Contract Marriage After a Crazy Night Chapter 77: ~ 77

Chapter 77

~ Franklin ~

I fluttered my eyes open and imdiately groaned, a sharp, rhythmic throbbing echoing behind my temples. The world felt tilted and out of focus.

Disoriented, I slowly pushed myself up and scanned the room. I was on a couch—the sa couch, I vaguely rembered, that soone had guided to. Or had I stumbled there myself in my intoxicated haze?

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to piece together the fragnts of the previous night. I rembered eting Marshall, the director of the board, for a drink to discuss the project.

After that, everything was a blur of static. I had a haunting, flickering image of Bella in my mind, but was she actually there, or was it just a ghost conjured by the drink I took?

"Mr. Flemington? Good morning. How was your sleep?"

I looked up to see Zeb Marshall walking toward , looking entirely too composed for the hour. I frowned, struggling to find my footing as the floor seed to sway.

"Did I...did I sleep here all night?" I croaked, my throat dry as parchnt.

"Yes. You went out like a light, and I didn’t have the heart to wake you," Marshall said with a small, knowing smile. "I decided to let you rest and grabbed a room at a hotel nearby. I hope the couch wasn’t too unforgiving."

"You should have woken up, Marshall," I snapped, my irritation rising with my sobriety.

"You shouldn’t have let pass out in a public restaurant."

I spotted my phone tucked into the crease of the cushions and snatched it up. I pressed the power button, but the screen remained black. Dead. Had my battery really been that low, or had sothing else happened?

"I have to go," I said, not waiting for a response as I headed for the exit.

"Of course," Marshall called after . "We’ll see you at the office later. We need to host that eting concerning the new project phase."

I barely heard him. I burst out of the restaurant and hailed a taxi, sliding into the back seat with a heavy thud.

"Please, can you help charge this?" I asked the driver, thrusting my phone toward him. "Even just for a minute. It’s an ergency."

"Sure thing, sir," the driver nodded, plugging it into the dash.

As we drove, my thoughts raced to Octavia. The last ti she saw , I was escorting her to our suite, promising I’d be right back after a quick eting. She must have been frantic. Over an hour turned into an entire night. "Fuck," I hissed under my breath, rubbing my face.

As the resort ca into view, I asked the driver for the phone. It had enough life to pulse awake. Imdiately, the screen was flooded: a dozen missed calls, two voicemails from Octavia, and several urgent pings from Anthony, my secretary.

"Fuck," I whispered again, the guilt turning into a cold pit in my stomach.

I practically ran through the lobby and took the elevator to the top floor. I burst into the suite, expecting to find her pacing the floor or sleeping fitfully.

"Octavia?" I called out. Silence.

I scanned the living area, then checked the bathroom. Empty. I walked out onto the balcony, thinking she might be clearing her head. Nothing.

I turned back to the bedroom and noticed sothing that made my heart skip a beat. The luggage rack was bare. I wrenched open the dresser drawers where her clothes had been neatly folded just yesterday. They were gone. Every single one of them. The suite felt cold, stripped of her presence.

Where could she have gone? Why would she take her suitcase in the middle of a private island?

I pulled out my phone and dialed her number. It rang... and rang... and then the chanical click of the voicemail took over. I tried again. And again.

"Why isn’t she picking up?" I growled to myself.

I headed back toward the elevators, dialing Anthony. I nearly collided with him as the doors slid open; he looked like he was on his way to find .

"I was just about to call you again," I said breathlessly.

"Your line was down, Mr. Flemington and I called. Where have you been?" Anthony asked, his eyes wide with concern.

"It’s a long story. Did you co here to find ?"

"I ca to check on Mrs. Flemington," he said. "She...well, she left quite abruptly this morning."

My jaw tightened. "Left? To where?"

"I don’t know. She was at the lobby with her friend earlier. She asked if I’d seen you, and I had to tell her I didn’t know where you were. Then, her phone buzzed. She stared at the screen for a second, turned deathly pale, and just stord off. Her friend followed her, but Octavia wouldn’t stop. I tried to call after her, but she was gone. I ca up here hoping she’d co back to the room to rest."

"The suite is empty, Anthony. Her things are gone."

"Where would she go? She doesn’t know anyone on the island," Anthony said, looking as lost as I felt.

"I don’t know! And she isn’t answering my calls. It just keeps going to that goddamn machine." I took a breath, trying to steady my shaking hands. "You said she was with her friend? Victoria Whitmore?"

"Yes, that’s her."

"What’s her room number?" I demanded, rembering Anthony had handled the key cards.

"Suite 302, third floor. But Mr. Flemington, she might not—"

I didn’t wait for him to finish. I hit the button for the third floor and paced the small elevator car until it opened. I marched down the hall to 302 and hamred on the door. No answer. I knocked again, harder this ti.

Finally, the door creaked open. Victoria stood there, looking surprised and more than a little annoyed.

"Mr. Flemington?"

"Victoria, right? I’m looking for Octavia. She isn’t in our suite, and Anthony said she was with you last. Is she in there?" I tried to look past her into the room, desperate for a glimpse of my wife.

Victoria stepped out into the hallway and pulled the door shut behind her, cutting off my view. "No, she isn’t with , Mr. Flemington."

"I don’t understand. Her line is dead, her clothes are gone, and the room is empty," I said, my voice rising in desperation.

Victoria sighed, crossing her arms over her chest. "Look, I don’t know what’s going on between you two. One minute Octavia is telling how magical last night was, and the next, I’m watching her fall apart because you abandoned her in the middle of the night. I don’t know what to believe anymore."

"Wait—abandoned her?" I frowned. "I didn’t abandon her. I had a eting!"

"She told you never ca back. She waited up for you, called you, left ssages...nothing but silence. What was she supposed to think?"

"My phone died! It was a business eting that... went sideways. I didn’t an to stay out," I argued, though it sounded pathetic even to . "Please, just tell where she is. I’m losing my mind."

"I told you, she isn’t here. After we saw your secretary in the lobby, she got a text. She didn’t show it to , but whatever it was, it devastated her. She stord off and told she needed to be alone. I haven’t seen her since she got into the elevator."

A text. The sa text Anthony ntioned.

"Why would she storm off like that? Did she say anything at all?"

"She wouldn’t talk. She just looked...broken," Victoria said, her eyes searching mine. "I have to ask, Mr. Flemington—did sothing happen? Sothing she should know about?"

I forced a tight, professional smile, though my heart was hamring against my ribs. "Everything is fine, Miss Whitmore. Just a misunderstanding. If you hear from her, or if she reaches out, please call imdiately."

"Fine," she said shortly. "But you better find her. She was in a bad way."

I nodded and turned away, the silence of the hallway feeling heavier than ever. If Octavia hadn’t left the island, she was hiding sowhere. But that text...what could have been so bad that she’d pack her bags and run?