Revenge Of The Jilted Bride (Ophelia)
Jilted Bride 59

Chapter 59

"Elia," Eric said gently, "your shoulders aren't that broad. Don't try to carry the weight of the world. There are too many people in the slums for you to help everyone."

Ophelia could help one or two people replace jobs, but not all of them. Her mind raced through the grim scenarios she'd

witnessed sick people withering away because they couldn't afford medical care, newborns succumbing to the bitter cold, and angry young men whose only problem-solving tool was their fists.

The slums were home to hundreds. It was impossible for her to take care of everyone. She wasn't a savior. She couldn't help them all.

Felix fell silent for a moment, unable to meet Ophelia's gaze. He could only ask his lackeys to go door-to-door, returning the

money.

Ophelia left what cash she had with the old woman and the girl. As she left the slums, she had already pushed Harry's words to the back of her mind.

Anyway, Ophelia had no intention of letting the Hastings family off in this life.

Meanwhile, at the top floor of Hastings Group, Harry had just walked in with his secretary and appraiser when he saw Owen beaming at them.

Owen strode forward, clapping Harry on the shoulder. "Well done, Harry. You've done an excellent job this time."

The auction had barely ended when Owen received numerous congratulatory calls about securing the West End Soccer Field property. He couldn't help but feel a surge of pride. His eldest son had stepped up to the plate and hit a home run on his first solo project. It seemed he could entrust the company to Harry in the future.

However, noticing Harry's uneasy expression, Owen glanced at the secretary and appraiser. All three wore grim faces.

His hand slipped from Harry's shoulder as a sense of foreboding crept in. "What was the final bid?" Owen asked, the earlier celebratory phone calls now taking on a sinister tone. Something had clearly gone wrong.

Gone was the doting father. "Speak," Owen demanded, his voice sharp as steel.

Harry swallowed hard. "80 million dollars..."

"What?" Owen doubted his ears. '80 million dollars?'

The solemn faces before him confirmed this was no joke. Blood rushed to Owen's head, his vision swimming as he struggled to stay upright. Seeing this, Harry quickly moved to support Owen.

Owen, his breath coming in ragged gasps, growled, "How the hell did you let this happen?" His fury was aimed squarely at his two subordinates.

The secretary and the appraiser were both frustrated beyond words. It was not like they had forced Harry to keep raising the bid. They'd had enough of Hastings Group's constant bullying, and now they were being blamed for this mess, too. It was too much.

The appraiser spoke up, his words laced with resentment. "Mr. Owen, it was your son who got into a bidding war. He kept raising the bid out of spite. We tried to stop him, but he wouldn't listen. The paddle was in his hands. He was in charge, right?"

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His unspoken message was clear. Harry had acted on impulse, so they couldn't be blamed. If they had protested too loudly, everyone around them would have found out.

Owen clutched his chest, glaring at Harry.

"Dad, please don't be angry," Harry pleaded. "This... This is all because of Ophelia. She snuck into the auction someho kept outbidding me. That's why I..." He trailed off, unable to finish his excuse for his rash behavior. and

Owen wanted nothing more than to slap him right then and there, but he had to maintain some semblance of respect in front of his subordinates. If they'd been at home, he would have smacked him without hesitation. "Hold up," Owen said, his brow furrowing. "Who did you say was involved?"

"O-Ophelia," Harry mumbled.

"Ophelia?" Owen's frown deepened. Without the reminder, he'd almost forgotten he had such a daughter. "Gosh, Harry. When did you become as brainless as your brother? Huh? You should have just let her have it. It's not like she could afford it anyway. And even if she did buy it, it'd still be Hastings property. Why are you getting worked up over her?"

Harry stood there, thoroughly dressed down and stripped of any remaining dignity. He didn't dare open his mouth. He just hung his head like a guilty schoolboy.

"After I bid above the asking price, neither of them tried to stop me." Harry tried to shift the blame, and his usually composed image completely shattered.

The scene unfolding left both the secretary and the appraiser speechless. They realized that if Hastings Group were to fall into Harry's hands in the future, bankruptcy wouldn't be far behind. They'd be better off replaceing new employment while they still could.

The secretary spoke up. "Mr. Harry, are you forgetting something? You said, and I quote, 'I'm the manager, so you have to listen to me,' and 'It's not like Hastings Group can't afford this'. Don't you remember?"

The appraiser chimed in, "I'm sorry, Mr. Owen, but I can no longer fulfill my role as an appraiser for Hastings Group. I'll send my resignation letter to your email shortly."

"Mr. Harry, you'll be receiving my resignation letter as well," the secretary added firmly.

The two men bowed slightly and left the office, not even giving Owen a chance to ask them to stay.

"Dad, see?" Harry said. "They know they messed up. Too ashamed to stay here anymore..."

"Shut your mouth!" Owen snapped, grabbing a document off his desk and hurling it at Harry. He collapsed into his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose as he racked his brain for a solution. The phone on his desk kept buzzing, no doubt a flood of sarcastic well-wishers. For a man like Owen, who prided himself on his reputation, becoming the laughingstock of Dellanex was a bitter pill to swallow. The thought made his blood boil.

'Eighty million dollars for a piece of land in the West End?' Owen sighed inwardly. 'Have he lost his mind?'

"You," he barked at Harry, "contact Ophelia. Find out which company she was representing. We're willing to offer them 77 million dollars."

"Dad... You want me to beg her?" Harry asked incredulously.

Owen continued, his tone a mix of accusation and bargaining, "You choose - a seven-million-dollar loss or a 27-million-dollar loss. I'm not even asking you to contact her directly, just the company she's with."

Harry reluctantly agreed, though inwardly, he bristled at the thought of reaching out to Ophelia. He was determined to replace

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Chapter 59

a way to resolve this on his own.

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After returning from the slums, Ophelia had holed herself up in Kenneth's study, delving into the history of the impoverished area.

She pondered over the land reclamation project from years ago wondering what materials they had used that could have transformed into such toxic substances and how it had rendered the area undevelopable for so long.

If Ophelia could solve this puzzle, perhaps the slums could be redeveloped. Maybe that would address the root of the problems plaguing the area.

Suddenly, her phone chimed, interrupting her thoughts. Ophelia yawned, her vision momentarily blurring. Glancing at her phone, she realized it was past midnight.

Ophelia still felt awkward using this new phone. To put it dramatically, it felt like holding a brick. Ever since Kenneth had tossed her old phone, he'd replaced it with one covered in green diamonds.

The gaudy, green-studded device made her question Kenneth's taste countless times. To make matters worse, it was a custom model with no available cases. Using it was truly uncomfortable.

A message from Sharon popped up: [Elia, don't forget you promised to visit the set tomorrow for our first day of shooting.]

Ophelia had nearly forgotten about her weekend obligations. Saturday loomed, and the thought of asking Kenneth for time off sent a shiver down her spine. His methods always kept her on edge.

As Ophelia continued browsing web pages on her computer, she unknowingly drifted off to sleep, leaning back in her comfortable chair, her delicate hand still resting on the mouse.

She fell into a deep slumber, especially after catching a whiff of a familiar, cool scent that made her sleep even more soundly.