I Married My Ex's Billionaire Father-Chapter 291: She Deserved To Die

Ophelia paced the length of the sterile hospital corridor, the sharp, rhythmic click of her designer heels echoing against the linoleum like a ticking clock. She was seething, a cold, pressurized rage bubbling just beneath her perfectly composed exterior. Her hands were clenched so tightly into fists that her manicured nails bit into her palms, but she barely felt the sting.

She had just been informed that the murder attempt on Lyse had failed. Another plan had failed, again.

Every time she thought she had the girl cornered, something or someone intervened. And to make matters worse, it wasn’t just a botched job; Levi had been right there with Lyse when the shooters had tried to carry out the killing. Levi Van Doren was not a man who overlooked "coincidences." What it meant was that Levi was going to use every resource at his disposal to find out who had ordered the hit. And knowing how tenacious he was, how he possessed a bloodhound’s instinct for corruption, he would probably find the men she had hired within forty-eight hours.

She stopped her pacing and stared out a window at the grey city skyline, her mind racing through the logistics of damage control. She would have to find a way to silence the shooters.

Ophelia considered the traditional route, having someone kill the men off before they could talk. But then, a flicker of doubt crossed her mind: who would kill off the new men? It was becoming a recursive nightmare. It felt as if there were a trail of bodies leading directly to her front door, a bloody breadcrumb path that grew longer with every failed attempt. Even though she did not care a whit about the men who were killed while carrying out her orders, they were merely tools, disposable as paper napkins. She worried that if even a single link in the chain was left alive and desperate, they could lead the authorities, or worse, Levi, back to her.

She tapped a finger against her chin, her eyes narrowing. She figured that she could have the men sent out of the city, perhaps out of the country, at least until the furor died down and Levi’s attention was diverted elsewhere. It was a messy solution, but her options were shrinking by the hour.

The sound of a heavy door swinging open snapped her back to the present. She saw a nurse hurrying out of the Intensive Care Unit, her face set in a mask of professional urgency. Ophelia lunged forward, grabbing the woman’s arm with a grip that was far from gentle.

"What is happening with my mother?" she demanded, her voice a sharp, commanding rasp.

The nurse flinched, trying to pull her arm back. "Ms. Welhaven, please. We are trying our best. Her vitals are fluctuating, and the doctor is with her now." The nurse offered a strained, pitying look before hurrying away toward the nurse’s station.

Ophelia watched her go, a sneer curling her lip. "I just wish she would just die already," she muttered under her breath, the words a toxic whisper in the empty hall.

Her mother, Faye Welhaven, was like the proverbial cat with nine lives. For years, she had been a thorn in Ophelia’s side, a lingering remnant of the old guard who held the keys to the family’s true depth of wealth and secrets. Every time it seemed like the woman was finally on her way to the other side, every time the heart monitor faltered or the lungs rattled she would be pulled back right away from the light by some overzealous medical team. Ophelia was sick of waiting for her mother to die. It would just solve so many problems if she would just shuffle off this mortal coil and leave everything to her already. The estate, the remaining trusts, the total, undisputed control of the Welhaven name. It was all hovering just out of reach, tied to a heartbeat that refused to stop.

Ophelia had been woken up in the middle of the night with the news that her mother had been taken to the hospital following a "respiratory event." That had been about seven hours ago, and apparently, the old woman was still kicking, still drawing breath through a machine, still existing out of sheer spite. It felt like she would have to actually take care of things herself eventually, because at this point, if she waited for nature to do its job, her mother would probably outlive her.

And seven hours was enough time to play the part of the filial, devoted daughter. She had been seen in the waiting room, she had spoken to the staff, she had maintained the optics. She hated hospitals, the smell of antiseptic covering the stench of decay, the pale green walls, the sound of suffering behind every door. This hospital was not giving her what she wanted, and her patience had reached its absolute limit. She decided she would be going home to regroup and wait for the phone call she actually wanted to receive.

As she turned and began to walk down the corridor toward the elevators, her mother’s primary physician, Dr. Aris, stepped out of the room.

"Hey, Ms. Welhaven," he called out, his voice heavy. "I need to talk to you."

Ophelia stopped, schooling her features into a mask of weary concern. She turned back, her hand fluttering to her throat. "Oh, Doctor. I was just going to the cafeteria to get some fruit so that my mother can have some later today... if she wakes up. Is there an update?" she lied, the words coming out with practiced ease.

The doctor approached her, his shoulders slumped. He avoided her eyes for a second, a tell-tale sign of a man carrying a burden. "I have some bad news, Ophelia. I’m so sorry. Unfortunately, Mrs. Welhaven just passed. We did everything we could, but her heart simply couldn’t take the strain anymore."

Ophelia felt a jolt of electricity shoot through her. She was so happy, so profoundly relieved, that she almost whooped aloud. She felt a hysterical laugh bubbling up in her throat and had to bite her tongue to keep it down. She just managed to catch herself, forcing her face into a somber, heartbroken expression.

In a move that would have won her an Oscar, she let her knees buckle slightly, collapsing into the doctor’s arms. She began to weep loud, jagged sobs that masked the fact that she was practically dancing inside. She buried her face in his white coat, letting the fake grief pour out of her while her mind began to tally the sheer volume of the inheritance that was now legally, finally hers.

All she could think about was the fact that she was now the sole relative and heir of Mrs. Faye Welhaven. At least, that’s what her mother had thought when she signed the final version of her will. The secrets Faye had kept, the leverage she held, it was all Ophelia’s now.

She would be so rich. So powerful. With Faye gone and Edward buried, there was no one left to tell her ’no.’ She could hire a small army to protect her; she could buy and sell the very people who were currently investigating her. She could do whatever she wanted. A small, rational part of her mind realized that with this much power, she wouldn’t even need to kill Lyse anymore. The girl was a nobody, a struggling designer with no standing. Ophelia could simply crush her financially or ignore her into oblivion.

But then, the image of Lyse’s face flashed in her mind. That face. That haunting, perfect replica of Maeve. 𝚏𝗿𝗲𝐞𝐰𝚎𝕓𝐧𝚘𝘃𝗲𝐥.𝐜𝚘𝕞

The grief-stricken act continued on the outside, but inside, Ophelia’s heart hardened. It wasn’t about the money anymore. It was about the irritation, the pure, visceral itch of knowing that a part of Maeve was still out there living, breathing, being free and happy in a way Ophelia never could be. As long as Lyse existed, Maeve hadn’t truly been defeated.

She deserved to die.