43:A Familiar Face

A Familiar Face

The orchestra resumed playing as guests drifted toward the exhibition hall.

Conversations filled the ballroom once again, but Ophelia's thoughts remained fixed on one person.

Professor Harold Bennett.

His reaction hadn't been that of a man trying to be polite.

It had been genuine.

He truly believed he had seen her before.

Or...

Someone who looked remarkably like her.

"Are you alright?"

Ethan's gentle voice pulled her back to the present.

She smiled.

"I'm fine."

"You've been unusually quiet."

"I was just thinking about the professor."

Ethan glanced across the ballroom.

"Oh, Professor Bennett?"

"Yes."

"He looked surprised when he met me."

Ethan smiled reassuringly.

"Don't worry about him. He's getting older. Sometimes he confuses faces."

Ophelia nodded politely.

But deep down...

She wasn't convinced.

At the other end of the hall, Professor Bennett stood alone, staring into his glass of sparkling water.

He could not shake the feeling in his chest.

The young woman.

Her eyes.

The calm way she observed people.

It reminded him of someone he had met years ago.

Someone whose name he couldn't quite remember.

He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and removed an old business card.

The ink had faded with time.

He looked at it for several seconds before slipping it back into his pocket.

"Perhaps..."

"I'm simply getting old."

Nathan watched the professor from a distance.

He had noticed the hesitation.

The uncertainty.

The repeated glances toward Ophelia.

He quietly walked over.

"Professor."

The older man smiled warmly.

"Nathan."

"I hope you're enjoying the evening."

"I am."

Nathan lowered his voice.

"You seemed distracted a few moments ago."

Professor Bennett hesitated.

"I met Ethan's guest."

"And?"

The professor smiled awkwardly.

"For a moment, I thought I knew her."

Nathan remained silent.

"I suppose I was mistaken."

Nathan nodded politely.

"It happens."

The conversation ended there.

But Nathan's curiosity had only grown stronger.

Meanwhile...

Ophelia wandered into the gallery's east wing.

Unlike the bustling ballroom, this section was peaceful.

Only a handful of guests admired the paintings displayed along the walls.

She stopped before a landscape painting of a quiet lakeside village.

A small brass plaque beneath it read:

"Every painting tells a story. The question is whether you're willing to see it."

She smiled.

"A beautiful thought."

"So you noticed it too."

A woman's voice came from behind her.

Ophelia turned.

Standing beside her was a graceful woman in her early fifties, dressed in a simple black evening gown.

Her silver brooch caught the light.

"I'm sorry," the woman said with a warm smile.

"I didn't mean to startle you."

"You didn't."

"I've seen you with Ethan."

"I'm Ophelia."

The woman extended her hand.

"Lillian Moore."

"I've been a close friend of the Ashford family for many years."

They shook hands.

Lillian's smile was kind.

"I hope you won't mind a little advice."

Ophelia tilted her head.

"I'm listening."

"If you're going to be part of Ethan's life..."

She paused.

"Protect your heart."

Ophelia looked at her curiously.

"Why do you say that?"

Lillian glanced toward the ballroom.

"The Ashfords are good people."

Another pause.

"But every powerful family has shadows."

Before Ophelia could ask another question, someone called Lillian's name.

"I must go."

She smiled once more.

"It was lovely meeting you."

Then she disappeared into the crowd.

Ophelia remained where she was.

"Every powerful family has shadows."

Those words echoed in her mind.

As the gala drew to a close, Ethan walked Ophelia to the entrance.

"I'm sorry if tonight became overwhelming."

She shook her head.

"I enjoyed it."

"I'm glad."

He hesitated.

"Can I see you again this weekend?"

She smiled.

"I think that can be arranged."

His face brightened.

As Ethan opened the car door for her, neither of them noticed a figure standing across the street.

Hidden beneath the shadow of an old oak tree.

The figure lifted a phone.

"I've confirmed it."

A cold voice answered.

"Confirmed what?"

The figure never took his eyes off Ophelia.

"She's asking the right questions."

The call ended.

The stranger slipped into the darkness.

And somewhere...

The first move against Ophelia had already begun.