ODETTE/OPHELIA'S POV
I don't know when I fall asleep. But when I open my eyes, my head feels heavy and my body refuses to move.
The memory of his lips against mine, the anticipation of something more, still buzzes beneath my skin.
Yet a slow, stubborn ache lingers in my chest—a bruise left by the way he stepped away before anything could truly begin.
A few hotel staff enter after a soft knock, helping me shower and dress into something presentable—a pristine white gown and a warm fur coat. The performance must go on. The night that was supposed to be my first with my fiancé, the man who now knows my real name, has passed without a single touch.
The hotel hums with quiet activity. Yesterday's red roses still adorn the walls and staircases, their scent now faint and mingled with morning coffee.
Rhys and Ivy chat with guests who look like they belong on Forbes lists or most-wanted posters. No one seems to carry the weight of what happened—or didn't happen—behind our closed door.
Blake Nathaniel watches me over the rim of his coffee cup, his gaze sharp and assessing. Before I can shrink under it, Raphael steps smoothly between us.
"You look like a dead chicken," he mutters, frowning. There's a strange hint of something in his voice—concern? Confusion?
I don't have the energy for a sharp comeback. I just shrug. "It's nothing."
He doesn't press, only gives a slow nod.
"Whatever you did yesterday," he adds, a thread of amusement weaving through his words, "it's gained you a lot of attention."
I glance up. "You look pleased with the outcome."
He hums softly, a small smirk playing on his lips. "Because I am."
I roll my eyes and exhale a tired breath. Raphael Blackwood is a twisted man through and through. If I weren't currently cycling through several stages of personal disappointment, I might have said something clever.
My eyes drift, searching the room without permission.
Where is he?
My pulse kicks up faintly.
"He's in the hotel garden."
The voice comes from behind Raphael. I flinch slightly as Blake Nathaniel steps into view, his hands tucked casually into his pockets.
I nod, a stiff, silent motion, and make my way out after getting directions. The air inside feels heavy—thick with luxury, silent power plays, and histories much older than me.
My heels click softly against the marble. It's not snowing today. The moment I step into the garden, soft winter sunlight kisses my skin, and my shoulders loosen just a fraction.
I inhale deeply. The garden is a pristine expanse of white, still blanketed in a thick layer of snow. What is he doing out here?
I rub my gloved hands together, my gaze sweeping until it lands on a familiar, tall silhouette standing near a snow-laden pine tree.
My heart skips a beat.
The morning sun catches his golden hair, turning it into a molten halo. He looks ethereal. Picture-perfect. Painfully beautiful.
My feet move before my mind can catch up. It's always been like this with Kayros Nathaniel—I become some impulsive, hopeful version of myself. Then again… he's always been my favorite.
The cold nips at my nose, but the adrenaline in my chest burns hotter.
"Kayros."
I call his name.
His shoulders stiffen slightly before he slowly turns. A smile touches my lips almost instinctively…
Until everything freezes in the span of a few heartbeats.
Kayros isn't alone.
There's someone standing in front of him. A woman.
She has the rarest of eyes—a shade between burgundy and amber, like aged wine catching light. Her hair is a deep, wavy violet, tied back in an elegant bun. Her cheeks are flawlessly rosy, her beauty so striking it feels almost unreal. She's dressed in a burgundy silk shirt and white trousers, an overcoat draped over her shoulders. The air around her feels charged, as if the world itself announces her presence.
A sharp, sudden pain lances through my chest. A disgusting, agonizing ache that makes my knees tremble—as if someone has punched me in the gut and shown me the one thing I thought…
I thought I could change.
In Eyes of Glacier, only one family has burgundy eyes—the Black family.
And in the Black family, only one woman has violet hair.
The female lead of the story. Kayros's destined partner. His soulmate.
Jessica Black.
No. No, no, no, no, no.
My inner voice screams like a wounded animal.
Why? The story isn't supposed to start for three more years! Kayros was supposed to meet Jessica three years from now!
My head rings. Panic rises, hot and thick, through my throat. My eyes grow glassy before I can stop them.
I blink rapidly, fighting the burn.
Jessica raises a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "Ophelia Blackwood."
Her voice is calm. Soft. It carries an unmistakable depth—the kind only a true main character possesses.
And suddenly… a memory from my life as Odette hits me.
Distant. Ashy. Blurred by time.
There was a girl like her in my original life. A beautiful girl from Australia. The best friend of the boy I once thought was mine.
A familiar, bone-chilling fear tightens around my chest—the fear of never being chosen when someone better, easier, softer exists.
My eyes finally find Kayros's.
I don't know what he sees in my expression, but his own eyes widen. Shock is written plainly across his face.
Then I hear it—the crunch of his boots on snow as he takes long, urgent strides toward me.
His hands cup my jaw, his touch firm and warm. His expression is unsettled, his voice rough but stern.
"Don't come to any conclusion. We were just talking."
It feels like being pulled up from underwater. I inhale sharply, the cold air rushing into my lungs.
Jessica remains standing where she was, watching.
But he is here. Firm. Warm. Steady.
"You left," my voice cracks, small and wounded.
His head dips, his forehead almost touching mine. It's as if he can feel my panic through my skin, as if he's scrambling for the right words to keep me from spiraling.
His eyes stare into mine, helpless and intense. "I was drunk. I couldn't… I couldn't just give in to lust and fuck you like some horny beast."
My breath catches.
Suddenly, the winter air doesn't feel cold at all. Only his warmth exists, engulfing me.
"You don't hate me?" I whisper, hopeful and stupidly small.
He narrows his eyes. "I do. You're annoying."
Yet his voice holds none of the bitter venom from days before. It's almost… fond. A tear slips free as I let out a wet chuckle.
He panics slightly. "Wait—why are you crying and laughing at the same time?"
For a man who promised to ruin me just yesterday, Kayros Nathaniel clearly cares about my tears.
And for the first time in a very, very long time… I feel safe.
Safe enough to be the real me—the soft-hearted girl who cries too easily, laughs too loudly, and feels everything too deeply.
The panic Jessica's appearance brought feels distant now, irrelevant against the confused, earnest worry in this man's eyes.
"You wouldn't understand," I murmur, smiling through the last of my tears.
He squeezes my cheeks gently. "Wouldn't understand? Woman, I am Kayros Nathaniel."
He puts pressure on the last name, as if it explains everything.
I laugh softly under my breath, the sound light and real. "You're cute, you know?"
And that does something to him.
His hands still. His heart seems to skip a beat, visibly. My own heart stills in return as I notice, clear as day under the rare winter sunlight—
Kayros Nathaniel is blushing.
Because of me.