CHAPTER 245: CHAPTER 245: LEADER AND FOLLOWER (1)

Two weeks later

Ophelia sat cross-legged on the velvet chaise in her dorm room, a plate of chocolate-dipped strawberries balanced on one knee, phone pressed to her ear. The place was absurdly overdone for a boarding school. Marble bathroom, private study nook, and enough closet space to shame half the Capital’s boutiques. Serathine hadn’t been skimpy with money, and the administration knew better than to say no when the Duchess paid the invoice in full before the term even started.

She’d talked or written to Odin every single day since the moment she’d been escorted out of Serathine’s mansion. Sometimes it was quick, a text or a short call between classes. Other times, it was late-night conversations that went on for hours, the kind where she forgot the rest of the world existed until she hung up and saw the unread messages piling up from people she barely liked.

Now, the rest of her school couldn’t seem to leave her alone. Word had spread that Lucas and Trevor were returning to the capital, complete with their first official appearance as united houses, and suddenly everyone who’d spent months ignoring her or pretending she was an afterthought had discovered she existed.

In the last three days alone, she’d been invited to four study groups, two birthday parties, and a "casual" brunch where the host’s mother just happened to be on the Capital’s social registry. Every smile was too sweet, every question too practiced. They all wanted the same thing... to get to Lucas through her.

"You’d think I was giving away concert tickets," she muttered into the phone, rolling onto her back and staring up at the ornate crown molding above her bed. "And not just to any concert. Front-row, backstage pass, free merch kind of concert."

"You sound surprised," Odin’s voice drawled through the line, low and unhurried, as if he had all the time in the world to enjoy this. "You’re the sister of the Empire’s newest darling couple. Of course they’ll circle you now. They think you’re the easiest way in."

Ophelia snorted softly. "I’m not surprised. I just hate that they think I’m that... open. Like I’m going to hand over my brother because someone bought me a latte."

"That’s because they see you as Serathine’s little project," Odin said, the word "project" wrapped in disdain. "Pretty room, nice clothes, polished manners, something she can show off when she needs to remind people of her reach." He let the pause stretch just long enough for it to sink in. "And Lucas plays along because it keeps you in her shadow, not his."

Ophelia’s grip on the phone tightened, the silk comforter rustling under her hand. "Lucas doesn’t care about me. He never asked for my presence, and at our mother’s trial, not once did he look at me. He hates me."

Odin’s voice softened, but only in the way a blade slides more easily when the edge is well-oiled. "Hate is still a kind of attention. Indifference... that’s worse. And Lucas, for all his perfect manners and imperial connections, is very good at pretending indifference until someone stops playing by his rules."

She stared at the ceiling, throat tightening despite herself. "So what? You’re telling me to break his rules?"

"I’m telling you," Odin murmured, "that if you keep letting him define where you stand, you’ll always be the little sister no one bothers to see. But if you choose your own ground, they’ll have no choice but to look."

Ophelia’s lips pressed into a thin line, the flicker of defiance in her eyes mirrored in the darkened window. "Sounds good, but he doesn’t want to acknowledge me, and I’m sure his husband wouldn’t let me near him to remind him where he comes from."

"Then ask for help..." Odin’s tone softened into something almost warm, almost paternal, "...from your father."

She went quiet, her thumb worrying at the edge of the silk comforter. "You mean you."

"I’ve always meant me," he said, and there was that smooth undercurrent she’d learned to recognize: possession. "I am your father, Ophelia. I don’t need an invitation to stand at your side, and I won’t let anyone: husband, brother, or duchess to keep you in someone else’s shadow."

Her chest tightened, not sure if it was relief or the weight of knowing that this man was still a stranger to her. "And in return?"

Odin’s chuckle was low and indulgent, as if she’d just said something amusing. "In return, you’ll do exactly what I ask when the time comes. That’s what family is for."

Ophelia shifted on the chaise, drawing her knees up, the silk of her robe pooling around her. "No," she said finally. "If I’m agreeing to this, I have to know the price. I’m not walking in blind."

On the other end of the line, Odin was silent for a beat, and when he spoke again, his voice had that calm, measured cadence that always meant he’d already decided the terms. "I need only Lucas. The same as I always have."

Her breath caught, more from the bluntness than the content. "You’re saying..."

"I’m saying it’s a fair exchange," Odin cut in smoothly. "Lucas for your freedom. For your mother’s freedom. I take care of the rest."

Ophelia stared at the far wall, the ornate crown molding blurring at the edges of her vision. Freedom. It sounded clean, simple, something you could slip into your pocket and carry. But coming from Odin, it felt heavier, a promise with teeth.

"And when you have him?" she asked quietly.

"Then you’ll have what’s yours," he said, and there was a finality in it that made her skin prickle. "And we’ll see how quickly your brother remembers you when you’re no longer living under someone else’s charity."

"And when you have him?" she asked quietly.

"Then you’ll have what’s yours," he said, and there was a finality in it that made her skin prickle. "And we’ll see how quickly your brother remembers you when you’re no longer living under someone else’s charity."

Her fingers curled tighter into the comforter. "What’s mine?"

"The life that should have been yours from the start," Odin replied without hesitation. "You were the one who deserved what Lucas has now, but he fouled the board before you even had a chance to play. He’s been controlling the story from the moment you were old enough to be competition."

Ophelia’s breath hitched. "Competition?"

"Yes," Odin said smoothly. "Serathine keeps you dressed in silk and locked in pretty rooms, so no one notices how dangerous you could be if you decided to stand beside me instead of in his shadow."

She shut her eyes, the words settling like smoke in her lungs clinging, hard to cough out. "And all I have to do is give you Lucas."

"All you have to do," Odin murmured, velvet over steel, "is give me what I’ve always been denied. In return, you and your mother will walk free, and you’ll have a place where no one will dare pretend you’re anything less than what you are."

Ophelia opened her eyes, staring at her own reflection in the darkened window. For a moment, she almost didn’t recognize the faint, hungry smile curling at the edges of her mouth.

"Yes," she said, the word landing like the snap of a lock turning.

Odin’s satisfaction was immediate, even through the thin distortion of the call. "Good girl. I’ll handle the rest. For now, all you have to do is be ready when I call."

"I will," she said, her voice steady now, almost eager.

When the line went dead, Ophelia lay back against the chaise, the taste of agreement sharp on her tongue. At last, she could claim her place, and Odin thought she was the one following his lead. She turned her head toward the window, catching her own reflection in the glass, the faint glow from the city outlining her smile.

Soon...