Between Love and Ruin

I walked into the living room to find Ophelia by the mantel. She was holding one of the few family photos left… a picture of me and my mother… before the illness killed her.

"What are you doing?" I yelled, my voice piercing through the room.

Ophelia turned, still holding the frame. "Reorganizing," she said lightly. "This space could use a bit more… balance."

"That's my mother's," I said, stepping closer, reaching for the photo.

Her grip tightened, just for a moment, before she let it go. "Of course," she said with a smile.

I stared at her clutching the frame to my chest, like it was a lifeline. Her gaze didn't waver.

"You know," she said softly, "I think we got off on the wrong foot."

I didn't respond.

She tilted her head, studying me. "I'm not trying to replace her, Maria. I know how much she meant to you."

The words sounded kind, almost empathetic but they rang hollow in my ears. She didn't know. No one could.

Without a word, I turned and walked out of the room.

Later that night, I found my father in his study. The room felt colder than it used to, the shelves too were neatly arranged. He sat at his chair, his shoulders slumped, his hand resting on a glass of whiskey he hadn't touched.

"Why are you letting her do this?" I asked, breaking the silence.

He didn't look up. "Do what?"

"She's taking everything," I said, stepping closer. "The house doesn't feel like ours anymore. It's hers."

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "Maria, she's not trying to take anything from you."

"She moved Mom's picture," I shot back. "She moved Mom."

"That picture was old." His voice was tired, his words slow. "It didn't fit with the rest of the room."

I stared at him, my chest tightening. "It was Mom's picture."

He didn't respond. His silence spoke louder than anything he could have said.

I shook my head, the lump in my throat making it hard to breathe.

"You're just going to let her erase Mom,"

"Maria…"

"No," I said, stepping back, my voice shaking. "You already have."

I turned and walked out, my heart pounding. I didn't know where I was going, but I couldn't stay in the study with him.

I walked into my room and I noticed an invitation was on my desk, a pristine white envelope with name writted in sharp, elegant script.

I stared at it for a long time before picking it up. "Dinner," it read. "Hosted by Ophelia and Victor."

Victor? I'd never of him before. Is he a brother to her?"

The words "family affair" were scrawled at the bottom in a different hand. My father's. I realized with a sinking feeling.

Family. Why should I attend? I lost the only family I ever had.

My grip on the invitation tightened, crumpling the envelope.

Fine. I'll attend. It's time I showed them what I was really capable of.

The soft murmur of voices downstairs grew louder as I descended the staircase. My heels clicked against the polished wood, each step deliberate, steady.

From the landing, I could see them, Ophelia guests, dressed to perfection, their laughter rising and falling in practiced harmony.

I paused, my hand tightening on the banister. For a moment, I considered turning back. But then I saw her.

Ophelia stood near the fireplace, a glass of champagne in hand, her smile easy and radiant. She laughed at something a man beside her said, leaning slightly, her posture effortless.

Her eyes flicked up, meeting mine. The smile didn't falter, but I could sense something shift, something like acknowledgment?

I straightened, smoothing the hem of my dress. I wasn't here to please her and I certainly wasn't here to be part of her performance.

I stepped into the room.

"Maria," Ophelia said, her voice warm, carrying just enough volume to turn heads. "There you are."

Every pair of eyes followed her gaze, murmuring as they watched me.

"Is that her step-daughter?" a lady questioned.

"She's really pretty." the guest beside her added, licking his lips. "My son would love her."

I kept my expression neutral, ignoring their remarks, nodding briefly as I made my way toward the far end of the room.

"Let me introduce you," Ophelia continued, moving toward me.

I froze as she reached me with an impeccable grace.

"Victor," she said, gesturing to a tall man near center of the room.

He was broad-shouldered, his tailored suit fitting him like a second skin. His smile was polished as he walked towards us, his eyes gleaming with something that made my stomach tighten.

"Ophelia, you look beautiful," he said, taking her hand and gently planting a kiss on her hand. "I don't see some guests whom I'm sure we invited."

"Ohh, the Von Grimm's, I was sure I sent them one but oh well meet my step-daughter, Maria."

Victor turned to me with a gentle smile.

"Maria," he said, his voice deep. He extended a hand, his movements confident. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you."

I hesitated, but only for a moment. My hand met his, my grip firm. "Victor."

His smile widened slightly, though his eyes never softened. "Your father speaks highly of you."

I didn't believe that for a second.

Ophelia placed a hand on Victor's arm, her fingers curling lightly around his sleeve. "Maria is just as remarkable as I'd imagined," she said, her tone dripping with sweetness.

I pulled my hand back, ignoring the way her words settled uncomfortably in the room. "If you'll excuse me," I said, turning toward the bar.