Chapter 150
~ Franklin ~
The mont Patricia’s call ca through, a wave of relief crashed over . Octavia was awake. After days of agonizing silence and the sterile hum of hospital machines, she had finally opened her eyes. I was sitting in my grandfather’s private ward when the news reached , my hand still resting on the edge of his bed as if willing him to stir. Without wasting a second, I rushed down the corridor, heart pounding with a mixture of hope and dread.
When I stepped into her room, the sight of her sitting up—pale but conscious—should have filled with joy. Instead, her eyes t mine with a guarded distance that sent a chill through my chest. I moved closer, arms opening instinctively for an embrace. She allowed it, but her body remained stiff, almost reluctant. The warmth I had grown used to during her amnesia was gone, replaced by sothing colder, sharper.
I pulled back slightly, searching her face. "Octavia... what’s wrong?"
She looked away for a mont, then t my gaze head-on. Her voice was quiet but steady. "I rember everything now, Franklin."
The words hit like a punch to the gut. "You rembered everything?" I asked, still stunned, my voice barely above a whisper.
"Yes." Her tone carried no excitent, only quiet resignation.
"How...how did it happen? When?" I stamred, my mind racing to piece it together.
"At the ti your secretary kidnapped ," she mumbled, her fingers twisting the edge of the hospital blanket.
For a mont, I didn’t know what to say. Then a tentative smile tugged at my lips. "That’s...that’s good news, I an you’re regaining your mories right?"
"Is it?" She stared at , her eyes glistening with unshed tears.
"It is," I insisted, stepping closer. "Look, we can finally talk about—"
"I rember everything, Franklin," she cut in, her voice gaining strength even as pain laced every word. "Your nude photos that was sent to . The way you called a slut. Every cruel thing you said, every fight, every mont I questioned whether loving you was worth destroying myself. It’s all back."
I flinched at the mory. "Octavia, you know I didn’t an to call you that. I was furious, blind with jealousy and fear. I’m sorry—deeply sorry—for ever saying sothing so vile to you."
She shook her head slowly, a single tear slipping down her cheek. "It’s not just the word ’slut,’ Franklin. It’s everything. Since the day I t you, my life has been a storm I never asked for. Kidnappings, betrayals, constant fear, emotional whiplash... this isn’t the life I dread of. This isn’t the love I wanted for myself."
I felt my throat tighten. "But I thought we had moved past all that. I thought we were okay now. We’ve been through so much together."
"I thought so too," she whispered, her voice breaking. "When I had amnesia, everything felt simpler. Sweeter. But now the mories are fresh again—raw and vivid. They’re carved into . Every ti I look at you, I feel the weight of the pain I’ve endured just because I love you. And I don’t want to keep hurting like this anymore."
Her words landed like shards of glass. Before I could find the right response, the door opened and Patricia stepped in, followed by Dr. Aris and a nurse.
"Sorry for interrupting," Patricia said gently, though her eyes flicked between us with quiet concern. "The doctor wants to run so tests now that Octavia is awake."
"It’s fine," I muttered, stepping back reluctantly. I glanced at Octavia one last ti. "I’m glad you’re awake," I told her softly, even as my chest ached with everything left unsaid.
Dr. Aris offered a professional smile and began his examination, checking her vitals and reflexes with practiced efficiency. A few minutes later, they wheeled her out for more comprehensive lab tests. The room suddenly felt too empty.
Patricia lingered, watching with sympathetic eyes. "She seems angry with you," she observed quietly.
I let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through my hair. "How could you tell?"
"I’ve seen enough broken hearts in this hospital to recognize the signs," she replied. "Is everything okay between you two?"
I hesitated, then decided to be honest. "She’s regained all her mories."
Patricia’s eyes widened in genuine surprise. "She has? She didn’t ntion it to ."
"No, apparently not," I said, shaking my head. "It happened during the kidnapping."
"Wow... that’s actually good news, isn’t it?" Patricia said, though her tone carried uncertainty.
"I hope so," I murmured. "You should let Dr. Aris know, just in case she hasn’t told him yet."
Patricia nodded and left to find the doctor. Alone now, I stood there for a mont, the weight of Octavia’s words pressing down on like lead. The sweet, forgiving version of her that amnesia had given was gone. In her place was the woman who rembered every scar I had left on her heart.
With a deep breath, I turned and made my way back to my grandfather’s private ward.
The sight that greeted there was a brutal reminder of how fragile life had beco. Grandfather Frederick Flemington—once a towering, formidable presence in the business world—lay almost lifeless on the crisp white sheets. His skin, once tanned and vigorous, was now deathly pale, much like Octavia’s had been during her coma. His signature silver hair had dulled to a dusty, lifeless grey. Tubes snaked across his body, and the oxygen mask fogged slightly with each shallow breath.
I sank onto the stool beside his bed, staring at the man who had shaped so much of my life. Guilt twisted in my gut like a knife. If only I could turn back ti. If only I hadn’t dragged him into the chaos of rescuing Octavia. If only I had never told him she was missing that fateful night.
"Hey, Grandpa," I said softly, my voice cracking despite my efforts to stay strong. "How are you doing?"
Of course, he didn’t answer. The steady beep of the heart monitor was the only reply.
I reached out and adjusted the duvet over his frail fra, then gently took his cold hand in mine. "That was a stupid question, wasn’t it? It’s obvious you’re not okay." A bitter laugh escaped , quickly turning into a sigh. "And it’s all because of ."
Tears burned in my eyes as I continued. "I bla myself every single day, Grandpa. I shouldn’t have involved you in saving Octavia. If I hadn’t, you’d still be the strong, commanding man I’ve always known. Instead, here I am, watching you fight for your life while I walk around unhard. It should have been lying here, not you."
My voice broke completely, and quiet sobs shook my shoulders as I clutched his hand tighter. "I’ve hurt you. I’ve hurt Octavia. I’ve hurt everyone who didn’t deserve it, all because of my selfishness and stubbornness. I’m so sorry... so damn sorry."
I wiped my face roughly, then looked up at him with eyes blazing through the tears—eyes filled with raw anger and determination. "But I promise you this, Grandpa. Whoever did this to you will pay dearly. And as for Anthony... that son of a bitch... I will hunt him to the ends of the earth. Before I hand what’s left of him to the police, he’ll wish he had never been born. His life is already over."
The vow settled in my chest like steel. I pulled out my phone and dialed the new private investigator my grandfather had personally recomnded. Detective Tate answered on the first ring.
"Hello, Mr. Flemington. I was just about to—"
"Change of plans, Detective Tate," I interrupted, my voice cold and resolute. "I need you to locate Anthony Rice imdiately. Find out exactly where he is right now. I want results as fast as humanly possible."
"Understood, Mr. Flemington," Tate replied professionally. "I’ll get on it right away."
I ended the call and slipped the phone back into my pocket, staring once more at my grandfather’s still form.
This wasn’t just justice anymore.
This was revenge.
And I intended to savor every mont of it.
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