Chapter 226

~Octavia~

The morning sun was not even out yet when my eyes snapped open. The penthouse was dead silent, save for the soft, rhythmic sound of Franklin’s breathing beside me. He looked so peaceful, his face completely relaxed. I carefully lifted his heavy arm from my waist, slipping out of bed.

Today was the day. If my office was bugged, I needed to get there early and start feeding the leak the false narrative we had talked about.

I rushed through getting dressed, opting for a sharp, emerald-green pantsuit. As I hurried down the stairs, bag in hand, I grabbed a sticky note from the kitchen counter, quickly scribbling: ’Had to run in early for a meeting, handsome. Don’t worry, my bodyguards are already watching out for me. Eat breakfast! I love you.’ I left it right on his protein shake so he couldn’t miss it.

"Where is Mrs Flemington going so early?"

I jumped, turning around to find Olga standing at the entrance of the kitchen, her hands planted firmly on her hips, a severe scowl stretching across her face.

"Olga! You scared me," I breathed, clutching my chest. "I have a meeting at the office. I have to leave right now."

"Olga make traditional oatmeal with fresh berries and toasted nuts. You take. You eat at desk. If Olga find out you skip breakfast, I tell Mr. Flemington, and he will drag you back here himself."

I couldn’t help but smile, a wave of genuine warmth breaking through my morning anxiety. I took the container, throwing it into my tote bag. "You’re a lifesaver, Olga. I promise I’ll eat every single bite."

"Good. Now go," she huffed, though her eyes were filled with maternal fondness.

I made a mental note to see grandpa later.

As I stepped into the private elevator, my phone violently buzzed in my hand. It was Victoria.

"Victoria? It’s barely seven AM, is everything okay?" I asked, balancing my bag on my shoulder.

"Octavia, thank goodness you’re awake," Victoria’s voice came through. "I forgot to remind you yesterday with all the madness surrounding the launch prep, but the representative from our new venture capital partner arrived in the city ahead of schedule. He’s already here at the headquarters waiting for you in the executive lounge."

My stomach did a nervous flip. The new partnership. The details had completely slipped my mind. I had even forgotten to mention the meeting to Franklin last night.

"It’s fine, Victoria. I’m actually in the garage now," I replied, stepping into the SUV where my driver, and presumably the invisible security team Franklin insisted on, was already waiting. "I’ll be there in ten minutes. Just make sure he has coffee."

"Will do. See you in a bit."

The drive through the early morning city streets passed in a blur of nervous anticipation. When I arrived at the Flemington Group headquarters, the lobby was blissfully empty. I rode the executive elevator straight up to the top floor, my heels clicking sharply against the polished marble as I walked toward the glass-walled conference wing.

As I rounded the corner into the executive lounge, I spotted Miranda standing by the espresso machine. She was talking to a man who was sitting across from her on the leather sofa.

From the back, I could tell he was exceptionally tall, broad-shouldered, and impeccably dressed in a bespoke midnight-blue suit. When he heard my footsteps, he slowly turned his head, his gaze locking onto me.

I had to admit, purely objectively, that the man was undeniably handsome. He had sharp, aristocratic features, a strong jawline shaded with a neat layer of stubble, and dark, piercing eyes that seemed to analyze me in a single sweep. But my heart didn’t give a single flutter. Compared to Franklin’s rugged, commanding presence and those intensely loyal eyes that always melted me, this man looked cold.

"Ah, Octavia, you’re here!" Miranda said, stepping forward to bridge the gap. "This is Williams Peterson, the principal director representing the Vance Global syndicate. Williams, this is our new Senior Lead Developer."

The man stood up, rising to a towering height. He didn’t offer a hand. Instead, he simply tucked his fingers into his trouser pockets, a slow, calculated smirk playing on his lips.

"So, you’re the famous tech prodigy I’ve been hearing so much about," he said. His voice was deep, smooth, and laced with a strange, dark undertone that instantly gave me an uncomfortable chill. It was the kind of voice that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, a gut-level warning system screaming that something about this man was deeply wrong.

Miranda stepped out.

I forced myself to maintain a perfect, professional posture, masking the shiver that went down my spine. "Mr. Peterson. Welcome to the Flemington Group. We’re excited about the mutual scalability this partnership brings to our digital infrastructure."

"Are you?" he asked, tilting his head slightly, his dark eyes tracking the movement of my lips.

I stepped past him, taking a seat at the primary conference table and gesturing for him to join me. "Absolutely. If you look at the baseline data integration models Miranda sent over last week, you’ll see that our alpha phase is projected to yield high returns. We just need to finalize the compliance parameters before the public launch next week."

I opened my tablet, preparing to dive into the technical architecture to keep the meeting strictly business, but William didn’t look at the screen. He leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other, completely ignoring the presentation.

"Tell me something, Miss," he interrupted suddenly, his smooth voice cutting right through my sentence.

I paused, lowering the tablet. I felt a sudden flare of annoyance prickle beneath my skin. I straightened my shoulders, looking him dead in the eye. "It’s Mrs. Flemington," I corrected him, my tone sharp, clear, and uncompromising.

His smirk only widened, an amused, almost devilish spark lighting up his dark eyes. He didn’t look remotely apologetic.

"Oh, my bad," he drawled, the word Mrs. dripping with a patronizing, sarcastic weight. "Mrs. Flemington, then."

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the glass table, bringing his face dangerously close to mine. The chilling aura around him intensified, suffocating the space between us.

"I do hope that your husband is taking good care of you," he murmured, his eyes dropping to track the collarbone visible beneath my blazer before rising back to my face. "Because I must say, you are incredibly beautiful. If I had my way, I would have taken you right here and there."

A hot, violent wave of disgust and absolute fury flared up inside my chest. The sheer, unadulterated audacity of this man to say something so vile and disrespectful in my own corporate office made my blood boil. It took every ounce of my willpower not to throw my lukewarm coffee directly into his face.

But I remembered the stakes. I remembered the launch. We needed his syndicate’s financial backing to ensure the company’s market stability through the transition. I had to be a professional.

I let out a slow, controlled breath, my expression freezing into a mask of pure, icy professionalism as I set him straight.

"Mr. Williams," I said, my voice dangerously calm, each syllable clipped like a razor blade. "We are here to discuss a multi-million dollar software integration, not my personal life. My husband takes exceptional care of me, and my marital status is completely irrelevant to the valuation of this company. Please maintain a professional relation. Do I make myself clear?"

Williams stared at me for a long, silent moment. I expected him to snap, to get angry, or to threaten to pull the funding. Instead, a low, rumbling chuckle vibrated in his chest. He threw his head back and laughed, a dark, genuine sound that sent another wave of unease through me.

"Fierce," he whispered, standing up and smoothing the front of his bespoke blazer. He looked down at me, his expression unreadable, a twisted mask of amusement. "I like a woman with a backbone, Mrs. Flemington. It makes the corporate game so much more entertaining."

He buttoned his jacket, turning toward the exit.

"Till next time, Mrs. Flemington," he said, pronouncing my married name with a slow, mocking, venomous cadence that made my stomach turn. "Greetings to your husband."

He stepped out of the lounge, his long strides carrying him down the hallway until his shadow completely vanished from the glass partition.

The moment he was gone, the tension left my body all at once, leaving me weak. I sank back into my chair, my hands trembling slightly against the cool surface of the table.

My heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. How was I going to handle all of this? What kind of twisted game were they all playing around me, and how deep did the trap actually go?