Chapter 10: Ophelia’s POV

He hadn't even turned around before the iron tower of a bodyguard in black was already standing behind him—no telling when he'd gotten there. One huge hand clamped down on Richard's shoulder like a pair of steel pincers and, without a word of explanation, yanked him bodily backward.

I took the moment to withdraw my poisoned blade and rubbed at the wrist that had been squeezed red, then lifted my eyes.

On the sofa in the shadows, Sebastian was still sitting exactly where he'd been. He leaned slightly forward, one hand propping up his forehead.

"Richard. The financials for the West District project." Sebastian spoke. "You tampered with them."

Perhaps because it was rare for him to string together a sentence that long, his tone came out stiff and strange, as though he were forcing something down.

Richard's legs gave out. His face wasn't just white—I could see his nostrils flaring uncontrollably with terror, the whole man like a stupid pig driven into a corner. He went down on his knees with a thud, cold sweat instantly soaking through his tight shirt.

"Mr. Locke! It's a misunderstanding, it was the people below me not knowing any better... I would never dare tamper with your project!"

He kowtowed frantically, begging for mercy.

Sebastian didn't even look at him.

"Drag this garbage out of here."

Two bodyguards stepped forward at once and hauled Richard out of the banquet hall like a dead dog.

I stood where I was, watching Sebastian on the sofa. Who exactly was this man? What was he, that all these rich men in the room were so afraid of him?

But Sebastian kept his head lowered the whole time, and I couldn't make out his expression.

Still, that ugly thing Richard shouldn't think he could just leave and be done with it.

I slipped quietly out of the banquet, looking for Richard, whom the bodyguards had just thrown out, intending to get a few cuts in on him and leave him a little short of parts.

Suddenly I heard a voice begging for mercy.

"No, don't!" It was Richard's voice. "Please! I won't dare again! Mr. Sebastian! Mr. Sebastian! Please forgive me!"

I crept closer. In the moonlight, one bodyguard in black was holding Richard down while another raised a knife.

The blade rose and fell, and Richard let out a scream like a stuck pig. They cut off three of his fingers.

This Sebastian was ruthless enough—a madman, no doubt about it—and Richard's fate suited me just fine.

I returned to the banquet hall in excellent spirits.

The air in the hall had changed. No one dared speak loudly anymore, and quite a few of the dignitaries, out of fear, made their excuses and slipped away in a hurry.

After all, no one wanted to be marked by that madman Sebastian Locke.

I stood in the shadow of the side hall, trying to look through the swaying crowd for one more glimpse of the man.

But now that bodyguard in black was like a wall, planted squarely between my line of sight and Sebastian.

I took a step to the left, and the bodyguard's body shifted left by a barely perceptible half inch.

I stopped and clicked my tongue inwardly.

So he really did reject anyone's gaze—he wouldn't even let people look at him.

I pulled my eyes away, picked up a glass of sparkling water, and turned toward the main hall.

Arthur was coming toward me. His face was pale, cold sweat still beaded on his forehead.

"That idiot Richard, actually daring to tamper with a Locke Consortium project." Arthur lowered his voice, his tone tinged with relief. He glanced at me. "Good thing you weren't standing too close to him just now."

"Yes, Father." I drew my shoulders in and nodded obediently.

"Forget it, Richard's finished. Next time I'll find you a steadier one." Arthur perfunctorily adjusted my shawl. "Wipe your tears and stop making that miserable face."

With that, he picked up his glass and went off to curry favor with another banker.

That was my father—barely had that business passed before he'd already figured out how to sell me to the next buyer.

I tugged at the corner of my mouth and turned my gaze to the other side of the hall.

Sylvia was standing among a few society ladies.

I walked over.

"Sylvia." I spoke timidly. "Your glass is empty. Would you like me to get you another?"

Sylvia looked at me the way she'd look at a rat. The muscles in her face twitched, and she hissed in a low voice, "Get away from me. You jinx."

A lady beside her in a purple evening gown raised an eyebrow and looked at me. "Then be a dear and fetch me a glass."

She was Lady Eleanor, whose family carried real weight in Night City.

"Yes, madam." I quickly swapped a glass of champagne off a waiter's tray and offered it with both hands. "Your dress is beautiful—it really brings out your elegance."

Lady Eleanor smiled in satisfaction. "What a sensible child."

Sylvia's face turned livid on the spot.

"Stop putting on an act in front of her! Underneath it all you're nothing but trash!" Sylvia said through gritted teeth.

I flinched and dropped my head at once.

"I'm sorry, Sylvia... I only..."

I raised a hand to rub my eyes, trying to squeeze out a few tears to go with my performance.

An eyelash got rubbed into my eye.

"Hiss—"

The sting was real. Reflex tears broke loose instantly and poured out beyond my control.

"I'm sorry, please excuse me." I covered my eye and turned, stumbling.

Tears rolled down in big drops.

As I left, I heard Lady Eleanor say to Sylvia, "Sylvia, you're far too harsh on this child. She's only just come back."

"You don't understand! She's a madwoman! She's strange, deeply strange!" Sylvia retorted in a fury.

Unfortunately, no one would believe a stepmother who'd lost control of her emotions.

Covering my eye, I crossed the corridor and pushed quickly through the door at its far end.

This was the private washroom of the SVIP lounge, and there shouldn't be anyone inside now.

I pushed the door open.

Into the air, the scent of fir mixed with a faint smell of blood, rushed at my face.

My steps halted abruptly.

In front of the sink stood a tall dark figure.

It was Sebastian. He was washing his hands.