by D. S. Ryelle
Ophelia
Ophelia: Second Kindle Edition (copyright 2013 by D.S. Ryelle)
Text and cover design copyright 2010 by D.S. Ryelle.
OsCorp Executive Tower retrieved from Google Image Search.
All rights reserved. Published by DarkMoon Publishing, in association with CreateSpace Publishing, Inc. DarkMoon and the DarkMoon logo are trademarks of DarkMoon International.
Harry Osborn, Norman Osborn and all other Spider-Man characters, names and related indicia are trademarks of Marvel, Inc. Ophelia Osborn, Eduardo Miraz, David Westbrooke and all other original characters, names and related indicia are trademarks of DarkMoon International.
No part of this publication may be reproduced in whole or in part, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher.
AISN: *
DarkMoon Publishing: a Division of Darkmoon International (Lansing, Michigan)
To W. James Remar,
who is nothing short of phenomenal.
Te amo.
Contents
Prologue
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Elizabeth
Normie
Glossary
Acknowledgements
Prologue
Friday,
December 14, 2002
The knock was so soft; Ophelia nearly took it for her fiancé’s heartbeat. She lingered on Eduardo’s chest a moment longer.
“Do you want me to get it?”
Ophelia shook her head as she sat up and reached for her robe. “If it is half seven on a Saturday morning, it is probably important.”
The knock sounded again.
“Just a moment!”
“Hurry, Ophelia!” David, her bodyguard.
“Make that very important!” Ophelia called over her shoulder as she headed toward the bedroom door.
“Come out here, please,” David said.
Ophelia tried to invite him into the sitting room, but a sharp look caused her to softly close the door to her suite.
“Are you familiar with a man who calls himself Thomas Harris?” her bodyguard asked in Irish.
“Not that I recall.”
“Mr. Harris says he is a junior associate with Laurier, Fitzwilliam and Morris of New York. He told me he is here on the behalf of one of the partners, Michael Laurier.”
“Michael Laurier is my father’s solicitor.” Ophelia hesitated. “What does Mr Harris have to say that could not wait for office hours at the atelier?”
“If Harris is to be believed, your father was killed in an accident on November twenty-second.”
She paled. The only way for Ophelia to stop her tears was to remind herself that the message could be a hoax.
“Have my assistant call the solicitor’s firm and verify Mr Harris’s claim.”
“Nicole is standing by…I wanted to receive your permission before she called.”
She nodded and turned toward the door.
“Ophelia?”
The young woman glanced at her bodyguard.
“Are you going to be okay?” he asked in English.
“For now. It is likely that Mr Harris is merely deceiving us.”
David touched her shoulder. “Stay in your suite. I don’t want you or Eduardo moving about the house until the situation is clear.”
Ophelia nodded, then reached out and hugged him impulsively.
“I’ll help you sort this out,” he whispered. “I promise.”
Forty-five minutes later, Ophelia and her fiancé were showered, dressed and waiting restlessly for David’s return.
“I’m hungry. Let’s call for breakfast.”
Ophelia looked anxiously at the door, but didn’t respond.
“¿Corazón?”
“Your hunger will have to wait!” she snapped.
Eduardo tried to put on a good-natured smile. “Are you afraid to try David’s patience?”
“Doubtless the entire compound is under lockdown,” Ophelia said. “If anyone is allowed to use the water closet, I should be surprised.”
He was prepared to tease her out of her tense mood, but was interrupted by a knock at the door.
“Hold your peace, if only for a few moments!” she growled.
Ophelia slipped out, trying not to appear startled when she noticed that David’s expression had not changed.
“You need to be in New York by the solstice, Ms. Osborn.”
The young woman felt ill. Her bodyguard had only called her Ms. Osborn once, on her eighteenth birthday, when he abandoned “miss” in deference to her age.
“I told the atelier staff that you would address them at the top of the hour. Nicole is rushing to finish a briefing for you to peruse in the car and I have informed your chief of staff that you will address the household upon your return.”
David hesitated upon noticing that Ophelia had propped herself against the wall. “Are you all right?”
“Hmm?”
He had been speaking English, but the words had swirled around in her ears and muddled her brain, making it sound as if he had chosen Welsh or perhaps Ancient Persian. After a moment, Ophelia repeated her instructions and David guided her away.
~*~
“I was hoping that I would not have to make this announcement for several more years…” Ophelia tried not to sigh. “I will be leaving for the States on the morrow. My father passed from this earth three weeks ago and—to my knowledge—I am the executor of his estate. I do not know when I shall return, or whether return is even possible.”
A low murmur suffused the crowd, but she held up her hand.
“Mr Miraz and Ms Crawford will be entrusted with the completion of my current collection. Following the presentation of the collection in Milan, Mr Miraz will complete the closure of the atelier and join me in New York. You will be advised of the future of Golden Rose Design as soon as we are aware of the circumstances surrounding my father’s death.”
One
Friday,
December 21, 2002
Harry Osborn strode out of the conference room, bent on going straight to the liquor cabinet at home, but heartache stood in the way. The heartache who claimed to be his sister.
Everything about her, from the curve of her lips to the wave of her hair, spoke volumes as to why his father might have loved her, biological child or no. Ophelia was nearly eye-to-eye with Harry, slender curves radiating down her graceful form; as if she had coalesced into life, instead of having a mother like everyone else. She took down her French twist, her auburn hair shading frosty violet eyes; but Harry was too busy concentrating on his sister’s unusual command of the English language to realize she was saying anything of importance.
“…only has one class on Fridays. I am sure she would be happy to provide a swab and send it via express post.”
Is she talking about that damn maternity test again? Harry wondered. Ophelia had first raised the topic when he tried to tell the attorney that he was an only child.
“I don’t know how you plan on doing that, unless you don’t mind going to the expense of exhuming the body.”
“We could do a paternity test,” she said, misunderstanding. “But it would be far simpler to obtain a sample from Mother…far less costly, too.”
“Why do you keep talking about M
om like she’s alive?” Harry demanded. “She died from leukemia when I was three months old!”
“Athair lied to you,” she said softly. “Leukaemia was a story he made up to hide the divorce. Máthair has been living in Dublin with her second husband for eighteen years now. I lived in Dublin myself until age fourteen.”
Harry frowned. This was too hard to believe.
“Why hasn’t she called? Why hasn’t she visited?”
“Máthair did not want to stay away, but with the way the marriage ended, she thought it was best to eliminate all contact.”
Ophelia’s tenderness only riled her brother’s anger.
“It’s been heaven, then? Positively blissful?” Harry sneered. “It must seem like a game to you, to bask in Mom’s love all these years and then snatch Dad’s fortune as soon as he’s gone!”
“It has not been lovely at all, Harry!” she cried. “Athair tried to be there for me, but his business was always more important—I only saw him when he came to the Pacific Rim. Máthair tries, but never hard enough. Our stepfather, Aidán, feigned interest for the first year or so, but Máthair is all he cares for.”
Ophelia sighed and for the first time, Harry noticed that she seemed upset and perhaps hurt.
“David, my bodyguard, is the only one who has ever really been there for me. My fiancé wants me to force David to retire now that we are marrying, but with OsCorp in my hands, there is no way that I can let him go.
“Believe me, Harry…I did not come all the way from Australia just to ruin your life. I have been training as the ‘Archduchess of the Osborn Empire’ for many years.”
“Suppose you are my sister,” he said after a few tense moments. “How is it that the company goes to you and not me?”
“Did Athair have to spell everything out for you? I am the eldest child. The estate and all of our father’s property and assets are mine.”
Harry gaped, unable to form words.
“Had you come first, it still would not have mattered. If you were Athair, to whom would you bequeath your empire? The academic layabout or the genius who began university at fourteen, an apprenticeship already in hand?”
“I was not lazy!” he growled. “I’ll tell you the same thing I told Dad—those pretentious schools weren’t for me!”
Ophelia brushed aside the battle of wills. “I need your decision, little deartháir. My fiancé is expecting a call from me and I have an empire to run.”
Harry stared at his sister for a moment, amazed at how truly like “Stormin’ Norman” she really was.
~*~
A headache was building near the base of her skull.
“I never said I had any intention of selling OsCorp. My father entrusted me with the care and keeping of his company for ten years after his death and I intend to fulfil that trust.”
“What about the atelier?”
“It will remain closed,” Ophelia replied. “I will not know how much work I have ahead of me until I meet with the department heads and hold debriefing sessions. Nevertheless, I am positive that there will be too much work for me to return to Golden Rose Design any time soon.”
“We will not be getting married.”
“I do not believe I started this conversation by saying that I loved you any less than I did when I left three days ago, Eduardo.” Ophelia was working to keep her voice even. “I began by saying that I received control of OsCorp Industries and that I have a lot of work ahead. I did not say anything about cancelling the wedding. We will have to wait and see how things turn out.”
As she said this, her shoulders began to ache. Ophelia could almost see her fiancé’s response written in the air in front of her.
“I don’t think you’re committed to this relationship anymore.”
Ophelia’s breath hissed out from between her teeth. “If you think for one minute—”
“But perhaps I should be less worried about my wedding and more worried about yours. Tell me …have you and your bodyguard eloped?”
“Ophelia?”
David entered the library and spotted a form swathed in blue sprawled on the divan.
“Ophelia, are you all right?”
The young woman sat up, a fall of auburn hair framing her reddened face.
“I am cancelling the handfasting.”
“Did Eduardo say something to make you upset?”
“He said…he said…” Ophelia’s next words caught on a sob and came out as a near shriek. “Eduardo asked if we had eloped!”
David crossed the room in a few easy strides and took her into his arms as he slid onto the divan. He silently handed her tissue after tissue until he felt that she was well enough to speak.
“Is it possible that you might have said something to give him that idea?”
“I have not mentioned your name recently!” Ophelia protested. “I told him that Athair had left me the company and quite a few other things, and when I had finished, Eduardo asked me when I intended to sell OsCorp.”
“What was your reply?”
“I repeated that Athair has been reminding me of my duty to House Osborn for many years.” She reached up and squeezed her bodyguard’s hands. “I told him that my father had asked that I run his company for a decade after his death and that I have every intention of honouring that request.”
“I assume he asked about the handfasting?”
“I told Eduardo that the ceremony would have to wait until things are a little more settled here.”
“That was all you said?”
“It was all I could say!” Ophelia remonstrated. “When I mentioned postponing our handfasting, he said that he thought I was not committed to our relationship any longer and then levelled the accusation of infidelity!”
“You didn’t give him an idea when he might see you again? Even if it meant you had to fly him out here?”
Ophelia tried to pull away, but David held her fast.
“Are you saying that the dissolution of my engagement is all my fault? That I deserve this pain, because I did nothing to soothe his huge Spanish ego?”
“I’m saying that jealousy has made Eduardo irrational.” David handed her a few more tissues, as the change in topic had caused more tears. “You came into additional wealth, a new home overseas and many other things he may be unaware of. He expected you to ask him along and instead, you told him to stay home like a ‘good little boy’.
“I’m not making excuses for your former fiancé; rather, I am reminding you that under the veil of envy, any man could be held suspect. Even your own brother.”
Ophelia closed her eyes and tried to relax by synchronizing her breathing with David’s.
“Will he come back?”
“If he truly loves you, Ophelia, then yes,” her bodyguard replied. “If he does not, then consider it a blessing. Be thankful for the lessons you have learned from this relationship, and that the engagement ended before you were stuck in a loveless marriage.”
Two
Thursday,
January 2, 2003
“Who is in charge of the Bathurst Project?”
“We are!” chorused a pair of voices.
“Your preliminary report is overdue! Dr Osborn’s notes say that he granted you an extension shortly before Thanksgiving and recommended that none further be given. Have the report on my desk by the start of business on Monday.”
Natalie, Ophelia’s new assistant had met the new owner and her bodyguard at the front entrance of the Norman E. Osborn Executive Tower—the rest of the crowd had accumulated as the trio made its way to Ophelia’s office. Some were taking notes on their BlackBerrys, while others were holding out digital recorders to catch the new chief executive officer’s every word. David strongly suspected that the rest were hangers-on, looking for the prestige afforded by being in Ophelia’s entourage, but as long as they were not posing a threat, he held his silence.
“I need to see those responsible for the Enfield bid immediately upon arrival. We—”
<
br /> Ophelia stopped and cursed in the first language that came to mind.
“Mr Westbrooke?”
“Yes, Ms. Osborn?”
Ophelia’s abrupt halt had created a minor dust-up, causing her bodyguard to be delayed in reaching her side.
“What do you think this looks like?”
David stepped protectively toward Ophelia before following her gesture down the corridor.
“Two security guards, Madame.”
“Did you post them?”
“No, Madame.” He looked at Ophelia. “I am the only protection you need.”
“Ms Thomas?”
“Yes, Ms. Osborn?” Her voice came from somewhere near Ophelia’s left elbow as Natalie struggled to her feet.
“Did you post these gentlemen outside my office?”
There was a pause as Natalie turned her gaze in that direction.
“No, Ms. Osborn. I figured you’d bring your own security detail, if you had any at all.”
Ophelia shot a look at her assistant and her bodyguard simultaneously. After a moment, the young executive strode away from the group, her bodyguard struggling to keep up.
“I assume you have a plan?” David pressed.
“Confront them,” Ophelia replied. “My little brother is not going to scare me away from my company. By this point, it is trespassing.”
Ophelia reached the end of the corridor in record time and held out her hand.
“Identification badges.”
“I beg your pardon?” asked the guard on her left.
“Give me your identification badges.”
The guards looked at each other, shrugged and handed them over. Ophelia maintained eye contact with both as she ripped the badges in half.
“Call human resources later this afternoon and tell them you need to schedule your disciplinary hearing. For now, you are fired.”