I Married My Ex's Billionaire Father
Chapter 234: Determined To Protect Everything

Chapter 234: Determined To Protect Everything

The roar of the private jet’s engines faded as the sleek aircraft touched down on the tarmac, a stark contrast to the turbulent storm raging within Ophelia. She disembarked, her movements stiff and mechanical, her face a mask of icy composure. The humiliation of the evening, the shock of Maeve’s revelation, the gnawing uncertainty of the future – it all weighed heavily upon her, a suffocating blanket of dread.

She arrived home to find Edward, as usual, ensconced in his study, a glass of brandy in hand, a smug expression on his face. He looked up as she entered, his eyes widening slightly at her exhausted appearance.

"Well, well," he drawled, his voice laced with amusement. "The prodigal wife arrives, back so soon? I thought you were going to be basking in the glow of your... honor."

Ophelia’s eyes narrowed, her carefully constructed facade crumbling. She had no patience for his taunts, no tolerance for his condescending remarks. She snapped, her voice sharp and venomous, "Shut up, Edward. Enough!"

Edward’s eyebrows shot up, his smug expression replaced by a look of stunned surprise. He had never seen Ophelia so angry, so openly hostile to him.

Ophelia ignored his reaction, her movements deliberate as she walked over to the liquor cabinet. She poured herself a generous glass of brandy, the amber liquid a welcome distraction from the turmoil within her. She took a long, deep drink, the burn of the alcohol a momentary balm to her wounded pride and stressed mind.

She sank into a nearby armchair, her gaze fixed on the flickering flames in the fireplace. Edward, his unease growing, watched her in silence.

"What happened, Ophelia?" he asked finally, his voice laced with a hint of concern. "You seem... upset."

Ophelia scoffed, a short, bitter sound. "Upset? How perceptive." she scoffed, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "That is a bit of an understatement for how I feel."

She turned to face him, her eyes filled with a cold, unwavering resolve. "The party," she began, her voice low and dangerous, "was a setup, a complete ruse."

Edward’s eyebrows furrowed. "A setup?" he echoed, his confusion evident. "What do you mean by that?"

"It was not a charity event," Ophelia explained, her voice laced with disgust. "It was a birthday party. For Brooke Chadwick, Maeve’s alleged daughter."

Edward’s eyes widened slightly. "Brooke?" he asked, his voice laced with disbelief. "But... why would you be invited?"

"To be humiliated by my stupid bitch of a sister." Ophelia ground out, her voice sharp before she took another large swallow of the amber liquid in her glass. "But that is not even the worst of it."

"Wait wait wait." Edward said, raising his hands, his eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What do you mean?"

"What I mean is that Maeve arranged it all!" She snapped, her gaze hardening. "There was a video," she said, her voice barely audible. "A video of Maeve."

Edward’s breath hitched. "Maeve?" he asked, his voice trembling slightly. "But... she is dead, has been dead all these years."

"Apparently not," Ophelia said, her voice laced with bitterness. "Or at least, she was not when she made the video."

She recounted the events of the evening, the grainy footage of Maeve, her desperate plea, her revelation of a daughter, an heiress. Edward listened intently, his expression growing darker with each word.

"She named her daughter as her heir," Ophelia concluded, her voice laced with a mixture of fear and anger. "She said she would get what was rightfully hers, I don’t need to explain what that means for us."

Edward’s face paled. He stood up, his movements jerky, his eyes filled with a mixture of fear and panic.

"We have to do something," he said, his voice urgent. "We can’t just let this happen."

Ophelia scoffed, a short, dismissive sound. "And what do you suggest, Edward?" she asked, her voice laced with sarcasm. "Should we send your incompetent henchmen to... take care of her? Like they did with Maeve?"

Edward’s face flushed crimson. He opened his mouth to speak, but Ophelia cut him off.

"Don’t even bother, Edward," she said, her voice sharp. "If you had taken care of the problem properly, we would not be dealing with this right now. But nooo, you were the man so you had to deal with the situation."

Edward remained silent, his gaze shifting away from hers.

"And look how well that turned out," Ophelia continued, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "She still managed to leave a message, to name her heir and produce the heir. Your little plan backfired, Edward."

Edward’s anger flared. "What do you want me to do, Ophelia?" he asked, his voice laced with frustration. "Just sit here and do nothing?"

"No," Ophelia said, her voice hardening. "I have a plan."

Edward’s eyebrows furrowed. "A plan?" he echoed, his curiosity piqued. "What kind of plan?"

Ophelia smiled, a cold, calculating smile that sent a shiver down Edward’s spine. "A plan to ensure that Maeve’s daughter never gets what she’s owed," she said, her voice low and dangerous. "A plan to protect our family’s legacy, our money."

She paused, her eyes locking with Edward’s. "And a plan to make sure that you and I... we get everything we deserve."

"That is all fine and good, but we need actions. Not these empty words you are sprouting." Edward grumbled, still miffed at her insulting him for the killer’s mistake.

How was it his fault that the killer failed to end Maeve and lied to him. It’s not like it was his fault that Maeve was a tenacious cat with nine lives.

"I said I have a plan didnt I?" Ophelia snapped at her husband who stared at her with open hostility.

She angrily dropped the glass tumbler on the table before walking out of the room, her plan swirling in her head. She had grown accustomed to living like royalty. Why should she give that up because Maeve came crawling from beyond the grave to say she had a bastard running around aimlessly somewhere.

Ophelia was determined to protect everything she had from anyone, even the rightful owner.