Chapter 2: Ophelia’s POV

The cheap synthetic fabric scraped against my knuckles as I pushed aside the junk Sylvia had left for me, and then my hand stopped moving.

At the very back of the closet hung a black dust cover.

I pulled the zipper down, and something like liquid metal slid across the back of my hand.

It was a dress.

Silk and tulle fused together, the hem embroidered with dark patterns in silver thread and studded with tiny diamonds. In the dim room with the lights off, it still poured out a suffocating sheen.

No tag. Pure handmade couture.

After years of running with my godfather, I had an eye that could price anything on sight, and this dress was worth more than the famous painting hanging in Arthur's living room.

It hadn't been in my closet yesterday.

Hayes Manor had a top-tier security system: infrared nets, armed patrols, double access control.

But someone had gotten in.

Not only had they walked through it like an open door, they'd had the leisure to slide open my cramped closet and hang this dress at the very back.

I thought at once of that stare in the alley.

Heavy. Burning.

Not just a dangerous lunatic, but a perverted tycoon with staggering wealth who could ignore the Hayes family's security entirely.

I ran my tongue along my back teeth. There was no fear in my heart, only excitement beating faster.

I grabbed the dress and walked to the window, yanking the heavy curtains apart.

Outside was Night City's downpour. The manor's back garden was pitch black, and I could see nothing.

But I felt it.

That stare was there. Through the rain, through the dark, through the glass, pinned dead on me.

"Enjoying the view?"

A nasty smile hooked the corner of my mouth.

I stood with my back to the window, crossed my hands, and pinched the cheap T-shirt soaked through with rain. Slowly, inch by inch, I lifted it.

A pale, slender stretch of waist was exposed, the groove of my spine faint in the dim light.

In the darkness, the temperature of that stare spiked instantly, as if it could set the downpour outside on fire.

I could even smell it seeping through the glass into the air: fir mixed with blood.

I stopped. Without warning, I turned around and stared straight into the darkness of the back garden.

Crash.

The bushes gave a violent rustle. A stray cat soaked through by the rain shrieked and bolted out, vanishing past the wall in an instant.

That burning stare fled with the sound.

Routed completely.

I stared at the empty dark and laughed out loud with pleasure. So useless.

I peeled off the soaked clothes and put on the silver gown. The moment I zipped it up, I looked at myself in the mirror.

And froze.

It needed no alteration. The waist, the bust line, the length of the hem.

A perfect fit.

This was a dress made entirely to measure for me. The lunatic hiding in the dark knew every measurement of my body, even better than I did.

...

I pushed the door open, heels sinking into the thick carpet of the corridor.

I didn't stop until I reached the curve of the spiral staircase on the first floor.

In the gilded hall, the hollow chatter cut off again.

Dead silence.

Every gaze in the room snapped onto me at once. If a few dozen minutes ago they'd looked at me like a stray dog, now they looked at me like a miracle descended.

My shoulders drew in slightly, my chin tucked, and into my amber eyes I gathered exactly the right amount of timidity and unease.

But the dress wouldn't let me keep a low profile. Silver light poured down my body, and I looked like a delicate doll that had wandered into the mortal world by mistake.

In the middle of the crowd, my father Arthur frowned; it took him five seconds to recognize this as his daughter.

And standing beside him, my stepbrother, Lucas.

The champagne tilted in his hand, the liquid spilling onto his leather shoes, and he didn't notice at all. He stared at me, eyes fixed, his throat bobbing hard.

"Fuck..." one of the rich boys in the crowd swore. "That's Arthur's daughter? She's a fucking fairy."

"Shut up, don't stare so hard."

"She's too hot..."

I ignored the naked astonishment and walked straight toward Sylvia, whose face had gone livid.

"Sylvia." My voice was thin, as if trembling. "Are you satisfied?"

Sylvia's facial muscles twitched violently. The elegant mask she prided herself on shattered completely.

"Where did you steal that?!"

Her shrill voice cut across the hall. She lurched toward me on her heels, seized my wrist, her nails nearly digging into my flesh.

"Answer me! Which wild man gave it to you? You filthy thing, you've barely come back and you're already selling yourself?"

The guests exchanged glances, their eyes turning contemptuous.

"Sylvia, I didn't..." I shrank my shoulders, my eyes reddening instantly, big tears rolling down. "I found it in the closet, I thought you'd prepared it for me..."

"Lies through your teeth!" Sylvia raised her hand, a slap swinging toward my face.

I didn't dodge.

But the slap never landed.

A hand caught Sylvia's wrist in midair.

"Mom, are you insane?"

Lucas's impatient voice cut in. He flung Sylvia's hand aside and planted his tall frame in front of me.

"She just got here. Where would she find a wild man? Stop making a spectacle of yourself like some shrew."

Sylvia stared at her own son in disbelief.

"Lucas! You're protecting this little bitch?!"

"I just don't want the Hayes family dinner to turn into a joke!" Lucas yanked at his tie irritably, yet his eyes kept drifting back to me, beyond his control.

I hid behind Lucas. My thin body trembled, like a startled fawn.

I lowered my head and wiped my tears with my sleeve. In a blind spot no one could see, the thumb and forefinger of my right hand rubbed together lightly.

From under my nails, the colorless, odorless powder drifted along the curve of my hem and settled again on Sylvia's heels.

"I'm sorry, Sylvia, it's all my fault, I'll go change out of it right now..."

I choked out the words, stumbling backward, retreating into the shadow of the crowd.

Sylvia's chest heaved violently. She was just about to shove Lucas aside and come at me again.

Then, suddenly.

Hiss.

A snake, black and red banded, slid out of some vent. As if lured, it went straight through the crowd and coiled around Sylvia's calf.

Cold. Slick.

Sylvia looked down.

"AAAAHHHHH...!!!"

The shriek nearly pierced the manor's roof. "Snake! There's a snake!"

The hall erupted into chaos. Men and women in couture screamed and scattered, knocking over the champagne tower, the sound of shattering glass blending into one.

"Get it off! Get it off!"

Sylvia went mad. She kicked frantically in place like a clown, but the snake clung to her ankle, coiling tighter and tighter. Her foot twisted, and she crashed to the floor, all dignity gone, amid broken glass and spilled wine.

Arthur was bellowing for security.

I stood at the edge of the chaotic crowd, a glass of red wine in my hand.

Watching the high and mighty socialite roll on the ground screaming like a rat in a gutter.

I took a light sip of wine, and in my amber eyes the smile was cold and delighted.

The lure my godfather gave me worked as perfectly as ever.