Chapter 179

~ Octavia ~

The drive to Manhattan General felt like a journey across a desert that had no end. Every second stretched into a painful infinity, every passing streetlamp blurring into a smear of cold light as my mind replayed the same harrowing loops. I gripped the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turned a ghostly white, trying to steady a tremor that started in my chest and radiated to my very fingertips.

Franklin couldn’t just be gone. Not like this. Not while the air between us was still thick with the things we hadn’t said. Life wasn’t supposed to end on a cliffhanger.

I pulled into the hospital lot, the towering glass building looming over me like a tombstone. As I stepped out into the biting air, my phone buzzed in my coat pocket. I didn’t need to look to know it was my mother. I had already missed a dozen calls.

They were worried—I had stormed out of the apartment like a hurricane without a word—but I couldn’t face their comfort right now. Comfort felt like an admission of defeat. I silenced the ringer and kept walking.

Inside, the atmosphere was sterile and heavy. I felt eyes on me as I crossed the lobby. The whispers followed in my wake like a draft; they knew. The news of the Flemington crash was likely crawling across every smartphone in the building. I kept my chin up, ignoring the pitying, liquid gazes of strangers, and stepped into the elevator.

When I reached the private floor, the silence was even more profound. I hesitated at the door to Frederick’s suite, my hand hovering over the handle. Taking a breath that tasted of ozone and antiseptic, I pushed it open.

The rhythmic, mechanical chirp-beep of the EKG was the heartbeat of the room. Frederick lay there, a fallen titan, as motionless as the marble statues in his garden. It wasn’t Biggs standing guard today, but Dyson.

He and Biggs were the twin pillars of Franklin’s security—the only two men Franklin trusted with his life and the life of his grandfather.

"Good evening, Mrs. Flemington," Dyson said. His voice was low, but it held that same agonizing note of sympathy I’d been running from all day.

I looked away, focusing on the old man in the bed.

"How is he?"

"Still the same, ma’am," Dyson replied with a heavy sigh.

"Can you give me a moment with him, please?"

Dyson gave a sharp, respectful nod and stepped out, the heavy door clicking shut behind him. I was alone with the silence and the machine.

"Hello, Frederick," I whispered, pulling a chair close to the bedside.

I reached out and took his hand. It was cold, the skin like parchment over bone. A shaky breath escaped me as I rubbed his knuckles, trying to provide a warmth I didn’t truly feel myself. This was the first time I had looked at him since the news broke, and the weight of the secret felt like it was crushing my ribs.

"I really don’t know where to start," I murmured. I stared at him, waiting for a twitch, a blink, some sign that the patriarch was still in there. Nothing. A bitter, jagged laugh bubbled up in my throat, quickly turning into a sob.

"Franklin...he..." I choked on the name. I lowered my head, the tears finally spilling over. "There was a crash, Frederick. A plane crash. His jet... it went down in the Amazon."

The words felt like a betrayal just by being spoken aloud. "I should have told him. I should have said something—anything—before he got on that plane. I was so focused on my own scars, on what he did to me in the past, that I didn’t see how much I was hurting him, too. I was selfish. I admit it."

I gripped his hand tighter, as if I could pull Franklin back through the connection of their blood.

"He wrote me a letter. He apologized for everything. And now... I don’t even know if I’ll ever get the chance to answer him."

I leaned forward, resting my forehead against the side of the bed, my tears soaking into the sterile white sheets. "I don’t know what to do, Frederick. I’m lost."

A soft knock interrupted my grief. I sat up quickly, wiping my face with the back of my hand and trying to summon the "Mrs. Flemington" mask Olga had told me I needed. A doctor stepped in, holding a tablet.

"Mrs. Flemington, the bodyguard outside told me you had arrived," he said gently.

"Yes, I’m here," I said, my voice cracking slightly. "Is there news?"

"I wanted to give you an update on Senior Flemington’s status." He glanced at the monitor. "His condition remains stable. There have been no significant changes since the last evaluation. We are continuing to monitor his neurological responses, but at this point, it is still a waiting process."

Stable. The word was a hollow victory.

"Is there any sign he might wake up soon?" I asked, sniffing back the last of my tears.

The doctor sighed, a brief hesitation in his eyes that told me more than his words ever could. "Honestly? It’s difficult to predict. Every patient responds differently to this kind of trauma. We hope for the best, but we prepare for the long term."

"Thank you, Doctor," I whispered. He nodded and left as quietly as he had entered.

The room fell into that suffocating silence again. I looked back at Frederick’s peaceful, sleeping face. "See? Even now...nothing is clear. Everything is just a ’waiting process.’"

My voice dropped to a whisper. "I don’t know how much more waiting I can take. But I’ll stay. I’ll stay for you, and I’ll stay for him."

I sat there for what felt like hours, drifting between prayer and despair. I wondered if Franklin was out there, somewhere in the green dark, fighting for his life. Or was he already cold? I slammed the door on that thought. I wouldn’t believe it. Not until I saw it.

My phone vibrated violently in my hand, making me jump. It was Olga.

"Olga? Hey," I said, clearing my throat to sound stronger than I felt.

"Mrs. Flemington...they called," Olga said. Her voice was uncharacteristically tight.

"Who called?"

"The board members from the Flemington Group. They called the house line. They are asking for you...Olga feels it is urgent."

I sat up straighter, my pulse quickening. "What did they say?"

"They are demanding a meeting. The Board of Directors...they want to see you, tomorrow morning unfailingly."

I looked at Frederick, then down at my wedding ring I have begin to wear. I knew exactly why they were calling. The sharks smelled blood in the water. With the Chairman missing and the Patriarch incapacitated, they saw a vacuum. They saw an empire without a head.

"Why me?" I asked, though I knew the answer.

"Because you are the only Flemington left standing," Olga said softly. "What do I tell them?"

I looked at Frederick one last time. He couldn’t speak. Franklin couldn’t lead. The weight Olga had described earlier—the mantle of the family—settled heavily onto my shoulders. I wasn’t just Octavia anymore. I was the shield for everything Franklin had built.

"Tell them I’ll meet them tomorrow morning," I said, my voice finally steady. "Tell them Mrs. Flemington is coming."

"Da," Olga whispered, a hint of relief in her tone. "I tell them."

The call ended. I stood up, smoothed my coat, and squeezed Frederick’s hand one last time. The time for weeping was over. The battle for the Flemington legacy had just begun.