Chapter 143

~ Clinton ~

The drive to the hospital parking lot felt endless, every red light and slow-moving car testing what little patience I had left. When I finally pulled in and spotted Franklin standing beside his car, his posture rigid with tension, my chest tightened before he even spoke.

"Someone kidnapped Octavia," he announced the moment I stepped out, his voice raw and edged with barely contained panic.

"What?" I said, the word escaping in a stunned breath as shock slammed into me.

"Whoever the person—or people—was, it seems they have eyes on us. Especially on her," Franklin continued, shaking his head as he stared at the ground, hands planted firmly on his hips. "They knew exactly when the perfect moment was to take her. Why didn’t I do something about it? I should have hired bodyguards to protect her. Now her mother is worried sick...fuck!" He yelled the last word, the sound echoing off the concrete walls of the parking structure.

I stood there for a moment, the weight of his words sinking in. My own recent ordeal flashed through my mind—the parking lot ambush, the gun pressed to my head, the cold warning to back off. They hadn’t just been watching me. They had been watching all of us, especially Octavia. It was time to tell him the truth.

"Something happened to me," I said quietly.

Franklin looked up sharply, his eyes narrowing with caution. "What happened to you?"

"I was kidnapped as well," I told him, watching his face shift from confusion to disbelief.

"What?" He asked, looking utterly perplexed.

"And I think the person who kidnapped me is the same one who took Octavia," I added, the pieces clicking together in my mind with terrifying clarity.

Franklin stared at me in stunned silence, the parking lot lights casting harsh shadows across his face. The silence stretched between us like a chasm, heavy with the implications of what I’d just revealed. His jaw clenched and unclenched as he processed the information, his hands curling into fists at his sides. The distant sound of a car alarm wailed in another section of the garage, cutting through the tension. I could see the internal war playing out across his features—disbelief warring with the horrifying realization that everything was connected, that Octavia’s kidnapping wasn’t random but orchestrated by someone who had already set their sights on me.

"When I started investigating what happened to Octavia, I never realized I was being watched," I continued, my voice low but steady. "Not until I got kidnapped. I was held at gunpoint and threatened to drop the case completely. They warned me not to call the police, or I’d be killed. That’s why I couldn’t come visit Octavia at the hospital. The morning it happened, I felt someone following me during my jog, but I brushed it off as paranoia. I was wrong. They were watching all of us—Franklin."

"And all this time, you didn’t think to share this information with me?" Franklin frowned, his tone sharp with frustration and disbelief.

"First of all, you and I aren’t exactly on good terms," I replied, meeting his gaze. "I thought telling you wasn’t necessary. Secondly, I was trying to protect Octavia by staying away. I didn’t want to bring any more danger to her doorstep."

"Well, what you did didn’t change the fact that she’s been kidnapped," Franklin sighed heavily, turning away to rub his forehead. "She’s already been through so much."

"My guess is that the same person—or group—who kidnapped Octavia is the one who pushed her down the stairs," he said, turning back to me.

"I believe so," I nodded grimly.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, the single word carrying the weight of everything we both feared.

"I was called by her captor," Franklin said after a long, heavy pause.

"You mean the person who kidnapped her?" I clarified.

"Yes. He wants me to wait for his call tomorrow at noon. I’ll have to do exactly what he says, or he’ll kill her."

"Then you’d better wait for that call and hear what he wants," I said, my heart beating faster than usual. Octavia was in real trouble, still recovering from her injuries and amnesia. The enemies of the Flemington family clearly wouldn’t stop at anything to destroy them—and now she was caught in the middle.

"I’m worried about her mother, Patricia," Franklin admitted, his voice quieter now.

"Octavia will be okay," I said, though the words felt hollow even to me. "She doesn’t need to worry about her."

"Octavia is her daughter, Harrington," Franklin frowned. "She has every right to worry."

"Worrying won’t solve anything, though it’s natural," I replied. "You should go comfort her and start thinking about what the kidnapper really wants from you."

"And what would you do?" Franklin asked, eyeing me suspiciously.

"I’ll wait until you get the call, then I’ll follow you to wherever Octavia is being held when the time comes," I said simply.

"Why would you follow me?" Franklin frowned deeper.

"You don’t expect to go there alone, do you? You’ll need backup," I told him.

"Let’s see about that," he muttered.

"After the call tomorrow, let me know," I said, already turning toward my car. "We’ll figure this out."

As I drove off the hospital premises, my mind raced. If only I knew who was really playing these deadly games with us. Could it be my father? It seemed too obvious, yet the possibility lingered like poison. My father had every reason to want to destroy the Flemingtons, but kidnapping Octavia felt both reckless and calculated. Or was there someone else—someone hiding in the shadows, pulling strings we hadn’t yet seen?

The thought of Octavia—still fragile, still recovering—being held somewhere against her will made my grip tighten on the steering wheel until my knuckles turned white. I prayed she was okay, that whoever had her hadn’t hurt her further. I couldn’t bear to imagine the worst.

One thing was certain: when that call came tomorrow at noon, everything would change. And I would be ready to do whatever it took to bring her home safely.