Chapter 97

~ Franklin ~

The news of Octavia’s accident didn’t just leak; it erupted.

By the time I checked my phone in the sterile quiet of the hospital corridor, the internet was already ablaze.

Some opportunistic employee at JeffTech—someone with a cold heart and a steady hand—had filmed the moment the paramedics wheeled her through the lobby.

"Fuck," I hissed under my breath, my thumb hovering over the screen.

The video was grainy but unmistakable. There was Octavia, the woman who usually carried herself with such untouchable poise, strapped to a backboard, her head immobilized, her face a mask of pale porcelain beneath a smear of blood. The comment section was a cesspool of speculation, linking her name to mine and dragging our private wreckage back into the public square.

I didn’t hesitate. I called my head of PR and the legal team at Flemington Global. "I want that video scrubbed. I want the original uploader identified, and I want every platform hosting it served with a cease-and-desist within the hour. My wife deserves privacy, not to be a viral spectacle."

Once the machinery of my influence was in motion, I called my secretary. "Clear my schedule. Cancel the merger meetings, the board calls—everything. I’m not leaving this hospital until she opens her eyes."

I returned to her room, the rhythmic, mechanical pulse of the EKG the only thing breaking the silence.

I sat by her bed, the doctor’s words echoing in my mind like a haunting refrain. The brain needs time...it could be hours or it could take longer.

"How much longer, Octavia?" I whispered, my voice cracking in the empty room.

The weight of the unknown was crushing.

We won’t know the extent until she regains consciousness. The "extent." It was a clinical word for a terrifying reality. Would she know who I was?

I leaned forward, resting my forehead against the cool metal rail of the bed, and reached out to take her hand. It was limp and unnervingly cold. "I know things are a mess between us," I murmured, my eyes stinging. "I know I’ve given you every reason to walk away. But please...just wake up. You can hate me, you can leave me, you can burn my world to the ground—just do it with your eyes open."

There was no squeeze of her fingers. No flicker of her eyelids. Just the steady, indifferent beep...beep...beep of the monitor.

I was pulled from my grief by the sudden, violent swing of the door. I stood up quickly, wiping my face as Patricia and Ben Herman burst into the room. They looked like they had aged ten years in a single morning.

"Oh, Octavia! My baby girl!" Patricia cried out, rushing past me to the bedside. She looked devastated, her hands trembling as she hovered them over her daughter’s pale face, afraid to touch her and break the fragile peace.

"Mrs. Herman," I began, my voice thick. "I’m so sorry."

She didn’t even look at me. Her entire world was narrowed down to the unconscious woman in the bed.

Ben Herman, however, stood at the foot of the bed, his gaze shifting from Octavia to me with a hardness I hadn’t seen before.

"How did this happen, Franklin?" he asked. The question wasn’t an inquiry; it was a demand for accountability.

"I...I don’t have all the answers yet, Ben," I admitted, shaking my head.

"We saw the video," Ben said, his voice low and vibrating with suppressed fury. "We saw it online before it vanished. We didn’t even know it was her until the comments started identifying her as your wife. Imagine that, Franklin. Finding out our daughter is in a coma because of a social media post."

"I am disgusted that you had to see that," I told them, my jaw tight. "I’ve had the video taken down. I’m doing everything I can to protect her."

"What happened to her?" Patricia asked, finally turning to me, her eyes red-rimmed and swimming with tears.

"The official report from her office says she fell down the stairwell," I explained, trying to keep my voice steady. "She was in a rush for a board presentation. They say she lost her footing and the fall was significant enough to cause the loss of consciousness."

"And the doctors?" Ben pressed. "What are they saying?"

"Her vitals are stable, but she has a traumatic brain injury. They said it could be hours...or longer...before she wakes up."

"Or longer?" Patricia’s voice rose in a panicked pitch. "What does that mean? Is she in a coma? Is she brain-damaged?"

"I—" I started, but I didn’t have the heart to tell them about the memory loss. "The doctor is the one who can explain the specifics. I’m just waiting, like you."

"Where is he?" Patricia demanded, already moving toward the door. "Where is the man in charge? I need to know what is being done for my daughter."

She swept out of the room with a mother’s frantic energy, and Ben followed close behind, leaving me alone with Octavia once more. The silence felt heavier now, charged with the grief of her parents.

My phone vibrated in my pocket. It was my grandfather. I sighed, bracing myself, and answered.

"Franklin. I just saw the news...or rather, that hideous video. I don’t understand. What happened to Octavia?" his voice was uncharacteristically shaky.

"She fell in the stairwell at JeffTech, Grandpa. It’s bad. She’s unconscious."

"How? She’s never been clumsy. How does a woman like Octavia just tumble down a flight of stairs?"

"She didn’t," I said, my voice dropping to a low growl. "I saw the footage, Grandpa. I forced my way into their security room. Someone was behind her. I saw a shadow and a hand in a black glove. She was pushed."

There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line.

"Pushed? You’re certain?"

"Absolutely certain. The camera angle was poor—intentionally, I think—but the intent was clear. Someone wanted her out of the way. Someone knew exactly where the blind spots were."

"That bastard," my grandfather hissed. "To target a woman in a stairwell...it’s cowardly. It’s monstrous. Do you have a lead on who it was?"

"Not yet. The CCTV didn’t catch a face. But I’m not stopping until I find them. I assure you, whoever did this won’t just go to jail. They’ll wish they had never been born."

"I hope so," he sighed heavily. "Can I come see her?"

"Not yet. The ICU is strictly immediate family for now, and her parents just arrived. It’s...it’s a lot right now. I’ll let you know the moment the doctors move her to a private ward."

"Keep me updated every hour, Franklin. Every hour."

"I will."

I hung up and looked at Octavia. The room felt too small, too public. I made a mental note to have her moved to the VIP wing—a private ward with round-the-clock private security.

I wouldn’t let anyone near her until I knew she was safe.

I sat back down and took her hand again, waiting for the Hermans to return.

The world outside was spiraling, the internet was whispering, and a shadow was still at large, but in this room, time had simply stopped.

We were all just waiting for Octavia to come back to us.