturing to Elva.

No one dared answer, unsure of Ophelia's expectation, until the honest maid replied, "Mrs. Pruitt, Elva is Bertha's daughter."

Ophelia continued casually, "I see. Does Bertha's daughter outrank me, the hostess of Sunset Vista?"

Elva's expression shifted. Before she could retort, Winford spoke, "Who told you that?"

"Am I wrong?" Ophelia tilted her head. "Otherwise, how did she dare occupy my room and throw my belongings into the guest bedroom? I'm the hostess; I get the guest bedroom. She's the maid's daughter; she gets the second bedroom. Is that how things work at Sunset Vista?"

Silence fell. Alfred and the others, unaware of the situation, stared at Elva in shock. Panic flickered across Elva's face. "Mr. Pruitt, I didn't know she was your wife..."

"Do you need a hearing aid?" Ophelia interrupted coolly. "The servants next to you called me 'Mrs. Pruitt' loudly, and you didn't hear that?"

Elva's expression froze. Biting her lip, she looked at Winford, aggrieved. "Mr. Pruitt, you promised to reward me if I did well on the SAT. I want that room..." The second bedroom was closest to Winford's—she coveted it.

Ophelia's eyes narrowed. A reward? Winford takes promises seriously. What if he gives her the room? She turned to Winford. Before he could speak, she said, "Honey, you won't let a maid's daughter push me around, right?" Her tone was assertive yet not irritating. She widened her eyes, awaiting his answer.

Elva's face flushed. Being called a maid's daughter was her deepest humiliation.

Winford met Ophelia's gaze, seeing the nervousness in her eyes. He remained silent for a moment.

Sensing his hesitation, Ophelia grew more uneasy, widening her eyes further. Finally, he said, "No, I won't."

Relief washed over her; she beamed.

Elva exclaimed, "Mr. Pruitt?!"

Winford continued, his tone flat, "Indeed, I promised a reward. But that doesn't mean I'll grant unreasonable requests. For example, letting you have the hostess's room."

Silence reigned. Elva's expression cycled through several emotions. She was speechless, never expecting to be refused.

Ophelia almost laughed at Elva's expression, but sensing Winford's gaze, she blinked innocently. She didn't miss the sudden darkening of his eyes. Turning to Elva, she smiled, "By the way, you mentioned moving out? Where to? Need help finding a place?"

Elva was speechless, her anger simmering, her face contorted. Under everyone's gaze, she muttered through gritted teeth, "I'm not moving out..." The cost of leaving was too high. Sunset Vista was exclusive; she was only there because Bertha had pleaded with the Pruitts. Leaving meant losing any chance of returning.

"Alright. Restore my room. Put everything back and remove your belongings. It's not difficult," Ophelia commanded matter-of-factly.

Elva's eyes reddened with anger. In Ophelia's eyes, she was nothing but a maid. But with Winford present, she dared not object, merely nodding in humiliation. "I see."

As she started upstairs, Ophelia noted her suitcase and said enthusiastically, "That looks heavy." She then ordered a maid, "Help Elva."

The maid obliged. Elva tried to stop her, but it was too late. The maid lifted the suitcase. Puzzled, Elva exclaimed, "It's empty!"

The others were stunned. Feigning surprise, Ophelia arched an eyebrow. "You were moving out? Why is your suitcase empty?"

Under the subtle scrutiny, Elva felt both embarrassed and furious, her hatred for Ophelia peaking. "I'll get your room ready," she muttered, snatching her suitcase and practically fleeing.

Ophelia turned and met Winford's meaningful gaze. She instinctively averted her eyes, knowing he saw through her little trick. But then she reasoned—Elva started it; why shouldn't she fight back? She straightened her shoulders and looked back at him confidently. "Honey? What's up?"

His usually deep, icy eyes briefly held a faint, almost imperceptible smile. "Nothing," he said. After a pause, he added, "Who threw out your things?"

Was he taking up for her? Ophelia's eyes lit up. Immediately, she turned and pointed at two figures. "Them!"

The two servants who had been fawning over Elva paled.