I Married My Ex's Billionaire Father-Chapter 297: By Request Of Her Grandmother

Years of training, self-imposed, brutal, meticulous kept her face smooth, her posture elegant, her breathing measured. Only when she was certain her expression betrayed nothing did she lift two fingers slightly, beckoning her assistant closer.

When he leaned in, she did not turn her head. She did not raise her voice. Her lips barely moved as she hissed, low and sharp,

"What the hell is she doing here?"

Her chin tilted a fraction of an inch.

The assistant followed the direction of her gaze and stiffened.

Lyse.

She was unmistakable, standing out among the sea of black-clad mourners not because she was loud or dramatic, but because she carried herself as if she belonged. An ankle-length black dress skimmed her frame, simple and elegant, devoid of embellishment. Her hair was pinned back neatly, her face bare of excessive makeup, pale and composed.

At her side was Levi.

He guided her through the crowd with subtle authority, one hand resting protectively at the small of her back. Not possessive, deliberate. As though the room itself were hostile terrain and Lyse the only thing worth shielding.

Ophelia felt something ugly coil in her chest.

Look at them, she thought bitterly. Walking through this house as if it’s theirs. As if they have the right to be here in my house.

Her jaw tightened with anger that she was unable to push all the way down.

"Tell me," she whispered, voice calm but threaded with steel, "why those two are here."

"I, I don’t know, Ms. Welhaven," the assistant stammered, beads of sweat breaking along his hairline. "They must have received invitation cards. Otherwise, security wouldn’t have let them past the gate in the first place."

Ophelia’s fingers curled against her palm.

"Why," she ground out softly, "would they get an invitation? I am sure i did not have one sent."

The assistant swallowed hard but had no answer. It was not his duty to deal with the invitations and Ophelia knew, she just needed someone to vent on.

Before the silence could stretch into suspicion and speculation, Ophelia turned gracefully toward an approaching guest, her face transforming instantly.

"Thank you so much for coming," she said warmly, accepting murmured condolences with a nod and a hand to her chest. "It means a great deal to us and my mother would have been so happy."

Inside, her thoughts were fractured into tiny pieces all struggling for relevance.

Lyse and Levi had not forced their way in. That much was clear. Welhaven security did not make mistakes, and no amount of name-dropping could bypass the gates without proper authorization.

Which meant that invitations had actually been issued.

And Ophelia had not sent them. So who had?

The realization made her stomach feel like concrete had been poured in.

She drifted through the remainder of the wake on instinct alone, answering questions, accepting embraces, murmuring polite reassurances while her mind raced. Again and again, her gaze discreetly flicked back to Lyse, noting every detail.

Thankfully, Lyse did not approach her.

Did not linger for attention.

Did not attempt to strike conversation.

She spoke quietly with a handful of guests, older ones, Ophelia noticed. People who had known the family for decades. People who looked at Lyse with a hint of recognition as Levi did introductions.

Levi remained close, his presence subtle but unmistakable, intercepting glances, guiding Lyse when the room became too crowded. Together they moved like they had rehearsed this, like they knew exactly how to exist in Welhaven House without drawing fire.

That, more than anything, unsettled Ophelia.

By the time the wake ended, Lyse and Levi had vanished as seamlessly as they had appeared. No confrontation. No explanation. No scandal.

Just absence.

Ophelia did not allow herself to think that it was over and she barely slept that night.

An investigation was yet to reveal how the invitations had been sent out, but she had confirmed that Lyse and Levi had shown what had seemed to be actual invitation cards addressed in their names and Ophelia wondered if Levi had done orchestrated that in order to rattle her.

’It had sure worked.’

As she lay awake in her childhood bedroom, staring at the ceiling, replaying the image of Lyse walking through the house over and over until it began to feel less like a coincidence and more like a warning.

Why now?

Why here?

And who invited you?

Morning came gray and heavy.

The cemetery was draped in solemn stillness, the air damp with recent rain. Black umbrellas dotted the grounds like shadows as mourners gathered around the open grave. Ophelia stood at the front, immaculate in her mourning attire, spine straight, chin lifted, every inch the grieving daughter.

She delivered her role flawlessly.

But when movement caught her peripheral vision, her composure faltered.

Lyse was there.

Again.

This time, there was no crowd to swallow her presence, no ballroom buzz to mask the tension. She stood beside Levi near the edge of the gathering, hands folded neatly in front of her, eyes fixed on the casket with a solemnity that did not appear performative.

Ophelia’s chest tightened.

They did not belong here.

When the ceremony concluded and guests began to disperse, Ophelia waited. She allowed others to pass, accepted final condolences, lingered just long enough to ensure privacy.

Then she moved.

She intercepted them near the cemetery gate, her heels crunching against gravel as she stepped directly into their path.

Levi noticed immediately.

His body shifted subtly, placing himself half a step in front of Lyse, not blocking Ophelia, but making a statement. Lyse’s gaze lifted calmly, meeting Ophelia’s without flinching.

Ophelia smiled.

It was sharp. Polite. Dangerous.

"Levi," she said smoothly, as though greeting an old acquaintance. "I must say, I’m surprised to see you here."

"Are you?" Levi replied evenly.

Ophelia’s eyes flicked briefly to Lyse before returning to him. "Today is not a day for visitors. This is a private family matter."

Levi did not move aside.

Instead, he said calmly, clearly, in a voice that carried just enough to be unmistakable,

"Lyse is here as family, by request of her grandmother."