IN LOVE WITH MY BABY DADDY'S BASTARD BROTHER

Ophelia’s POV

I lay in bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, each crack and shadow more familiar than my own reflection. The alarm on my phone began its relentless beeping, a grim reminder that another day of drudgery awaited. My life had become a grey haze of chores and routine, and even sleep, my one escape, had turned traitor, evading me for days now. With a sigh of exhaustion, I sat up, feeling the weight of another monotonous day settle on my shoulders.

I dragged myself out of bed, the cold floorboards biting at my feet as I got dressed. Opening my door, I shrieked at the sight of Amelia, the house manager, standing stoically outside.

“Would you stop creeping around?!” The words slipped out before I could restrain them.

Amelia’s face, as usual, was an emotionless mask. She was a machine of efficiency, committed to perfection—though in her eyes, perfection was never truly achieved.

“And good morning to you too,” she replied, completely ignoring my outburst. “I don't like having to come find you.”

I glanced at the time on my wristwatch, another one of Amelia’s mandates. “It's not even five yet.”

Amelia pointed down the corridor towards the kitchen. “I want to see you get there in less than a minute.”

Usually, her stern demeanour would intimidate me. Today, I felt a flicker of rebellion. I shrugged off her demand, a small act of defiance bubbling within me.

Approaching my twenty-fifth birthday, a gnawing sense of unfulfillment shadowed my every thought. My life, dictated by choices not entirely my own, felt like a script I was forced to follow.

I walked into the kitchen to find my fellow helps already immersed in preparing breakfast.

Normally, I was on dish duty, but Amelia stopped me. “Miss Carmichael told me last night that she wants her breakfast made by you. You know the usual.”

I had to bite back a smile. Every time Miss Lauren Carmichael, the only daughter of the Carmichael family, asked me to make her breakfast, it was a welcome break from my monotonous routine. Initially, I was suspicious of her friendliness, but over time, our conversations had become a cherished part of my day.

Lauren was very particular about her breakfast, which meant it took time and care to prepare. And frankly, I loved the distraction.

“On it.” I nodded, feeling a small spark of joy as I set to work.

Just as I finished, Amelia appeared again. “Take the breakfast to her room,” she ordered. Even better.

I knocked softly on Lauren’s door. “Good morning, Miss Carmichael. I have your breakfast right here.” I opened the door slowly, careful not to intrude on her privacy.

“Finally,” she replied, her voice tinged with excitement. She rose from her bed, her short silk nightdress shimmering in the morning light as I placed the breakfast on the designated coffee table.

“I’ll leave you to—”

“Have you ever thought of doing something other than this job?” Her question caught me off guard.

Hope flared inside me. Was she offering me a chance to do something different? Anything different?

“Absolutely!” The excitement in my voice was palpable, but Lauren’s slight frown dampened my enthusiasm.

“What can you do apart from cleaning?” Her condescending tone stung, and I wondered what she really wanted from me.

After years at the Carmichael Manor, I had come to understand that the elites were always seeking new ways to amuse themselves, ways to pump up their dopamine levels.

It was a game to them, a game of excess and extravagance. And I, as one of the servants, was their pawn.

“I do a lot around here. I know a little about everything,” I replied, striving to keep my tone steady.

“Hmm... Have you ever planned an event for the elites?” Lauren asked as she sat down, picking up her coffee from the tray I had set down.

I couldn’t help but feel a glimmer of hope as I spoke to Lauren. Maybe, just maybe, this could be my chance to break out of my role as a servant.

The reality was beginning to dawn on me. While I had seen our interactions as forming a bond, I was still the help, and she was wealthier than I could ever imagine.

“Yes, I can.”

“Good. I’ll be taking you with me today,” she said nonchalantly. “I’m organizing an event for some friends and family tomorrow evening, and I need someone to help with the finishing touches.”

“I don’t think Amelia would allow that.”

Lauren paused, the cup hovering near her lips. A wave of panic surged through me—had I just ruined my chance for something different?

She took a sip, and I exhaled, shoulders relaxing. “You’ll never get far with that attitude,” she stated. “If you ever want to get out of this situation, you need to take things. Just because you ask nicely doesn’t mean it will be given to you.”

Easy for you to say, having grown up with rich parents, I thought, but I forced a smile. “We leave in two hours,” she said, waving me off.

I was about to leave when she stopped me. “Come by in an hour so I can see what you’re wearing. I don’t want to be walking around with you looking like I picked you off the street.”

She picked up a piece of bacon, the crunch echoing in the room as she took a bite. “I’m done. You can go.”

I scurried out the door, a mix of excitement and anxiety churning inside me.

Excitement buzzed through me, and I found myself glancing at my wristwatch, counting down the minutes. My wardrobe wasn’t exactly brimming with nice clothes, but I still had a few pieces from when I naively thought I’d go to university. Alfred Carmichael, the patriarch, had deemed it a waste of money, asserting I’d never be more than just the help.

Sometimes, I wondered why I was still here. But today wasn’t a day for self-pity.

I did my usual work for an hour, then went to get ready.

I settled on a casual black floral sundress and an old pair of black flats. Ready to leave, small purse in hand, Amelia walked into my room without knocking. Her expression wasn’t as severe as usual.

I was about to explain why I wasn’t in uniform when she raised her hand to stop me. “I’m just here to warn you. Lauren Carmichael is up to no good. Be careful around her.”

Caught off guard, I could only nod.

“If you need me to pick you up, just call me,” she added before leaving.

I stood there, trying to process what had just happened. She cares about me? Shaking off the surprise, I hurried to avoid being late.

When I entered Lauren’s room, she looked me up and down. “Not bad, but the shoes need to go.” She walked to her closet. “You look like a size six, right?”

I nodded.

She handed me a pair of wedged heels. “You can keep those.”

I spent the next hour helping her get ready, fetching things at her beck and call. I knew I was the help, but her enjoyment of it was palpable. At least she put a little makeup on me. It didn’t transform me, but it certainly enhanced my features.

On this day, I didn’t feel like the help and I wanted to enjoy every moment of it.

We walked into a hotel that Lauren’s father owned. Of course, it would be here, I thought, rolling my eyes.

As we stepped into the conference room, I was surprised to see Byron Carmichael. “And here I thought you hated me too much to show up,” Lauren said, smiling as she hugged him.

“And hello to you too, little sister.”

Lauren hit his arm as she pulled back from the hug. He turned his attention to me. “I see you decided to do a little makeover with the help?”

“Ah,” Lauren said, glancing at me as if she’d forgotten I was there. “We need some wine for the party. They’re in the cellar. Could you go get them?”

I wanted to help, but I had never been here before. Where was the cellar?

Byron chuckled. “I’ll take you.”

I expected Lauren to object, but she smiled instead. “Good to see you can do something.”

And off we went with Byron.