Chapter 34
~ Octavia ~
I decided to start my life over in Queens.
I found a quiet, modern apartnt—a place where no one, especially not Franklin, could find .
After I walked out of the estate, I made the swift decision to clear out my old pre-marriage apartnt, as the landlord needed to rent it out.
I moved every last scrap of my past into my new sanctuary, and the mont the final box was unpacked, I blocked Franklin’s number.
If he ever decides he’s actually ready to face the reality of our divorce, he can co find at my workplace and tell himself.
I am done being stepped on. It was enough. I threw myself into work, using the code and the logic of the office to distract from the wreckage of my personal life.
The first thing to go were the rings.
I stripped them off the mont I left the estate, not caring if the office gossip mill started spinning new tales about taking Franklin’s money and running him dry.
Let them speculate. I don’t care anymore.
A few days after the separation, I attended a tech industry networking event.
The music in the grand hall was soft and sophisticated as I took a flute of champagne from a passing waiter.
I adjusted the sleeve of my navy silk dress and scanned the room.
Tech events always looked so glamorous from the outside, but they were usually exhausting. Tonight, however, I found it strangely amusing.
Everywhere I looked, clusters of founders were pitching their heart out to stone-faced investors. It felt like a high-stakes high school science fair.
As I turned to navigate toward the other side of the room, I collided with soone.
My drink splashed out, and I felt the impact of a solid, well-built fra.
"Oh!" I gasped.
"Woah!" a deep voice responded.
The champagne had spilled to the floor, miraculously missing both of our outfits.
I looked up, and my breath caught.
The man was tall—towering, actually—with a torso and shoulders that were perfectly sculpted underneath his crisp dress shirt.
He had a pair of the most magnetic light-brown eyes I had ever seen.
They radiated an imdiate, genuine warmth.
"I am so sorry for spilling your drink," he said, his voice rich and apologetic.
"It’s so clustered in here; there was no way for to pass without a collision."
I looked up at him and found myself smiling.
He looked to be in his late twenties, carrying an easy, natural confidence that didn’t have a trace of Franklin’s cold arrogance.
"It’s alright," I chuckled.
"It was just a drink. Nothing serious."
"It’s very serious when I let a beautiful lady’s drink go to waste on the carpet," he said, a charming, boyish smile playing on his lips.
He looked down at the floor as if scolding the spilled liquid.
"Next ti, you won’t take any drink at all, you hear that?"
I burst out laughing.
His sense of humor was a breath of fresh air.
"I’m Clinton, by the way. Clinton Sancho," he said, thrusting out a hand.
"Nice to et you, Clinton. I’m Octavia Herman," I replied.
I pointedly left out the na Flemington. I was getting a divorce anyway; there was no need to tether myself to that ghost.
"Octavia? Hmm...what a beautiful na for a beautiful woman." He held my hand a second longer than necessary, and I felt a heat creep up my neck.
I realized I was blushing, and he definitely noticed.
"You’re blushing. How cute," he winked. I turned an even deeper shade of red. "Tell you what. Why don’t I buy you another drink to replace the one I murdered?"
"Actually, I didn’t buy that one. I grabbed it from a tray," I admitted.
"Oh, well...allow to fetch one for you then. Wait right here."
I watched him walk away, my gaze lingering on the broad set of his shoulders.
He scanned the room with a practiced eye, intercepted a waiter, and returned monts later with two fresh glasses.
"Thank you," I said as he handed one.
"This ti, the ground doesn’t get a drop," I teased.
"Deal," he laughed.
We stood there for a mont, sipping our drinks and taking in the crowd.
"So, tech networking... which category do you fall under?"
"Ga developer. And you?"
"Venture Capitalist," he replied with a casual shrug.
"Cool."
"Cool? That must sound incredibly boring to you," he said with that sa charming grin.
"No, it doesn’t. It sounds amazing," I assured him.
"If you say so. Most people’s eyes glaze over by the ti I finish explaining my job description."
"Well, I’m not most people."
"Yeah," he nodded, his eyes searching mine. "I can see that."
"Tell about it," I encouraged.
"I’ve heard the term, but I’ve never really talked to soone in the field. I’m interested."
"Okay, well...I invest capital in new or growing companies that I believe have the potential to be world-changers. Instead of a bank just lending money for interest, I invest in exchange for equity—shares in the company’s future."
I nodded, following his logic easily.
He studied my expression, seemingly surprised. "You really aren’t bored."
"I told you, I’m interested. Your job sounds fascinating, Clinton. You’re a kingmaker."
"Thank you...really," he said, raising his glass to .
We shared a quiet toast.
"So, a ga developer huh. Now that is interesting. Do you actually create the worlds?"
"I do. And many more things."
"Like what?"
"Video gas, narrative-driven experiences—though I haven’t designed a story in a while. Currently, I’m focused on AI and VR-based technology."
"Wow. That’s incredible, Octavia."
Hearing my na roll off his tongue sent a strange shiver through . It sounded...right.
We set our empty glasses on a nearby cocktail table.
"Thank you," I smiled.
"What made you choose that direction?" he asked.
"I love stories. And I want to make life easier by introducing AI to the world in a way that feels human."
"It’s changing the world," he mused. "In a good way."
"I hope so."
His gaze was steady and intense.
I felt a flutter in my chest that I hadn’t felt in years.
"It’s getting a bit cramped in here," he suggested, leaning in slightly.
"Would you like to take a walk? Or... I don’t know..."
He trailed off, giving the space to decide. I hesitated, the old instincts of a married woman briefly flickering, but then I rembered the empty estate and the divorce papers.
Clinton saw the hesitation.
"You’re thinking about it. I get it. I swear I’m not a serial killer," he said, his eyes dancing with amusent. "And if you think I am, please tell you have a taser or pepper spray in that bag."
I laughed, the sound loud and genuine.
"Relax. I know you aren’t a serial killer. But for the record, I do have pepper spray in my bag."
"Good to know," he joked. "Ladies first." He bowed dramatically, making realize I hadn’t laughed this much in a very, very long ti.
We walked out of the building into the crisp night air.
I hugged my coat tighter, my breath blooming in white puffs.
"You’re cold. Was the walk a bad idea?" Clinton asked, looking concerned.
"No! Not at all. I’m fine, don’t beat yourself up."
"If you say so, m’lady. So... what’s your favorite food?"
"Just like that?" I teased.
"Yeah. What were you expecting? A list of my references and a background check? We’re skipping the boring stuff. Favorite food. Go."
I went quiet for a second, then looked at him. "Pasta. Specifically, spaghetti and atballs."
"A classic. Fun food," he noted as we strolled down the sidewalk.
"What about you?"
"Sushi," he replied instantly.
"Oh, co on! No one’s favorite food is actually sushi," I said, shaking my head.
"It is mine! It’s perfect. Especially when you dip it in just enough soy sauce... it’s a masterpiece."
"I think I’m going to hurl," I grimaced, and he laughed loudly, the sound echoing off the buildings.
"Okay, note to self: when I see you again, I’m bringing sushi just to irritate you."
I stopped walking and turned to him. "You want to see again?"
"Of course I do. You’re the most interesting person I’ve t in years. I saw you from across the room and I knew I had to talk to you. I know it’s fast, but I really want to see you again. What do you say, Octavia?"
I stood there in the moonlight, staring at him in utter astonishnt, my heart racing for a reason that had nothing to do with Franklin Flemington.
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