Chapter 203

~ Octavia ~

The halls of Manhattan General felt different today. They no longer smelled of uncertainty and lingering grief; they smelled of a beginning. Franklin and I walked toward Frederick’s suite, our footsteps echoing in a rhythmic harmony.

Franklin walked with a cane, a silver-headed accessory that added to his aura of resilience rather than detracting from his strength.

When we reached the ward, the silence inside was heavy with the weight of a long-awaited reunion. I stopped just inside the doorway, my fingers laced together, watching the two men who defined the Flemington legacy.

Franklin sat on the edge of the bed, his posture stiff, his eyes locked onto the man who had traded his own safety for Franklin’s life.

"Grandpa," Franklin whispered, his voice cracking.

Frederick’s gaze shifted slowly. He was still frail, his skin pale against the white linens, but the sharpness in his eyes was unmistakable. He was back.

"You took your time, my boy, " he rasped, the ghost of a smirk playing on his lips.

A broken, breathless laugh escaped Franklin.

"I had a bit of a rough trip." He reached out, his hand trembling as he gripped Frederick’s. It was a bridge built across the abyss of the last few months—no more comas, no more emerald jungles, no more hiding in the

shadows. They had both stared into the eyes of death and refused to blink.

"I thought I lost you," Franklin said, his head bowing as he fought for composure.

"I’m not that easy to get rid of me Franklin. A bullet is a nuisance, not a death sentence," Frederick mumbled, sounding more like the indomitable patriarch I knew every second.

I felt the tears blurring my vision. This was the moment I had prayed for during those long, lonely nights in the mansion. Frederick turned his gaze toward me, gesturing with a weak but commanding hand.

"Come here, Octavia. You’re part of this family. Don’t stand there like a stranger. Group hug." I grinned through my tears and moved toward them. We huddled together—a tangled mess of hospital blankets, injured limbs, and restored hope. My heart, which had been a tight knot of anxiety for months, finally began to loosen.

"Now," Frederick said, pulling back and fixing us with a stern look. while I was napping."Explain everything I missed Franklin and I exchanged a long look, and then we began. We told him everything—the corporate coup, the plane crash, Dorian’s ascension, and the investigation. Frederick’s expression had hardened into a mask of cold fury.

"It’s up to you to finish this, Octavia," he said, his voice regaining its steel. "Tear his world down. Expose that bastard.

"I won’t let either of you down," I promised. And I meant it.

Three days later, I walked into the Flemington Group headquarters with my bodyguards.

The halls of Flemington headquarters felt different today. Colder, maybe. Or perhaps I was just carrying the weight of what was about to happen.

I walked toward Franklin’s office without announcing myself. The staff parted for me as I passed, and I wondered if they could sense it. The shift in power. The moment everything was about to change.

Dorian was sitting behind the mahogany desk when I pushed the doors open. He looked almost regal, which was his first mistake.

"You shouldn’t be here, Octavia," he said smoothly, not even looking up.

"I believe I’ve told you before, Dorian. It’s Mrs. Flemington to you," I said, my voice cutting through the air like a blade.

He looked up then, a patronizing smirk playing on his lips. "We both know that title doesn’t mean much anymore."

I walked to the desk and dropped a heavy file directly onto his paperwork. The thud was loud and final.

"You tried to kill my husband," I began. The words hung between us like a verdict.

His smirk faltered. For just a moment, his mask slipped. "I don’t know what you’re talking about—"

"Kieran Townsend. Your ghost. Your hit man. I have the ballistics, the payment logs, the surveillance. Everything."

Right on cue, the doors swung open. Police officers filed in, led by a detective. Dorian went pale as he realized what was happening.

I had already contacted the police before coming here. I had given them full details of what happened and the evidence.

"Dorian Harrington," the detective announced, "you’re under arrest for attempted murder, conspiracy, and corporate fraud."

As they cuffed him, I felt a strange sense of closure. But it wasn’t complete. Not yet.

He looked at me with a hard glare. But I did not back down. He did not say anything.

Later that evening, Franklin and I were in the penthouse, he had been so proud of me and extremely clingy. We were in each other’s embrace when my phone rang. It was the detective again.

"Mrs. Flemington," he said, his voice careful. "We’ve made progress on the case. We’ve arrested Kieran Townsend and Anthony Rice. However, we haven’t been able to locate Bella Washington yet. But we will find them. We have every resource on this."

When I told Franklin, I saw the worry cross his face. Not about Dorian, but about Bella. About what she might still do.

"Don’t worry," he said, pulling me close. "She won’t get far. And even if she tries, we’ll be ready."

The next morning, I returned to the office. The board meeting was tense. Several directors were absent—the ones who’d been on Dorian’s side, who’d benefited from his schemes. Some had already started throwing each other under the bus, trying to save themselves.

I didn’t have mercy for any of them.

There were still some of them who I had left. They had been a Franklin supporter but without enough voice. But still, they will be on a strict watch.

"You supported a murderer," I said coldly. "You’re all done here."

Security escorted them out one by one. It was almost cathartic.

Franklin met me in the hospital later that day. We went to see grandpa, who was also delighted to hear what happened. "You’re incredible, you know that?" he said, kissing my forehead.

We were just beginning to breathe easier when my phone rang. It was the detective again . His voice was different this time. More professional .

"Mrs. Flemington, I’m calling with some news about Bella Washington."

"Yes?" I asked, my stomach already tightening.

"We found her," he said slowly. "Near New Rochelle. On a bridge. She’s... she’s dead, ma’am. It appears to be suicide."

The phone nearly dropped from my hand.