Chapter 139: ~ 139
Chapter 139
~ Clinton ~
When I finally got home that evening, the apartment felt colder than usual, the silence pressing in from every corner. I tossed my keys onto the counter and noticed the missed call from Octavia. My thumb hovered over her name, the urge to call her back strong. But then the memory of the gun pressed to my head, the bat cracking against my skull, and that gravelly voice warning me to stay away flooded back. I couldn’t risk it. Not now. I was protecting her—even if it meant keeping my distance.
My time with Annie earlier had been amazing, a rare pocket of lightness in days that had grown heavier and darker. Yet, the next day, as I sat at my desk, work—the one thing that had always been my escape—now felt like a cage.
The file lay open in front of me, untouched.
Five minutes passed.
Ten.
I hadn’t read a single line.
Because my mind wasn’t here.
It was somewhere else.
With her.
Not Octavia.
Annie.
The memory of yesterday replayed in soft, vivid fragments—her bright smile across the table, the way her laughter had filled the restaurant, the softness in her voice when she looked at me like I was something worth holding onto. Something safe. Something... hers.
I exhaled slowly, dragging a hand down my face.
"She likes you," I muttered under my breath.
It wasn’t hard to see. Anyone with eyes could tell.
But the problem wasn’t her feelings.
It was mine.
Because no matter how kind and beautiful Annie was...
No matter how easy it would be to just try...
I couldn’t.
Not when my heart was still tangled up in someone else.
Octavia.
Always Octavia.
Even now.
Even after everything.
I picked up my phone, scrolled, and paused on Octavia’s name. Then I pressed call.
It rang.
Once.
Twice.
Then—
Nothing.
The call dropped.
I frowned and tried again.
Same thing.
Unavailable.
A strange feeling settled in my gut—uneasy, heavy, wrong. I didn’t know why, but something didn’t sit right.
"Maybe she’s busy or asleep," I muttered, tossing the phone lightly onto the desk.
Still—the feeling didn’t go away.
I shook it off and forced myself to refocus on the file. Work. That’s what I needed. Distraction.
I reached for it again—
And then my phone rang.
I picked it up without checking the caller ID.
"Clinton."
The voice on the other end was tight, edged with something I rarely heard from him.
"Where is she?"
I froze.
It was Franklin.
His voice wasn’t normal.
"What?" I asked, frowning.
"Octavia," he said, sharper now. "Where is she?"
Confusion hit me instantly. "What kind of question is that? She’s at the hospital... isn’t she?"
Silence.
Then...
"She’s not."
I stood up immediately, chair scraping against the floor. "What do you mean she’s not?"
"She’s not in her ward," Franklin said, his voice tight with barely contained panic. "She’s gone."
Gone?
No.
"Gone how? That’s not possible," I said quickly. "Did you check with the nurses? The staff?"
"I’ve alerted everyone," he snapped. "They’re searching the entire hospital."
For the first time, I heard it—real fear in Franklin’s voice. And despite everything, despite how much I couldn’t stand him, I felt it too. Because this wasn’t about us anymore. This was about her.
"Franklin," I said, steadying my voice, "listen to me. Did you inform hospital management to make an announcement? Lock down exits?"
"I did," he said. "They’re searching everywhere."
Damn it.
This wasn’t random. It couldn’t be.
"I’m calling the police," Franklin said suddenly.
And that’s when it clicked.
I remembered the parking lot, the beating, the gun, the cold warning: "Stay away... or next time won’t be a warning."
My grip on the phone tightened until my knuckles turned white.
"Don’t," I said.
"What?" Franklin snapped.
"Don’t call the police."
A pause.
"Have you lost your mind?" he demanded.
"I haven’t, but there’s no need for you to call the police," I said, the memory of that gravelly voice still fresh and terrifying. "Whoever abducted Octavia doesn’t need anyone to know. Trust me."
My guess was that whoever had taken Octavia was the same person—or group—that had kidnapped and threatened me, and likely the same one who had pushed her down the stairs. The lines were connecting now, sharp and terrifying. The person wasn’t finished with her yet. And now she was gone. That thought scared me more than anything.
I was silent for a moment, the weight of it pressing down on my chest.
"If we call the police," I continued, "we could make things worse."
"You expect me to do nothing?" Franklin snapped, his voice cracking with frustration and fear.
"At this moment... yes."
Another rough breath on the line.
"What do you suggest?" he asked finally, the reluctance clear.
I exhaled slowly. 1
"We find her ourselves."
"I don’t trust you," he said immediately.
"I don’t care," I replied. "This isn’t about trust."
It was about survival.
About her survival.
Another pause.
Then....
"...Fine," Franklin said reluctantly. "But if anything happens to her—"
"It won’t," I cut in.
Because it couldn’t.
I wouldn’t allow it.
I didn’t waste time.
I drove straight to the one place that made my blood boil just thinking about it.
My father’s estate.
Dorian Harrington.
If anyone had answers—or was behind this—it was him.
I banged on the door heavily. When one of the maids finally opened it, I stormed inside, ignoring her startled greeting.
"Where is she?" I demanded the moment I saw him sitting in the living room with a glass in hand.
Dorian barely looked up from his drink, his expression calm and infuriatingly composed.
"I see you’ve lost what little manners you had left," he said coolly.
"Don’t fucking play games with me, Dad!" I snapped, stepping closer. "What did you do to Octavia?"
That got his attention. He stood slowly, setting his glass down with deliberate care.
"I did nothing to that girl," he said evenly.
"I don’t believe you!" I shouted, anger surging hot through my veins.
"Then that’s your problem," he replied coldly.
"You think I wouldn’t figure it out?" I stepped even closer, voice low and dangerous. "You think I don’t know how you operate?"
"And you think I’d harm the son I disowned by extension?" he shot back.
"I think you’re capable of anything!"
We were inches apart now, tension snapping like a live wire ready to break.
"Careful," Dorian warned.
"Or what?" I challenged.
Before anything could escalate further, a force slammed into me from the side. I staggered back, pain exploding across my mouth. Blood filled my mouth instantly. I looked up.
Kieran Townsend.
Of course.
Always him.
Standing between us like a silent, unmovable machine.
I wiped the blood from my lip slowly, then looked back at my father.
"If I find out you had anything to do with this..." I said, my voice low and deadly, "I will kill you."
The room went dead silent.
Dorian didn’t flinch.
But something in his eyes shifted—just slightly.
I turned on my heel and walked out.
Because if I stayed any longer, one of us wouldn’t make it out alive.
And right now, I had someone far more important to find.
Octavia.
