Chapter 83

~ Franklin ~

"She hasn’t taken a single one of my calls since she vanished from the resort, Grandpa. Not one. I’m starting to spiral," I admitted, my voice tight with frustration.

We were out on the golf course, the morning sun doing little to lighten my mood. My grandfather leaned on his club, squinting at me over his spectacles. "Tell me exactly what happened, Franklin. Walk me through it again, because even I’m struggling to see why Octavia would pack her bags and flee like a thief in the night."

"I told you, I was going to confess everything—my feelings, the truth about how I’ve changed. And I did," I began, the memory of that night on the beach still fresh and painful. "She confessed her feelings to me, too. We had two nights of... well, of passion. Everything was perfect. But then Zeb Marshall from the board called me late that night. I didn’t want to go, but it was urgent. I escorted her back to the suite, went to the restaurant, and then...I don’t know. I had a few drinks, felt incredibly tipsy, and I must have passed out right there on the couch. I woke up the next morning, rushed back to apologize, and found the suite stripped bare. She was gone."

I took a shaky breath. "I went to her apartment in Bradford to explain, but she wouldn’t even let me across the threshold. She looked at me with so much hatred, Grandpa. It was like I was a stranger."

"Perhaps she’s simply wounded that you prioritized a meeting over her," my grandfather mused, stepping up to the tee.

"You left her alone in the suite after a night like that, only to crawl back in the morning with a hangover and an apology. It looks bad, Franklin."

"I didn’t mean to pass out!" I snapped, dropping my own club. "I wanted to be back within the hour. I didn’t mean to leave her alone."

My grandfather whacked the ball. It soared through the air, rolling across the green and stopping just inches from the hole.

"Franklin, my boy, you need to think logically. To Octavia, that ’meeting’ probably looks like a cover story. She likely thinks you went somewhere else—or to someone else. You have to prove your whereabouts."

"I’ve tried!" I sat down on the grass, burying my face in my hands. "I’ve called, left voicemails, sent texts... I’ve begged for a chance to talk. She doesn’t respond. I think I’ve truly fucked this up."

"I believe you have, too," he said bluntly.

"You aren’t helping, Grandpa."

"Well, what do you want me to say? You admitted it yourself." He sighed, softened his expression, and sat down beside me.

"Maybe the best thing you can do right now is give her some space. Let the dust settle."

"Space?" I looked at him, incredulous. "You just told me to prove I was with Zeb Marshall! Now you want me to disappear?"

"I changed my mind. If you keep pushing while she’s this angry, you’ll only drive the wedge deeper. Leave her be for a few days."

"And if I lose her to that Clinton Harrington fellow in the meantime?" I asked, the jealousy stinging like a fresh wound.

"Then I suppose that will be the moment you truly have to fight for her," he said, patting my shoulder as he stood up. "Now, come on. Let’s head to the clubhouse. I’m famished."

The nightclub downtown felt like the only place where the noise in the room could drown out the noise in my head. I needed a drink that didn’t come from the quiet, judgmental confines of the estate’s bar. I needed to be a face in the crowd.

"Whiskey, neat," I told the bartender, sliding onto a stool.

As I waited, the irony of the setting hit me. This was how I met Octavia—a night of blurred lines and a hotel room that changed my life. I missed her so much it felt like a physical ache in my chest. Giving her space was proving to be the hardest task I’d ever faced.

The bartender set the glass down. I knocked back the first one, the burn a welcome distraction. As I reached for the second, I felt a hand suddenly grip my collar. Before I could react, a body pressed against mine and a pair of lips crashed onto mine in a desperate, clumsy kiss.

I froze in shock, my heart hammering. I pulled back, expecting a stranger, but my breath hitched when I saw the face staring back at me. It was Octavia.

"What the—" I stammered, my head spinning.

She jerked away, her eyes wide with a mixture of horror and realization.

"Franklin?"

"Octavia?"

I looked her up and down. She was wearing a shimmering silver dress that was...well, it was barely a dress at all. It was stunning, but it was far more revealing than anything I’d ever seen her wear. My protective instincts flared instantly.

"What the hell are you doing here dressed like that?" I demanded, my voice low and sharp.

"So now you’re stalking me?" she countered, her voice slurring slightly. She was definitely tipsy.

"Stalking you? You’re the one who just grabbed me and kissed me! If anyone is doing the stalking, it’s you." I regretted the words the moment they left my mouth; they were defensive and did nothing to bridge the gap between us.

"Just get lost, Franklin," she said, turning to walk away.

"Hey! Wait!" I reached out and caught her wrist. "You shouldn’t be in a place like this dressed as if you aren’t someone’s wife. It’s indecent."

She scoffed, jerking her arm back. "Someone’s wife? Please. I can dress however I want, and you don’t get to tell me a damn thing."

I scanned the room and saw exactly what I feared: a group of men at a nearby table were leering at her, whispering and smirking as they watched her every move. The sight made my blood boil.

"Come on, we’re leaving," I said, pulling out a wad of cash and throwing it on the bar to cover my tab. I grabbed her hand again, intent on getting her out of those hungry gazes.

"Your outfit is going to attract the wrong kind of attention."

"Hey! Let go of me!" she yelled, her voice piercing through the electronic music. "I said you don’t control me!"

"What’s going on here?" Victoria appeared, looking like a neon nightmare in a crop top and denim shorts.

"Mr. Flemington? What are you—"

"So you’re the one teaching her how to dress like this?" I turned my glare on Victoria.

"In case you didn’t notice, this is a club, not a boardroom," Victoria snapped back. "And why are you here? Stalking her on her birthday?"

A cold realization washed over me. "Birthday? What—"

"It’s exactly what I told him," Octavia muttered, leaning heavily against the bar. "He’s a stalker."

"Today is your birthday?" I asked, the guilt hitting me like a physical blow. I knew the date. I had it written down. How could I have been so consumed by my own misery that I forgot to check the calendar?

"And I told you that months ago," she said, her eyes filling with tears. "You really are an asshole, Franklin."

"Octavia, I—"

"I hate you!" she cried, her voice raw. "What kind of man are you? You leave me alone in that suite, you disappear all night, and you expect me to just wait for you? How was she, Franklin? Was the woman you spent the night with worth losing everything?"

I blinked, completely blindsided. "What woman? Octavia, what are you talking about? I was at a meeting with a business associate! I was alone!"

"Bullshit! Stop lying!" she screamed. "I know everything. And since you’re free to do whatever you want, then so am I."

Before I could stop her, she wobbled over to a man sitting a few stools down and pulled him into a kiss.

"Jesus Christ, Octavia!" I roared, lunging forward and ripping her away from the stunned stranger. I turned my fury on the man. "Get the hell out of here! Now!"

The man didn’t need to be told twice; he scrambled away into the crowd.

"You cheated, Franklin!" Octavia sobbed, her knees buckling so that Victoria had to catch her. "You cheated again! You think it’s okay for you, but not for me?"

"I didn’t cheat! Octavia, talk to me! What are you seeing? What are you hearing?" I was desperate now, my heart breaking as I watched her fall apart.

"Still pretending?" she laughed bitterly, reaching for the half-finished drink the man had left behind and draining it before I could snatch it away. "Fine. Let’s all pretend. It’s what you’re best at."

"Okay, Octavia, that’s enough," Victoria said, her voice stern as she slung Octavia’s arm over her shoulder.

"You’ve had way too much to drink. Let’s go."

"Octavia, wait! We need to talk!" I followed them as they moved toward the exit, ignoring the curious stares of the other club-goers.

"I think you’ve done enough for one night, Mr. Flemington," Victoria said, stopping me with a cold look.

"Give her some space. She’s had enough of your drama."

I stood at the entrance of the club, watching them disappear into the night. My head was spinning. What did she mean, ’cheated again’? I searched my mind, but I had nothing.

What had she seen that convinced her I was with someone else?