Chapter 120

~ Franklin ~

That evening at the sprawling family estate, the golden glow of the chandelier cast long shadows across the polished mahogany table as my grandfather and I sat down for dinner. The air was thick with the rich aroma of roasted lamb, garlic-infused potatoes, and a hint of aged red wine. Silverware clinked softly against fine china, but my mind was elsewhere—restless, tangled in the web of secrets and second chances that had defined the past few weeks. We began to talk, the kind of easy conversation that only comes after years of shared history.

"How was your meeting with the Blakeleys?" I asked, spearing a piece of tender meat with my fork.

My grandfather leaned back in his chair, his silver hair catching the light as he savored a sip of wine. "It was productive. We discussed business—expansions, potential mergers, the usual. But oh, Dylan Blakeley, the patriarch of the family... he’s traveling to India next week for what he calls a spiritual cleanse journey." He paused, watching my reaction with those sharp, knowing eyes.

I looked up, genuinely puzzled, the fork hovering mid-air. "A spiritual cleanse journey?" The words felt foreign coming from a man like Dylan, whose empire was built on cold calculations and ironclad deals.

"Mmm-hmm," Grandfather nodded, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "He wants to start a spiritual life. He’s drawn to Buddhism now—meditation, mindfulness, the whole path to enlightenment."

"I thought he was an atheist," I said, setting my fork down with a soft clatter. The idea of a man who once scoffed at anything beyond boardrooms suddenly chasing inner peace struck me as almost absurd.

"That’s precisely why I said he wants to start a spiritual life," Grandfather replied, his tone patient yet laced with amusement. "Is there any problem with that?"

"Ah, no—no problem at all," I shrugged, though my mind raced with questions. "I was just surprised, that’s all. People change, I suppose."

"Okay, if you say so," he echoed with a light chuckle, mirroring my shrug before turning more serious. "Still, I was so happy to see Octavia awake today. I still am. It’s a clear sign that, with time and patience, she’ll regain all her memories. The brain is a remarkable thing—resilient, like the family bonds we’ve built here."

"Yeah," I murmured, the weight of his words settling heavy in my chest. "And then she’ll hate me." I sighed deeply, dropping my fork entirely and rubbing my eyes with the heels of my palms, as if I could erase the guilt that clawed at me day and night.

"She will hate you, that’s for sure," my grandfather nodded solemnly, though there was no malice in it—just the blunt honesty that had always defined him. I glared at him across the table, the candlelight flickering between us.

"You aren’t helping matters at all Grandpa," I told him, my voice edged with frustration.

"I know," he admitted, raising his hands in mock surrender. "But that’s the truth. Still, you know one thing?" He leaned forward, his gaze steady and reassuring. I shrugged, waiting. "If you explain everything to her—along with solid evidence that you never went to see any woman that day you left her at the resort—I know she’ll believe you. Hell, she’ll forgive you. Love like yours doesn’t vanish overnight, Franklin. It fights."

I sighed again, the tension in my shoulders easing just a fraction. "But do you believe that I never went anywhere aside from that restaurant to meet Marshall?" I asked, searching his face for any trace of doubt.

"If it was before all this, I wouldn’t have believed you," he said quietly, his expression softening with rare vulnerability. "But now? I do. It’s because I see how deeply you love Octavia. That kind of love changes a man. It makes him better."

"Thank you, Grandpa," I said, the words carrying more gratitude than I could express. We continued eating in companionable silence after that, the clink of utensils filling the quiet moments. Yet my thoughts drifted back to the conversation I’d had with Clinton at that dingy diner earlier—the cryptic warnings, the shadows lurking around Octavia’s accident. It gnawed at me, demanding action.

"Can you do me a favor, Grandpa?" I asked, leaning forward with renewed urgency, the food forgotten for a moment. 𝒻𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘸ℯ𝒷𝘯𝘰𝑣ℯ𝑙.𝘤𝑜𝘮

"Of course. What is it?" he replied, his curiosity piqued as he set down his glass.

"I need to investigate Octavia’s accident thoroughly—and trace who sent those photos from that private number. I believe they’re connected, though I could be wrong. It might just be a cruel coincidence. Either way, I need to get to the bottom of this. No more loose ends."

I explained the details carefully, my voice low and intense, painting the picture of threats, hidden motives, and the fear that someone was pulling strings in the dark. "That’s why I need you to help me hire a private investigator. Someone you trust completely—reliable, discreet, the kind who won’t chicken out or get bought off midway through."

"What happened to the one Anthony provided?" Grandfather asked, frowning slightly.

"He backed out," I said flatly. "I’m convinced he was threatened by someone who doesn’t want this case dug up. Whoever it is, they’re playing dirty."

"Could it be Dorian Harrington behind it?" he pressed, his eyes narrowing with the sharp instinct that had built our family’s legacy.

"I don’t know," I shrugged, though the name sent a chill through me. "That’s the problem. I just need someone else we can trust—one hundred percent—to help unravel this mess."

"Okay," he nodded firmly, his decision made in that instant. "I’ll find you a private investigator we can count on. No half-measures."

"Thank you, Grandpa," I said, relief washing over me like a balm.

"Don’t mention it," he replied with a warm nod, the bond between us feeling stronger than ever in the quiet glow of the dining room.

Later that night, as I prepared for bed in the dim light of my room, my phone rang, slicing through the silence. I glanced at the screen and felt a surge of unexpected warmth—Octavia was calling. A pleasant surprise that made my heart skip.

"What a pleasant surprise that you’re calling me," I said, settling onto the edge of the bed with a smile I couldn’t suppress.

"Oh yes, um...I got my phone fixed," she explained, her voice light and melodic. "The screen shattered completely in the accident, but courtesy of my mom, it’s good as new now." She chuckled softly, and I could picture her there in the hospital bed, that familiar spark returning to her eyes.

"I’m glad to hear that," I told her, my tone warm with genuine relief.

"Yeah," she replied, then hesitated just a beat. "You promised you’d come back to the hospital today, but you never did." The words carried a gentle tease, but I felt the sting of guilt immediately.

I shut my eyes tight and muttered a quiet curse under my breath. "Dang it! I forgot...I’m so sorry. I know I promised." The half-lie tasted bitter on my tongue. Work had been part of it, but the real reason—the tense meeting with Clinton about the accident, the photos, the threats—I couldn’t burden her with that. Not yet. It would only stir her curiosity, risk her fragile health. Better to shield her from the shadows until I had answers.

"It’s just...with everything piling up at work, I didn’t have time to make it back," I said, the words heavy with apology. "I’m sorry—truly."

"It’s okay," she said softly, forgiving as always. "I just wanted to know why you never came back. That’s all."

"Okay," I murmured, lying back fully on the bed now, the cool sheets a stark contrast to the warmth blooming in my chest. "Seems like you missed me, though."

"No, I didn’t," she scoffed playfully, but I could hear the smile in her voice.

"Uh-huh, yes you did otherwise you wouldn’t have called," I chuckled. "And I’m sure you’re blushing right now, aren’t you?"

"Damn, I’m an open book then," she mumbled, embarrassed but endearing.

"You are an open book," I said huskily, my voice dropping low. "But only to me, my queen."

"Stop it! You’re going to make me blush again," she laughed softly, the sound like sunlight breaking through clouds.

"Well, that’s the plan," I teased, letting a comfortable pause linger before adding, "I miss you too, you know."

"I’m glad to hear that," she whispered, her tone softening with affection.

"Um...the doctor stopped by the ward this evening for a check-up," she continued after a moment. "He said I need an MRI scan tomorrow to pinpoint the root cause of my amnesia. I just wanted you to know."

"Okay, thank you for telling me," I assured her, my mind already shifting to logistics. "I’ll meet with Dr. Aris first thing tomorrow morning. We’ll figure this out together."

"Okay," she said simply, but the call didn’t end. The silence stretched, charged with unspoken things.

"You want to tell me something?" I prompted gently.

"Nope," she replied casually, though I sensed there was more.

"Okay. Oh—silly me for not asking sooner—have you eaten tonight?" I inquired, caring for her even from afar.

"Yeah, I have," she replied. "What about you?"

"I’ve eaten too," I confirmed.

"Good." Another pause, then her voice brightened. "I just wanted to tell you...I can’t wait to see you tomorrow."

I chuckled, warmth flooding me. "Was that what you were hesitating to say?"

"Maybe," she singsonged, playful and light.

"Get some sleep, sunshine," I told her, my heart full.

"You too...and give my regards to your grandfather," she yawned, the sound adorable and tired.

"I will. Thank you. Goodnight, and sweet dreams," I said softly, savoring every word.

"Goodnight and sweet dreams to you too," she replied, and with that, the call ended. I lay there grinning from ear to ear, the phone still warm in my hand. This was the Octavia I wanted—the one I needed. Lively, teasing, open-hearted. But a shadow lingered: if she regained her memories, would she still want to talk to me like this? The fear twisted in my gut, sharp and unrelenting. She needed those memories back, no matter the cost. I tossed onto the other side of the bed, sighing deeply into the pillow, and finally drifted off into a restless sleep, the estate quiet around me.