Revenge Of The Jilted Bride (Ophelia)

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14:48 Mon, Nov 11 er uti.

A discreet Maybach was parked at the mouth of an alley next to the hospital.

The tinted windows reflected Kenneth's stunningly handsome features. His deep-set eyes lowered slightly as he casually raised his wrist to check the time on his watch.

Ophelia yanked open the car door and quickly slid into the back seat.

"One minute and forty-three seconds late," Kenneth remarked coolly.

Ophelia caught her breath, mentally cursing Harry to hell and back. She gazed up at Kenneth, the picture of cool sophistication, her eyes wide and pleading like a wounded doe. This guy is truly an asshole,' she thought bitterly.

Kenneth's eyes flashed with a hint of smugness as he instructed the driver to start moving. He casually ruffled the girl's hair. "Remember, your weekends are mine," he said softly. 'Since when did we agree on that?' Ophelia thought, pouting slightly.

It seemed that spending weekends together had somehow become an unspoken rule between them. She secretly decided to give Kenneth a hard time about it next time. "So, you're one minute and forty-three seconds late. How do you plan to make it up to me?" Kenneth pressed on.

When Ophelia remained silent, Kenneth glanced meaningfully at the driver. Understanding the cue, the driver raised the partition between them.

Kenneth's voice was velvet-smooth as he leaned in close. "A deal's a deal, sweetheart," he murmured, his breath warm against her ear. The pet name dripped with charm, and Ophelia felt her pulse quicken. His voice alone was a siren call she couldn't resist.

In the coffee shop, Harry fiddled with his shirt cuff. "So, what do you think of my offer?" he asked, exuding confidence. In Harry's mind, Ophelia had already admitted defeat, handing the decision over to Christopher. Her so-called "investment" would amount to a few hundred thousand dollars at most-pocket change that wouldn't make a dent in Christopher's shell of a company.

Harry couldn't fathom Christopher turning down such a generous offer. He leaned in, his voice a mix of persuasion and condescension.

"Look, Christopher," he said, dropping the formality. "I get it. Selling your company isn't easy. But I'm offering you an annual salary of 200 thousand dollars to work at Hastings Group. You'll still be doing what you love, minus all the risks. Win-win, right?" Harry's tone turned dismissive as he added, "Young and impulsive, my sister has no clue what it takes to invest in a company. So-"

Christopher cut him off firmly. "I'm sorry, Mr. Hastings, but Miss Spencer has already invested seven million dollars in my company. We've signed a contract, and she now owns 70 percent of the shares. She's my boss. If you want to discuss any acquisitions, you'll need to talk to her directly."

Harry was taken aback. He leaned forward slightly, his eyes narrowing as they unconsciously fixated on the briefcase at Christopher's side.

'Seven million dollars? You've got to be kidding me,' Harry thought. 'Where on earth did Ophelia get that kind of money?

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Has Christopher lost his mind?'

Sensing Harry's disbelief, Christopher pulled out the agreement and flipped to the last page, showing it to him.

Harry's chest heaved, his face turning a deep shade of red. He recalled Ophelia's earlier dismissive smirk and suddenly felt a stinging sensation on his checks. Christopher, who he had previously looked down on as a penniless nobody, was now worth seven million dollars.

"You can keep your two million dollars, Mr. Hastings," Christopher said.

"Two million dollars wouldn't even cover the company's previous debts,' he scoffed inwardly.

As Christopher rose to leave, Harry felt a wave of humiliation wash over him. Christopher, who'd been practically begging for investments just days ago, had the nerve to insult him now.

His breathing quickened as he slammed his fist on the table, causing coffee to splash everywhere. This was an insult he couldn't swallow.

The following Monday at Hastings Group, Harry followed Owen into his office after a high-level meeting.

Owen picked up a document from his desk and handed it to Harry. "Take a look. Many companies have their eyes on these plots of land for auction. Which one do you think is the best?"

Harry adjusted his glasses and flipped through the documents in his hand. "If we're talking about the best location, it's definitely East Harbor. It's close to downtown and has excellent green space. But that plot will be in high demand-we can't snag it for less than 70 million dollars."

"Good." Owen nodded, clearly pleased with his son's response. "Go on."

"Apart from that, there's the West End Soccer Field," Harry continued. "I remember there's an indoor sports arena nearby, which is why this plot has been left undeveloped. The West End is booming now, and I've heard the government has plans for the area." "Exactly. That's why we're aiming for the West End Soccer Field. In the next couple of days, work with the appraiser on the bid. You'll handle the auction on Friday." Owen patted Harry's shoulder, showing complete faith in him. "Don't worry, Dad. I'll make sure we get that land." Harry assured him confidently.All content is property © NôvelDrama.Org.

Friday arrived quickly. The auction was set to take place at the Sunrise Hotel in the West End. Harry showed up with his secretary and the appraiser in tow. He had spent the last few days preparing thoroughly.

As Harry entered the venue, several CEOs from small and medium-sized real estate companies greeted him warmly. "Harry! Look how you've grown," one of them exclaimed. "You're already capable of representing your father."

Another chimed in, "Owen is quite a lucky man. He's got such a fine son in you. Unlike my good-for-nothing kid who can't help me with anything and only causes trouble."

Harry smiled modestly in response to their praise. He considered himself the most successful among his peers born into wealth, confident that he would one day take over Hastings Group.

As the group's chatter continued, a striking figure appeared in the doorway. She wore a black sheath dress, cinched at the waist, with a brown belt. Her hair was pulled back in a sleek, low ponytail. Every step she took oozed purpose and quiet confidence. The moment she entered, all eyes in the room gravitated towards her. There was an unmistakable air of cool defiance about her that demanded attention.

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The businessmen who had been chatting with Harry instantly shifted their attention to her. "Well, well. Who's this new bidder? I've never seen them before," someone muttered.

Harry's face, which had been wearing a polite smile just a second ago, turned sour the instant he spotted Ophelia. 'What is she doing here?' he thought, his mind racing.

Seeing Christopher by her side only reminded him of that humiliating incident at the coffee shop. A knot of anger tightened

in his chest.

Ophelia breezed past him, taking a seat in the front row, just diagonal from where he stood. The front row was typically reserved for major corporations.

'Since when did small fry like her get VIP treatment? Just because she can scrape together seven million dollars, she thinks she's hot stuff, Harry fumed silently. 'Don't they know where they are? Isn't she afraid of being kicked out?' He waited eagerly to see Ophelia make a fool of herself.

As the auction began and everyone took their seats, surprisingly no one objected to Ophelia's presence. Harry felt a surge of frustration. "Damn it, what an eyesore," he muttered under his breath. To his annoyance, he couldn't help but see her every time he looked up. 'How did someone like her even manage to get in here?' he wondered.

The first few lots were pre-arranged deals with certain companies. It was an open secret in the industry, so there was no competition or inflated bidding.

The upcoming lots, however, were the ones everyone had their eyes on. Harry had been secretly observing, and he noticed that Ophelia and Christopher hadn't dared to raise their paddles yet. He believed they were here for the show, not to play.

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