Chapter 92

~ Octavia ~

I tossed and turned, my eyelids fluttering open as I felt a sudden, heavy warmth enveloping me and the sharp intrusion of morning sunlight piercing through the curtains. My brow furrowed, my cheek pressing deeper into the plush velvet of the couch cushion.

For a disorienting second, the world felt tilted and unfamiliar—then it all came rushing back in a tidal wave of memory. The dinner. The wine. The quiet, heavy conversation.

I blinked, sitting up slowly, the blanket sliding down my shoulder. I didn’t remember covering myself.

My gaze swept the living room, taking in the stillness of the morning, and then I saw him.

Clinton was across the room, seated in the same armchair from the night before. He wasn’t asleep. He was perfectly still, his eyes fixed on me with an intensity that made my heart skip a beat.

"You’re awake," he said. His voice was calm, but it had a gravelly edge to it, like sleep was a concept he’d only heard of but hadn’t actually visited.

"Yes, I am," I said groggily, smoothing my hair and trying to find my dignity. "And it’s slightly creepy and weird that you just sat there and watched me sleep all night."

He didn’t flinch; he only shrugged. "I had to watch over you."

"By staring at me?" I asked, pulling the blanket tighter.

"In a way. Besides, I enjoyed the snores."

I froze, my eyes widening. "I snored?"

"Terribly," he teased, a small, tired smirk tugging at his lips. "I thought the apartment was going to tremble down. I almost called a structural engineer."

"I do not snore!" I pouted, grabbing a nearby throw pillow and hurling it at his head. He caught it with one hand, finally letting out a genuine laugh.

"You’re right, you don’t snore loudly," he conceded, his voice softening. "You snore...cutely. If that’s even a thing."

I felt the heat rise in my cheeks, turning them a stubborn shade of red.

He stood up, stretching his back with a wince.

"But seriously, did you actually get enough sleep?" I asked, my voice losing its defensive edge. "It must have been incredibly uncomfortable sleeping in that chair all night."

"I’m not complaining, Octavia."

"Well, you should be. That armchair is for reading, not for an eight-hour shift."

"Coffee?" he asked, already heading toward the kitchen.

"Yeah. Please." I sat up fully now, the reality of the situation sinking in.

"I really don’t think it was a good idea, me staying here overnight."

"Why would you say that?" He glanced back at me, his hand hovering over the coffeemaker.

"Because I never planned on it. I think the wine just made me drowsy, and then I completely blinked out. It looks...it looks bad, Clinton."

"Are you blaming yourself for being tired?" he asked, his eyebrows knitting together. "Because if you are, stop. You felt safe enough to sleep. That’s not a crime."

He handed me a steaming mug. I mumbled my thanks, taking a few sips of the bitter, dark roast before checking the clock on my phone. My stomach dropped. "I have to go. Right now. Or I’m going to be spectacularly late for work."

He nodded, grabbing his keys. "I’ll drop you off."

During the drive, I stared out the window, watching the New York City skyline blur into a frantic smudge of grey and glass.

"You’re oddly quiet," Clinton noted, breaking the silence. "A penny for your thoughts?"

"Huh? Oh, it’s nothing," I lied, forcing a small smile. "Just thinking about my presentation tomorrow. The board is expecting a lot."

"You’ll crush it. You always do."

When we reached my building, I hopped out of the car, feeling the brisk morning air wake me up. "Thank you for dinner, Clinton. And for...you know. The blanket."

"I’m always at your service, gorgeous," he said, tipping an imaginary hat. I watched him drive off before racing upstairs to change into a fresh white blouse and black trousers, barely making it to the office with five minutes to spare.

The morning was a blur of frantic preparation.

By lunchtime, I had finally finished the project files, triple-checking every linguistic analysis. I walked into the office of Miranda, our team leader, to get the final sign-off.

"This is exceptional work, Miss Herman," Miranda said, flipping through the pages. "The depth of research here is exactly what the board is looking for."

"Thank you," I breathed, a weight lifting off my shoulders.

"All that’s left is the formal presentation tomorrow morning," she said, handing the thick folder back to me. "I’m counting on you."

"I won’t let you down," I promised.

I stepped out of her office, feeling a rare moment of triumph. I was staring down at the files, adjusting the clip, when someone collided with me with the force of a freight train.

Splash!

The world seemed to move in slow motion. I felt the scalding heat of liquid hitting my chest, soaking through my white silk blouse. Then, I watched in horror as the dark, muddy brown liquid cascaded over the project files, turning the crisp white pages into a soggy, illegible mess.

"Oops. Sorry," a voice drawled.

I looked up to see Bella.

She was holding an empty coffee cup, her eyes dancing with a malicious light that contradicted her flat tone.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Bella? Can’t you see where you’re going" I hissed, my voice trembling with rage.

"Maybe I should ask you that," she laughed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "You should watch where you’re going, Octavia."

"Do you have any idea what you just did? You just destroyed weeks of work! These files are ruined!"

"How is that now my problem?" She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "I said I was sorry, didn’t I?" She wore a sickening smirk that made my skin crawl.

Just then, Miranda poked her head out of her office. "Miss Herman, I forgot to mention—" she stopped, her eyes going wide as she saw the scene. The coffee stain on my chest was spreading like a dark omen, and the files in my hand were literally dripping onto the carpet.

"What on earth happened here?"

Miranda asked.

"It’s Bella, Mrs. Lawson," I snapped, gesturing to the empty cup. "She spilled this on me on purpose. She ruined the project files."

"It was a complete accident, Mrs. Lawson," Bella broke in, her voice suddenly high and fragile. She looked like the picture of remorse, her lower lip even trembling slightly. "I didn’t see Octavia coming out of the office. I was bringing you the coffee you asked for, and we just...collided. I feel terrible."

She turned to me, her eyes wide and fake. "I’m so, so sorry, Octavia. I didn’t mean to ruin your things."

"Everything isn’t fine, Miranda," I said, turning to my boss. "She did this intentionally."

"Oh dear, it was an accident. Surely you can just redo it please, Miss Herman," Miranda said, her tone frustratingly even. "Accidents happen. We’re all professionals here."

"Redo it? By tomorrow morning? Mrs Lawson, this took weeks!"

"I believe in your capabilities," Miranda said firmly. "I’m counting on you to make it work." She turned to Bella. "Thank you for the apology, Miss Washington. Let’s get back to work."

"If you need help retyping anything, Octavia, I’d be happy to assist. I insist," Bella said, her voice dripping with mock-sweetness.

"No need," I snapped, my jaw tight. "I’ll do it myself."

"But you haven’t accepted my apology," Bella cooed.

I looked at her—the green snake in the grass—and felt a cold shiver of hatred. "I heard you, Bella."

I turned and walked straight to the restroom. I stood before the mirror, staring at the brown blotch on my white silk. I tried to scrub it with water and soap, but it only smeared, leaving a jagged, ugly stain. I looked at the ruined files, the ink running into illegible blurs.

"You can fool them, Bella," I whispered to my reflection, my eyes burning. "But you can’t definitely fool me."

I crumpled the sodden project files into a ball and hurled them into the waste bin. I had twelve hours to rebuild my life’s work from scratch.