Chapter 109
~ Clinton ~
I didn’t rember the drive.
Not clearly.
The city blurred into streaks of steel and light, horns blaring sowhere far away, but none of it registered. All I knew was one thing—repeating like a heartbeat in my chest.
She was awake.
Octavia was awake.
That single truth drowned out everything else. For days I had replayed the image of her lying motionless in that hospital bed, pale and unreachable, the steady beep of machines the only sign she was still fighting. Now she had opened her eyes. The thought pushed my foot harder on the gas, made every red light feel like a personal insult and every slow car ahead of an unbearable barrier.
My grip tightened on the steering wheel until my knuckles ached. "She’s awake..." I muttered under my breath, the words tasting like hope and fear twisted together. Because seeing her again ant facing the truth I’d been avoiding: how much she still ant to . How the pull between us had never really faded, no matter how hard I tried to bury it.
The Hospital
The mont I stepped through the sliding glass doors, the air changed—cool, sterile, laced with the faint scent of antiseptic and quiet desperation. Fluorescent lights humd overhead like a constant low warning. I walked straight to the front desk, my shoes echoing on the polished floor.
"I’m here to see a patient," I said, voice steady despite the storm inside .
The nurse looked up, professional but firm. "Na of the patient?"
"Octavia Herman."
She typed quickly, eyes scanning the screen. "And your relationship to the patient?"
I didn’t hesitate. "I’m... a good friend of hers."
Her expression remained neutral. "I’m sorry, sir. Only imdiate family mbers are allowed to visit her at the mont."
My jaw tightened. "I just need a few minutes. That’s all."
"I understand," she replied, polite but unyielding. "But those are the rules."
I reached into my pocket and pulled out my ID, holding it out like it might change sothing. "Maybe this helps. I’m not just anyone. I..."
She didn’t even glance at it. "I’m sorry. It doesn’t change the policy."
Frustration flared hot and imdiate. "I’m not asking for special treatnt," I said, leaning forward slightly. "I just need to see her. Make sure she’s okay."
"And I’m telling you I can’t allow that," she repeated, her tone final.
The words landed like a wall I couldn’t climb. I stepped back slowly, running a hand through my hair as the reality settled in. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I had driven here on pure instinct, heart racing with the need to see her eyes open again, to hear her voice, to know she was still the Octavia I rembered. Instead, I was stuck in the sterile hallway, staring at a closed door I couldn’t pass.
I leaned against the wall, exhaling slowly. Maybe I should just leave. The thought twisted uncomfortably. I hadn’t co all this way to walk away empty-handed.
And then...
"Mr. Clinton Harrington?"
I looked up.
Ben Herman, Octavia’s father, stood a few feet away, watching with mild surprise etched across his weathered face. He looked tired but composed, the kind of quiet strength that ca from holding a family together through crisis.
"I rember you," he said slowly. "You were here the other day, weren’t you?"
I straightened imdiately. "Yes, sir."
He studied for a long mont, eyes searching. "What are you doing here?"
"I ca to see Octavia — your daughter," I said honestly, no point in hiding it. "But they won’t let in."
His gaze softened, just a fraction. "They’re strict about that."
"I know," I replied, stepping closer. "But please... sir, I just need a few minutes. That’s all I’m asking. I won’t stay long."
He hesitated, clearly weighing his options, the protective father warring with whatever he’d seen in before. "She’s resting right now," he said finally. "She just fell asleep."
"That’s fine," I said quickly. "I won’t disturb her."
Another pause stretched between us—longer this ti. Then, with a small nod, he relented.
"Alright."
Relief flooded through like cool water.
"But I’ll be there," he added firmly. "You won’t be alone with her."
"That’s fine," I nodded. Anything was fine. As long as I could see her.
Inside the Ward
The room was quieter than I expected, the only sounds the soft hum of monitors and the distant murmur of the hospital beyond the door. She was asleep, peaceful and still, her chest rising and falling in gentle rhythm. But this ti it was different—because I knew she would wake up. The bandage around her head looked stark against her dark hair, a reminder of how close we’d co to losing her.
I stepped closer slowly, carefully, drinking in every detail: the faint color returning to her cheeks, the way her lashes rested against her skin. She looked fragile yet resilient, the sa woman who had once challenged in boardrooms and made question everything I thought I wanted.
"She’s been through a lot," Ben said quietly behind , his voice low so as not to wake her.
"I know," I replied, eyes never leaving her face. The weight of those words settled deep—guilt for the part I might have played in her stress, hope that she could still find her way back to herself.
"Why do you want to see her so badly?" he asked suddenly, the question cutting through the quiet like a blade.
I paused, the answer far from simple. "She ans a lot to ," I said finally, the words heavy with truth I rarely admitted aloud. "She’s... soone who is special to . She’s the best."
I glanced back at him briefly, seeing the flicker of understanding—and wariness—in his eyes.
Silence stretched again.
"I care about her," I added, the simplest truth I could offer. It wasn’t enough to explain the complicated pull between us, the history we shared, the feelings I’d tried to bury. But it was honest.
"Dad...?"
Both of us turned instantly.
Octavia’s eyes were open. She blinked slowly, adjusting to the light, confusion softening into recognition as her gaze shifted—and landed on .
For a split second, everything froze.
Then...
"Clinton?"
My heart stopped.
"You’re here..."
I stepped closer instantly, a rush of warmth flooding my chest. "Yes, I am"
She gave a small, tired smile that lit sothing deep inside .
Behind , I heard Ben shift, stunned. "That’s... surprising," he said quietly. "She has amnesia. She doesn’t even rember Franklin. Her husband."
The words hit differently now, a sharp contrast that stirred emotions I didn’t have ti to unpack. But I didn’t care. Because she was looking at , really seeing , and for the first ti in days, the world felt a little less heavy.
"How are you?" I asked gently, keeping my voice soft.
"I’m okay," she said, her words slow but clear. "Just... a little confused and tired."
"That’s normal," I reassured her, offering a small smile. "Take your ti. You don’t have to figure it all out right now."
She nodded slightly, then surprised . "How’s work?"
I let out a quiet laugh, the sound easing the tension in the room. "Still chaotic."
"Figures," she murmured, a faint spark of her old self shining through.
And just like that, it felt... normal. Like nothing had changed.
Except everything had.
"What the hell is going on here?"
The voice cut through the mont like shattering glass.
We all turned.
And there he was.
Franklin.
Standing in the doorway, eyes locked on —burning with fury, betrayal, and sothing raw I didn’t need explained.
The tension snapped into place, thick and electric.
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