I Married My Ex's Billionaire Father
Chapter 224: Your Partner In Crime

Chapter 224: Your Partner In Crime

The crisp, cream-colored envelope felt luxurious in Ophelia’s hands. She carefully tore open the seal, her heart fluttering with anticipation. Inside, a beautifully embossed invitation lay nestled, its elegant script promising an evening of glamour and recognition. Her eyes scanned the words, her smile widening with each passing line. She had been invited to a prestigious gala, a celebration of achievement, and she was to be honored.

"Edward!" she exclaimed, her voice brimming with excitement. She rushed into the living room, the invitation held aloft like a triumphant banner. "Look at what I received!"

Edward, who was engrossed in a financial newspaper, glanced up, his expression a mixture of mild curiosity and thinly veiled skepticism. He took the invitation from her outstretched hand, his eyes scanning the elegant script. His eyebrows rose slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing his features.

"A gala?" he asked, his voice laced with a hint of disbelief. "And you are being... honored?"

Ophelia’s smile faltered slightly. She had expected a more enthusiastic response, a shared moment of joy. But Edward’s tone was dismissive, almost mocking.

"Yes, Edward," she said, her voice laced with a hint of defensiveness. "I am being honored. It appears to be a very prestigious event."

Edward scoffed, a short, dismissive sound. "And what, pray tell, have you done to warrant such an honor?" he asked, his eyes narrowing slightly.

Ophelia’s cheeks flushed with anger. She had never really worked in her life, she was on board of a few charities but it was never really about helping people, it was about being recognized. And now that she was getting that much craved attention, Edward was dismissing her as if it was nothing.

"That is a very rude question, Edward," she retorted, her voice sharp. "I have worked very hard to get to where I am. And apparently, some people recognize my contributions."

Edward’s lips curled into a sardonic smile. "Some people?" he echoed. "Or just a bunch of self-congratulatory socialites looking for an excuse to throw a party?"

Ophelia’s anger simmered. She knew Edward was jealous. He had always been dismissive of her work, her ambitions. He saw her success as a threat to his own ego, a challenge to his perceived dominance.

"Jealously is an ugly look on you, Edward," she accused, her voice laced with bitterness. "You can’t stand the fact that some people find me important."

Edward’s smile vanished, replaced by a look of cold disdain. "Jealous?" he scoffed. "Of what? Your fleeting moments of social recognition? Please, Ophelia, don’t flatter yourself, no one would care about you if you were not a rich little girl."

Ophelia’s hands clenched into fists, her nails digging into her palms. She was tired of his condescending attitude, his constant belittling. She was tired of feeling like she had to constantly defend herself, to justify her existence.

"I am going to that gala, Edward," she said, her voice firm and resolute. "Whether you like it or not."

Edward raised an eyebrow, his expression a mixture of amusement and arrogance. "Are you now?" he asked, his voice laced with sarcasm. "And will you be attending alone, or will you be gracing the event with your... celebrity?"

Ophelia’s eyes narrowed. She knew what he was doing. He was trying to belittle her, to make her feel small and insignificant. But she was not going to let him.

"I’m going to that gala, Edward," she repeated, her voice unwavering. "And I am going to enjoy every minute of it."

Edward’s smile returned, wider and more menacing than before. "In that case," he said, his voice smooth and seductive, "I will come with you."

Ophelia’s breath hitched. She hadn’t expected that. She had assumed he would dismiss the event, that he would stay home and sulk. But now, he was insinuating that he wanted to attend, to share in her moment of glory.

"You want to come?" she asked, her voice laced with suspicion. "Why?"

Edward shrugged, his expression nonchalant. "Why not?" he asked. "It sounds like a rather... interesting event. And I wouldn’t want you to feel lonely, would I?"

Ophelia’s eyes narrowed further. She knew he was lying. He didn’t care about her feelings. He just wanted to be a part of the spectacle, to bask in the reflected glow of her recognition.

"You just want a taste of my celebrity, don’t you, Edward?" she accused, her voice laced with contempt.

Edward chuckled, a low, dismissive sound. "Don’t be ridiculous, Ophelia," he said. "I have no need for your... celebrity. I’m simply being a supportive husband."

Ophelia scoffed. "Supportive?" she echoed. "You have never been supportive of my interests, Edward. You’ve always tried to undermine me, to make me feel inferior."

Edward’s smile vanished, replaced by a look of annoyance. "That is not true, Ophelia," he said, his voice hardening. "I’ve always supported your... hobbies, have you already forgotten that I am your partner in crime?"

Ophelia’s anger flared as she glared at him. She was tired of his condescending tone, his constant belittling and his constant unearthing of the grimy ugly past that she would rather remain buried.

"It’s not a hobby, Edward," she said, her voice sharp. "It’s enough to get me recognized and I’m not going to let you diminish it."

Edward sighed, his expression exasperated. "Fine, Ophelia," he said. "Have it your way. Go to your gala. Enjoy your moment of... recognition. But don’t expect me to be impressed."

He turned and walked away, leaving Ophelia standing there, her anger simmering. She knew she shouldn’t let him get to her. She knew she should ignore his dismissive remarks. But she couldn’t. His words stung, they cut deep.

She looked down at the invitation in her hand, her smile fading. She had been so excited about the gala, so proud of her achievement. But now, Edward had tainted it, had cast a shadow over her moment of glory.

She crumpled the invitation in her fist, her anger reaching its peak. Then she smoothed it back out, and placed it on the table. She would go, and she would shine. She would not let him steal this moment.