Chapter 39
~ Octavia ~
The drive back to the estate felt like a descent into a past I had already tried to bury.
As I stepped through the massive front doors, the staff greeted with a warmth that felt both comforting and painful.
Olga, in particular, looked as though she might cry.
"You ca," Frederick said, stepping forward to pull into a hug.
"I’m only here because you asked to be, Frederick," I whispered as we stepped apart.
I looked up and caught movent at the top of the grand staircase. Franklin was standing there, watching .
For the first ti in two years, his ice-blue eyes weren’t cold or dismissive; they were dark, heavy, and strangely caressing.
"Octavia," he said. His voice lacked its usual jagged edge. "You’re here."
"I am," I replied, my voice steady despite the hamring in my chest. "For your grandfather."
I saw a flicker of genuine disappointnt cross his face. What did he expect? That I would co crawling back to this gilded cage because I missed the silence?
"Dinner is served," Joyce announced, her voice breaking the heavy tension.
The dining room felt cavernous with just the three of us. Frederick tried to keep the atmosphere light, asking about my work and my new apartnt, but the air was thick with everything left unsaid.
"Did Franklin say anything about signing the papers?" I asked Frederick, my patience snapping before the first course was even finished.
"I’m sitting right here, Octavia," Franklin said flatly.
"I wasn’t sure you were, Franklin. Because my absence clearly hasn’t given you the hint that you need to sign the divorce decree."
"Well, sorry to disappoint you, sweetheart," Franklin said, leaning back and looking at with a terrifyingly calm expression. "But I’m not signing them."
I dropped my fork. It clattered against the fine china like a gunshot.
"What are you doing? I filed weeks ago! The contract is fulfilled! You already have the position of the executive chairman, you have your legacy—just sign the damn papers and let go!"
"No," he said simply, taking a slow sip of his wine.
"What do you an, no?" I gritted my teeth.
"It ans I’m not divorcing you. Not now. Not yet."
I turned to Frederick, my voice trembling with betrayal.
"Did you do this? Did you tell him not to sign?"
"I had nothing to do with it," Frederick said, holding up his hands. "This is his doing, Octavia."
I turned back to Franklin, and the dam finally broke.
"You don’t get to decide this! You made my life a living hell for two years! You treated like a ghost in my own ho! You flaunted Bella in my face every single day while I—"
I stopped, a hot tear sliding down my cheek.
"While you what?" Franklin asked, his eyes locked on mine.
"While I loved you, damn it!" I scread, the sound echoing off the high ceilings. "I loved you, Franklin. I fell for you when you finally opened up about your parents. I stayed up every night outside your study when you were crying, just making sure you weren’t alone. I turned pity into love, and I tried every way I knew how to show it, but you were too nonchalant to care. All you saw was Bella. I cooked for you, I looked after you, I lost myself in you—and you never even noticed!"
The room went deathly silent.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Olga poking her head out from the kitchen, her face pale.
Frederick looked at with profound pity.
Franklin didn’t move; he looked like a statue carved from salt.
"But I’m done," I sniffed, wiping my eyes aggressively. "I’m moving on. I’ve t soone else. Soone who is the polar opposite of you. So sign the papers and let be happy for once."
"You t soone else?" Franklin’s voice was low.
For a second, I thought I saw a flash of green-eyed jealousy, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared.
"It’s none of your business. Just sign."
"I won’t."
"Why? Why do you want to keep tied to you? To keep miserable while you live your life with Bella?"
"Honestly?" Franklin looked down at his plate. "I don’t know. I just... I don’t want to sign them."
I slamd my fist onto the table. Frederick jumped, and the silverware rattled.
"You are going to sign them, Franklin. I won’t stop until you do." I turned to Frederick, my appetite completely gone.
"Thank you for dinner, but I can’t stay here."
I hurried to the foyer, grabbing my keys. Olga caught near the door.
"Olga wants to ask if Octavia is okay?" she asked softly.
"I was fine until I ca back to this house," I sighed.
"This new man..." Olga hesitated. "Do you love him? Or do you still love Mr. Flemington?"
I looked at the floor. The truth was a jagged pill to swallow. "I still love him, Olga. But I can’t be with him. I can’t be vulnerable to soone who only wants to hurt . Goodbye Olga and take care."
I drove until the lights of the estate were a distant mory, eventually pulling into a diner downtown.
My hands were still shaking. Before I could talk myself out of it, I called Clinton.
"Hello, gorgeous," he answered.
"I... I really have to get used to you calling that," I said, my voice cracking.
"You’ve been crying," he said instantly. "What happened?"
"I can’t talk about it over the phone. Can I see you? There’s sothing I want to tell you and I know it’s late—"
"I’m already on my way. Where are you?"
Minutes later, Clinton slid into the booth across from . He reached out and squeezed my hand.
"Thank you for coming," I whispered.
"There’s nowhere else I’d rather be."
We ordered ice cream, the cold sweetness a stark contrast to the bitterness of the dinner I’d just left.
"So," Clinton said gently. "What was it you needed to tell ?"
I took a deep breath, bracing myself for the end of our short, beautiful dream.
"Clinton... I’m a married woman. My husband is Franklin Flemington. He’s the Executive Chairman of the Flemington Group."
I watched his face, searching for shock, anger, or disgust.
Instead, Clinton just smiled—a calm, knowing smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
"I know, Octavia," he said softly. "I’ve known about that already."
I froze, the spoon halfway to my mouth.
"You...you knew?"
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