After the house tour ended, Sarah and Clara left Ophelia at the door of her assigned room with a cheerful, "See you later!" The room was warm and tastefully furnished, but now that she was alone, silence settled like a soft blanket.
Ophelia exhaled and turned to the suitcase resting neatly by the bed. She knelt and unzipped it, beginning to unpack with practiced precision. She arranged her modest wardrobe in the pale cream wardrobe, dresses, cardigans, a few comfortable pairs of shoes. Everything was simple, clean, folded neatly. Her toiletries found their place in the adjacent bathroom, and a small woven pouch containing her hair ties, comb, and a tattered paperback novel was set gently in a drawer by the bed.
Lastly, she pulled out a single wooden frame wrapped carefully in cloth.
She unwrapped it and sat down on the edge of the bed, holding the photo in both hands.
It was a picture of the children and staff of Starlight Heaven Orphanage, a group photo taken last spring. Dozens of smiling faces crammed into the frame: boys and girls, the younger ones perched on the laps of the older ones, and the director standing tall at the back. And there she was, in the center, arms around two younger girls, her head tilted in laughter.
Her smile faded into stillness as her thumb brushed across the photo's surface.
Starlight Heaven had been her world for the past ten years. It was all she knew. The strange thing was she didn't know anything before that. Her earliest memory was waking up in the infirmary room of the orphanage, frail and cold, covered in blankets. The director had once told her it took a whole month for her to recover when she was brought in. No one knew her real name. No family came for her. No records matched her.
It was like her first eight years of life had vanished without a trace.
That photo was all she had, her friends, her caregivers. Her family.
And now, she was starting over. In a world of silk curtains and marble floors, far from the cramped dorms and playgrounds of Starlight.
She stared a moment longer, her thoughts far away, until a soft knock at the door broke the silence.
Ophelia quickly placed the photo on the nightstand and stood.
"Come in."
The door opened gently, and Sarah peeked her head inside. Her eyes immediately caught the framed photo.
"Hey," she said, walking in and closing the door behind her. "Sorry if I'm interrupting."
"No, not at all." Ophelia gave a polite smile.
Sarah walked over and glanced briefly at the picture. She didn't ask, didn't stare, just gave a small, understanding nod.
"We know you came straight from the orphanage," she said gently, folding her hands in front of her. "Clara and I heard about it from Mrs. Lian. We just wanted you to know… we admire that. It must've taken a lot to come here alone."
Ophelia said nothing for a second, then gave a quiet, sincere smile. "Thank you."
"And I mean this," Sarah continued, stepping a little closer. "We might just be staff, but this place is a home. And you're part of it now. We'll treat you like family, Ophelia. You're not going to be an outsider here."
Ophelia blinked rapidly, emotions threatening to spill, but she held herself steady. "That means a lot to me," she said softly.
Sarah smiled and lightly touched her arm before clearing her throat. "By the way, the master—Mr. Zhao is back. He'd like to meet you now."
Ophelia's brow lifted. "But… didn't Butler Alfred say he wouldn't be back until dinner?"
"I know," Sarah said with a slight shrug. "He usually comes late, but maybe he closed a deal early today. Or maybe it's because Miss Mei Lin's home for winter break and he wanted to spend some time with her. During school days, they barely see each other, he's always so busy."
Ophelia nodded slowly, a ripple of nerves fluttering in her chest. She glanced once more at the photo on the nightstand, then stood a little straighter.
"All right," she said. "Let's go meet him."
---
Sarah and Ophelia walked side by side along the gleaming corridor, their footsteps muted against the polished floors. The occasional soft exchange passed between them, casual remarks about the weather, how large the house was, but neither said much. A sense of anticipation hung in the air.
As they reached a grand wooden door at the far end of the hallway, Sarah paused and turned to her with a small smile.
"He's inside. You can go in," she said gently. "He's expecting you."
Ophelia nodded, a slight flutter of nervousness rising in her chest. She took a deep breath and raised her hand.
Knock, knock.
A calm, low voice came from within. "Come in."
She pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The study was quiet, the scent of cedarwood and old paper faint in the air. Golden winter light streamed through the tall windows, casting a serene glow across the room. By the window sat a man in a deep leather chair, his long legs crossed leisurely.
Zhao Liwei.
His presence was immediate and arresting. He wore a sharply tailored charcoal suit that sculpted his frame to perfection, broad shoulders, narrow waist, long limbs at ease. A crisp white shirt buttoned up to the collar emphasized his clean, refined style. No tie. No accessories. Just simplicity and command.
His whole aura felt as though it had been chiseled from ice and silence, an ancient calm cloaking his posture, as if nothing in the world could shake him. Regal, distant, compose like an emperor lost in thought.
Ophelia stood quietly for a moment, uncertain how to announce herself. Her eyes, involuntarily, lingered on him.
She remembered what Sarah and Clara had said: "You won't be surprised to find Mei Lin beautiful once you see her father."
They weren't exaggerating.
Zhao Liwei's features were remarkably handsome. Angular cheekbones softened by an elegant jawline, pale skin smooth and cool under the daylight, and lips set in a firm but not unkind line. His thick, raven-black hair was neatly combed back, not a strand out of place. He looked timeless, ageless. And when his dark eyes lifted to meet hers, they were like deep oceans, calm, dark, and impossible to read.
The intensity of his gaze pierced through her, cool and unwavering. Her breath caught slightly in her throat.
Zhao Liwei's eyes lingered on the young woman standing before him.
The girl was… unexpected.
She stood with quiet poise, but everything about her appearance contradicted her shy demeanor. Her beauty was striking, almost unreal. Her face was a perfect harmony of features, sculpted with delicate precision: soft cheekbones, a petite nose, long lashes framing her crystal-clear gray-blue eyes. Her lips were full and pink, even without color. Framed by her long golden-blonde hair that cascaded down in soft waves, she looked like a porcelain figure brought to life.
She had a regal bearing in spite of her youth. Her tall, slender frame carried an elegance far beyond her years. A narrow waist, long legs, and full proud breasts, curves that would turn heads in any room. Her skin was milk-pale, unblemished, almost glowing in the golden light filtering through the window.
She didn't look eighteen.
She didn't look like she came from an orphanage.
She looked like someone who had stepped out of an aristocratic painting.
Zhao Liwei remained still, observing her in silence.
And Ophelia, feeling the weight of his gaze, summoned her voice at last.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Zhao," she said quietly, her voice clear but gentle.
A pause stretched between them.
Then Zhao Liwei gave a subtle nod. "You must be Ophelia Grace."
"Yes, sir."
"Come closer," he said, his voice smooth and restrained.
Ophelia took a few steps forward, heart thudding softly beneath her ribs.
Zhao Liwei closed the book he had been holding and leaned slightly forward. The way he examined her wasn't rude, but it was… assessing. Careful. As though she were a puzzle he intended to solve.
"Have a seat," he gestured to the chair opposite his. "There are a few things I'd like to say to you."