WHEN LOVE TURNED SOUR

==OPHELIA==

My thumb hesitated above the 'Record' button on my phone, while my fingers shook, unwilling to calm down. I saw a reflection on the screen of a face that looked pale, hollow, and nearly unrecognizable. When did I turn into this unfamiliar person? The faint silhouette of a person I once recognised, now obscured and smudged by suffering.

A part of me desired to halt, to cast the phone away, and simply bring everything to an end. However, the words in my throat fought to be let out. I struggled to even murmur, "Owen, my husband..." Feeling his name in my chest like a sharp knife that wouldn't come out, causing a silent, lingering ache. I could still perceive his icy gaze, the manner in which he would stare at me, as though he preferred my absence, as though I was only a hindrance in his existence.

"It has been five months." I spoke in a trembling voice, barely louder than a whisper. "Five months spent attempting to understand the cause of the problem. The reason he transformed into a monster. How he turned into this hollow husk, a person I can't even identify anymore." I tried to force a fake smile, but it faltered and turned into a bitter chuckle instead.

"My parents also acted like they didn't notice anything," I whispered wearily, my voice heavy with tiredness and bitterness. For them, this marriage was like a fairy tale, an ideal situation that restored their previous social standing. I experienced a scorching sensation in my throat-the discomfort of tears I had suppressed for too long. "They believed I had at last discovered joy."

"I made an attempt. I made a great effort to meet expectations, to fulfill my father's wishes, to satisfy Owen's desires, in the hope that he might eventually acknowledge me." I struggled to control my shaky voice and clenched my teeth, determined to stay calm as I tightly squeezed my fists, feeling my nails digging into my palms to steady myself. "No matter what effort I exerted, it was always inadequate. I had disappeared from my own life."

"I simply desire for this agony to cease... I wish for everything to come to a halt."

I clicked 'Upload' quickly, unable to stop myself, observing as the video vanished into the vastness of the internet, taking all the hidden parts of myself with it. I was unsure if it would be noticed or if anyone would show interest. It didn't matter.

I glanced over at the rope resting on the table. I sensed a lack of feeling, like all emotions had flowed out, leaving a serene, vacant exterior. Almost without thinking, I grabbed the rope and felt its texture anchor me as I wrapped it around the beam, securing it with an unfamiliar sense of calm. I got on the chair and stared at the ground below me. This marked the conclusion of the suffering, the hopes, and the constant pursuit of a life that never belonged to me.

I let out a final, brief breath before kicking the chair away.

===============

I slowly emerged, feeling cold and confusion creeping through my mind like fog. My eyes were too burdened to lift, my fatigue pulling my body down, along with a mysterious heaviness, as if I were suspended in a state of half-sleep and half-wakefulness.

Intense fluorescent lights seared my eyes as they blinked open, cutting through the fog. Everything surrounding me felt sanitised, remote, and overly illuminated. I felt a shadow next to me, and gentle fingers delicately covered my hand.

"Where...am I?" My voice was barely audible, hoarse, and rough, each word causing discomfort in my sore throat.

A nurse's face appeared, showing a soft expression filled with sympathy. "You're in a safe place," she whispered, gently squeezing my hand for reassurance. "It has been 48 hours since you were admitted while unconscious. You are now better."

"48 hours." The words floated in the air, seeming surreal and without heaviness.

How can I continue to exist in this physical form I believed I had moved on from? I felt my chest constrict and my throat fill with unidentified emotions. I looked away from her stare, unable to handle the affection in her gaze-that compassion.

After she departed, the heavy, engulfing silence weighed on me like all the burdens I had attempted to escape from.

"Even death rejected me." I whispered.

Shortly after, the door opened once more, and I prepared myself for yet another nurse or doctor. Instead, a female police officer walked in, her gaze unwavering but caring.

"Mrs. Wraxall." She spoke in a calm tone, her voice oddly comforting. "I'm Officer Garrett."

I moved with difficulty, every muscle sore, which made my motion sluggish. "What is it that you want?" I had a harsh tone in my voice, with words that were not meant to sound that way.

Officer Garrett moved closer, her facial expression becoming gentler. "I've come to look into the video you uploaded on the internet," she said softly. "It has been going viral, and people... well, people are concerned about you."

The words hit like a punch, empty and confusing. "Worried?"

I wanted to let out a bitter, hollow laugh, but it ended up getting stuck in my throat and emerging as a strangled noise. "Why are you attempting to deceive me?" I whispered, my tone heavy with resentment. "Nobody cares!"

She maintained her unyielding gaze, a subtle comprehension evident in her eyes. "Sometimes people don't realise until it's too late," she said gently. "But now that you have been offered the attention. If you're ready to converse, we're ready to listen."

I averted my gaze, looking at my hands while feeling the familiar heaviness settling on me, weighing on my bones. What can I say that would make a difference? The isolation, the deceit, and the wounds that had been inflicted remained present and piercing.

I balled up my hands, turning my face. "I'm not sure if..." I whispered, my voice fading as the words felt too delicate to complete, too hesitant.

Officer Garrett remained, her presence stable and steadfast, indicating she would stay until necessary.

Within that quietness, an unresolved decision approached.

I opened my mouth to let the words pour out-

== OPHELIA ==

The annual school charity event, which was expected to be glamorous, turned into a disaster due to heavy rain. The event hall's windows were pounded by heavy rain, with thunder ominously booming and walls shaking. The attendees in the room, dressed in elegant gowns and suits, toasted and chatted quietly, completely unaware of the turmoil unfolding right outside.

The chef was stuck, stranded with the desserts in a gridlock of flooded streets, while time was slipping away. What would be the case if we failed? Many people depend on this charity gala for their future, and I did not want to let them down.

This was also my moment to shine as the head of the event planning team in her final year. My team and I had laboured over every detail, from the design of the elegant invitations down to special sessions that were in store for our most valued attendees. This night needed to go just right.

Finally, in the rain, I saw a truck headlight approaching. "Thank goodness!" I ran outside, but the icy rain was like needles as it drenched my thin vest within seconds. Squinting into the storm, a deep melodic voice sliced through it.

"You're too beautiful to walk out there getting drenched," the tall man, clad in an expensive suit with dark hair slicked back, yelled.

"Need a hand?" he asked, his lips tugging into a playful smile that for a moment made me forget the storm's fury.

"Only if you're ready to get wet," I shot back, trying to sound steady.

He immediately took off his coat and revealed a white dress shirt underneath, which quickly became soaked. We quickly collected all the boxes we could hold and rushed indoors before the rain could drench us more. Others took the boxes away from us and began organising them in the hallway.

"Thank you for-"

"Owen Wraxall," he interrupted, introducing himself.

"Ophelia Loxley," I said, my heart quickly racing at the processing of the surname. Wraxall? Could he be from that European-based family-the one with businesses across all borders and a name that graced headlines and magazines almost each day?

I didn't send invitations to anyone like him. Reality weighed heavy: a man from the wealthiest family in the world wouldn't be standing in a school gym in the rain, helping me carry cookies and sandwiches. They're too arrogant for that.

Throughout the night, I continued to notice him in his chair, his gaze on me so intense that it made me uncomfortable.

Afterwards, I entered a peaceful room for a brief break, wishing for a moment to catch my breath. Before long, I noticed him casually leaning against the doorframe, observing me with an amused look.

"Don't tell me you are lost," I teased in a vain effort to divert the butterfly I'm feeling inside.

"Not at all," he replied, and he stepped inside. "I was looking for you."

"For me?" I raised my eyebrow, my pulse quickening.

I could see a spark dancing in his eyes. "Think I could get your number? I'd like to see you again."

"Ouchhh!"Feeling a mix of thrill and doubt, I nervously bit my lip.

We exchanged numbers, and then everything changed.

==========

For months after that, his texts brightened up my day, and his humour and wit turned into a stream of laughter. Lying on my bed at midnight, stifling giggles as my roommates threw pillows at me to be quiet, was pretty common. We went on late-night walks and cute impromptu dates in small cafes, and he even watched a horror movie that he overtly hated just to make me smile.

When he took my hand, the world receded, and we were two in a warm cocoon of understanding, no longer anything else.

One morning, my phone rang through the stillness of the room. The caller ID flashed: Father. I released a heavy breath and steeled myself to pick up the call.

"Ophelia! You won't believe what I have arranged!" he exclaimed, his voice filled with excitement. "The matchmaker helped me to set you up on a date with a wealthy family heir in Los Angeles!"

I forced a smile, my stomach churning. "That's great, Dad." The words sounded hollow, rehearsed to a routine heard many times before. Ever since our family went bankrupt, he had turned my life into an unremitting pursuit for social redemption.

"I've worked so hard this time!" he continued, perhaps noticing nothing. "You know how important it is to enter into a wealthy family, with all that has happened."

"Yes, Dad, I know," I said, suppressing the urge to argue.

I was aware from the beginning that my date with Owen would only provide a temporary escape. I would have to abandon it once my father found a match, unless I wanted to risk being disowned.

The day arrived at last, and I felt exactly like a marionette on strings. At least the location was near; no need for extensive travel this time. I got to the fancy restaurant early, standing outside the main entrance and admiring my reflection in the glass. It was essential to appear flawless.

With my heart beating rapidly, I made my way to the table that was reserved for me right at 10:00 a.m. At 10:30am, 11:00am, alright until 12:45 pm, my date was completely nowhere to be found.

By 1:00 p.m., frustration turned into irritation as the door swung open. A man entered the room with an air of superiority, his expensive suit emphasising his confidence. He approached with a grin that conveyed a lot of arrogance.

"You're the date? I expected someone... more," he scorned, looking at me as if I were some sort of nuisance.

"Nice to meet you, too," I said sharply, forcing a smile. "You're late."

"Traffic," he brushed it off. "Must be tough when... your family is this poor."

My stomach twisted. "At least my family has integrity; we don't need to look down on others to feel important." I spat, anger bubbled within me, and I struggled to maintain my composure.

"Integrity doesn't pay the bills, sweetheart. Besides, importance isn't something you're born with; it's earned. And, unfortunately for you, not everyone makes the cut." He smirked, leaning back in his chair, clearly enjoying my discomfort.

I couldn't ignore his rude remarks.

"And if arrogance counted as wealth, you'd be the richest person in the room." I shot back.

He was instantly pissed off. He leapt up from the couch, his hand raised as if to strike me. I was terrified, but before he could do so, a firm hand grasped his wrist from behind him.

"Don't even think about it," he warned in a deep voice, commanding and fierce.

I turned, relief washing through my senses as my eyes met with his blazing eyes. "Owen," I breathed, terror welling in my chest.

"Let her go," Owen ordered, protectiveness oozing from him.

The tension crackled in the air as the other man faltered, uncertainty flickering in his gaze. "Who the hell are you?" he bantered, all the bravado suddenly seeping away.

"I'm one who won't stand by while you humiliate her," Owen replied back, his voice steady and firm.

==OPHELIA==

"Whatever. She's not worth my time anyway," he sneered, his eyes clashing with mine, before darting to Owen's unflinching stare in my direction.

Owen's hand slid into mine, firm, anchoring. "Let's get out of here," he whispered, his voice soft yet laced with a firmness that broached no argument, no hesitations.

We wove through the dining area, slipping past hushed whispers and lingering glances. Outside, the cool night air pressed in, thick with the quiet that only seemed to amplify the tension hanging between us. I glanced over, noticing Owen's jaw set, his gaze distant. I finally broke the silence.

"How...how did you find me here?"

He turned to me then, his voice modulated by a touch of surprise. "I didn't. I came for a meeting with the CEO of the restaurant."

As he opened the car door for me, his hand lingered for a moment, warm and steady against mine. But once he got into the driver's seat, the silence between us could freeze water. It was as if that warmth a moment before had left the chasm between us, and a well of said and unsaid things lay between us.

Owen's fingers clamped onto the steering wheel, eyes fixed on the road, his profile tight. "How could you hurt me like this, Ophelia?" He finally bit out, calm, restrained each word. "How could you even think of going on a date when we're... together?"

My stomach knotted with guilt, pooling thick and heavy. I searched for words, but each attempt slipped away, dissolving into the silence. "I... I'm sorry. I should have told you." My voice barely above a whisper, I continued, "My father... he's determined for me to marry into wealth. It's all he cares about."

A flash of hurt crossed his face before he looked away. "So, you just... go along with his plan? Without thinking how it might hurt me?"

The weight of his question settled heavily upon my shoulders. "I never wanted to hurt you," I whispered, staring hard at him, the shame creeping in. "I didn't hope for you to find out this way."

"You should have been honest with me. I would have comprehended... or at least attempted to."

The words hung between us, thick and unyielding. Right then, my phone buzzed, illuminated my father's name on the screen. Dread pooled in my chest as, not wanting to at all, I answered and steeled myself for the worst.

"Ophelia!" His voice suddenly blew up through the line, sharp with frustration. "Do you have any idea what you've done? You threw away another chance. Another one!"

I turned to Owen, his face darkening as he listened. "Dad, he was more than three hours late," I began, trying to explain, the fire of frustration welling up behind my eyes. "And when he finally showed up, he deliberately insulted me. Humiliated us. You don't seriously expect me to just sit there and take that, do you?"

"Humiliated?" he sneered. "Is that what you're calling it now? You humiliated us, Ophelia! You walked out with another man in his presence. Do you know how hard I worked to arrange this meeting?"

"Dad...he wanted to hit me and-" I tried again, and my voice rose tight with the struggle against helpless anger, but he cut me off sharply.

"No excuses, Ophelia. This was your chance. And you blew it. Again."

The line went dead, and I was staring blankly at the screen as the weight of his disappointment weighed down, pressing like an invisible hand. One lone tear slipped down my cheek before I could stop it, and I swiped it away as fast as it appeared, but the dam was now broken. All of the shame, the frustration, and the exhaustion powered forward, threatening to consume me.

Without saying anything, Owen stopped the car suddenly, making the silence around us seem even louder. He extended his arms, stable, pulling me towards him. I leaned on him, tears flowing as I held onto him tightly, allowing the emotions inside to finally come out.

"Honey," he whispered, his lips brushing against my ear. "It's okay. You don't have to cry. I'm here."

Briefly, the outside world disappeared, leaving only the sound of my rough breathing and his comforting embrace. Gradually, as though coming out of a spell, my crying lessened. He moved back a little, his thumb wiping the last of my tears, his eyes gentle and kind. Then, my stomach rumbled softly with hunger.

"Come on," he said softly, tugging at a smile from the corner of his mouth. "Come and let me get you something to eat."

We drove in silence, but this time, it wasn't the cold silence of hurt or anger. It was comforting, like some tacit understanding that needed no words. Eventually, he pulled over in front of an upscale restaurant, its gleaming window panes warm into the deserted street, sending golden ripples across the sidewalk.

Inside, it was cosy: the soft glow of candles cast warmth over the tables. I looked down at the menu, and my eyes widened at the prices; before I could say a word, Owen's hand covered mine.

"Don't," he whispered, the reassuring smile smoothing tension from his face. "Tonight, let's just...forget everything else. Just you and me."

We ordered, and with each dish arriving as a delicate masterpiece, all in colour and aroma, I let the food and Owen's presence soothe me, each bite easing off the weight on my shoulders, the comfort deep inside. For the first time in a long time, I allowed myself to just breathe.

As the meal drew to a close, Owen set his glass down, his eyes catching and holding mine across the table. There was something there-an intensity, something unspoken.

"There's something I really want to say, Ophelia." His voice was soft, even, but underlying it was an emotional heft that quickened my pulse.

"What is that?" I asked, trying to sound composed, though my heart raced.

He hesitated, his eyes darting down, before returning to mine. "I know you're torn between what your father wants and... what we have. I just need you to know that I'm here because I want you."

The momentary flash of vulnerability in those eyes took my breath away, quite literally, as air seemed to leave my lungs for a second.

"Owen," I whispered, reaching across the table and taking his hand. "I'm so sorry. I never wanted to put you in this position. It's just... my father's control over my life has been suffocating. But believe me, I don't want to lose you too."

He nodded, his thumb stroking over my knuckles.

"Babe, another thing I want to tell you is that I am travelling soon," he murmured.

"Travelling?"