Chapter 186: ~ 186
Chapter 186
~ Octavia ~
As the days bled into one another, the fog in my mind finally began to lift. The physical ache of the head injury was fading, leaving behind a sharp, crystalline clarity that felt more like a weapon than a relief. My memories were intact—every kiss from Franklin, every cruel word from the board, and every terrifying second of the fall.
I made the hospital my second home. Frederick couldn’t be alone. He was the root of the Flemington tree, and even if he was currently dormant, I needed him to know I was there. I was his only family left on this side of the veil. But the doctors were a chorus of hopelessness.
"He’s stable, Mrs. Flemington, but waking up is...statistically improbable at this stage."
"We are hoping for the best."
"We must be patient."
Their platitudes were like salt in an open wound. I didn’t want patience; I wanted a miracle. I wanted Frederick to open his eyes and Franklin to walk through that door so they could stand together against the vultures circling the estate.
To prepare for the storm, I made a choice. I resigned from JeffTech. Being a game developer felt like a lifetime ago; I couldn’t focus on virtual worlds when the real one was being stolen from under me. This was bumper-to-bumper combat now. I told my parents I was moving back into the Flemington estate. They worried, of course, offering to escort me to ensure the transition was safe.
When we arrived, the air at the estate felt different—thinner, colder. Lila and Joyce took my belongings to the master bedroom. Walking into that room was like stepping into a sanctuary and a crime scene all at once. It was the room I was supposed to share with Franklin. Now, it was just a vast, quiet space filled with his scent and my ghosts.
I was standing by the floor-to-ceiling window, looking out over the manicured grounds with my arms folded tightly across my chest, when Clarence entered.
"Mrs Flemington," he said softly.
I turned. Clarence was as composed as ever, his hands clasped neatly behind his back, but his eyes were dark with concern.
"Yes, Clarence?"
"Every member of this family has traditionally traveled with protection," he began, his voice low. "Senior Flemington, his parents before him, Mr Flemington’s parent and certainly Mr. Flemington himself. Now that you are back, and given...recent developments...I strongly advise that you take on a detail of your own. For protection. It is a mechanical necessity."
He was right. I had been kidnapped, shot at, and pushed down a flight of stairs. Franklin’s jet was a wreckage in the jungle, and Frederick was a ghost in a hospital bed. I was the last target left.
"You’re right," I said, walking toward him. "Hire someone. One should be enough."
"Two," Clarence corrected, looking relieved that I hadn’t fought him. "Backup is not a luxury right now. I will assign two of Mr. Franklin’s most trusted men to you immediately. They are already on the grounds."
"Good." I said.
Clarence left and returned moments later with two towering figures. They were sleek in black suits, their expressions unreadable and professional.
"This is Dean Locke and Axel Holt," Clarence introduced. "They are loyal, obedient, and seasoned. They will remain with you at all times."
"Good day, Mrs. Flemington," Locke said, stepping forward. He didn’t offer a smile, only a sharp, disciplined nod. "We are pleased to work under your command."
"The pleasure is mine," I replied, shaking their hands. I felt a small surge of confidence. I wasn’t just a girl in a suit anymore; I was a commander with an infantry. "Give me a few minutes to change. We’re going to the company."
I went upstairs and stepped into the live-in closet. I saw the photo of him on the vanity and for a second, the memory of Franklin telling Bella he loved her echoed in my ears. I felt the old weakness flicker, the urge to cry. Then I smothered it. That Octavia was dead. The woman standing here now was fueled by resilience. I pulled on a sharp black pantsuit and matching heels.
We arrived at Flemington Group in Franklin’s black limo. Walter, Franklin’s longtime driver, gave me a sorrowful look in the rearview mirror. "I’m so sorry, ma’am," he whispered. I could only offer a tight, small smile in return.
Walking into the lobby was like walking into a theater. Whispers trailed in my wake like a physical wake. They knew. The rumors of the board’s coup had spread like wildfire. I ignored the stares, flanked by Locke and Holt, and headed straight for the elevators.
I didn’t knock. I threw the boardroom doors open.
All twelve board members were there, huddled like conspirators. "Ladies and gentlemen," I announced, my voice cutting through their chatter. "I’m not here for formalities. I’m here to revisit your catastrophic decision."
An older man leaned forward, sighing. "Look, Mrs. Flemington, we have already voted—"
"You made a mistake," I snapped. "I’m asking you to reconsider before that mistake becomes a permanent stain on this company’s history."
"This has been discussed," a woman added dismissively.
"Then discuss it again!" I shot back. "This company is not a playground for
opportunists!"
Right on cue, the doors behind me opened. Dorian Harrington walked in with a nauseating majesty, looking as though he had already bought the building and everyone in it.
"Mr. Harrington," a board member acknowledged, almost reverently.
"Hello, Octavia," Dorian said. He smirked, a slow, oily expression.
"Looking at me with such coldness won’t change the reality of the situation."
"You don’t belong here, Dorian," I said, stepping toward him.
"Oh, no formalities? Just ’Dorian’?" He chuckled. "I think you’ll find this is exactly where I belong."
"This isn’t your company."
"Not yet," he agreed easily, moving to the center of the room. "But under my leadership, it will flourish. Something you, with your... unstable history, could never guarantee."
"You manipulated them, didn’t you?" I asked quietly, my blood beginning to boil.
"I simply told the truth," he countered, turning to the board. "I told them that your marriage to Franklin was a fraud. A contract. A marriage of convenience. A temporary arrangement."
The board looked at me with varying degrees of disgust. I felt the sting of shame for a split second before I realized it didn’t matter.
"You had no right," I hissed.
"I had every right. A global empire cannot be led by a woman whose very presence is built on a lie."
I stared at him, and the puzzle pieces began to shift in my mind.
"You’ve been planning this for a long time, haven’t you?"
Dorian tilted his head. "I’ve been preparing." He leaned in closer, dropping his voice so only I could hear. "You are never going to win this, Octavia. You’re outclassed."
"You don’t know that."
"Oh, I do." He leaned even closer, his eyes dancing with malice. "By the way...how is Frederick? Still playing sleeping beauty at the hospital?"
My heart stopped. I froze, my breath catching in my throat.
"What did you just say?"
Dorian straightened, his expression neutral again. "I heard the mighty Frederick Flemington is still unconscious. Such a shame."
The news of Frederick’s coma had been kept strictly under wraps. Franklin had gone to extreme lengths to keep his grandfather out of the press to prevent him from becoming a target. Only the inner circle knew.
"How do you know about that?" I demanded, my voice trembling with rage.
"Information travels, Octavia."
A cold, sickening realization swept over me. Anthony Rice. The kidnapping. The push down the stairs. Anthony was a mercenary, but he needed a benefactor. Someone with a deep-seated hatred for the Flemingtons.
"You were behind it all, weren’t you?" I whispered. "The kidnapping...the accident...you were Anthony’s shadow."
Dorian smiled—a genuine, terrifying smile. "I think grief is making you imaginative. You’re being emotional."
"I am being observant!" I snapped. I looked at the board members, wondering if they knew they were shaking hands with a murderer. "If anything happens to my family, Dorian... if Frederick doesn’t wake up... I am coming for you."
Dorian didn’t flinch. He looked amused. "I would like to see you try."
He turned away from me and sat down. Not just in any chair, but at the head of the table. Franklin’s chair.
"Mrs. Flemington," the chairman spoke up, his voice final. "This meeting is concluded."
I stared at Dorian, sitting in the seat he had stolen, and realized that the board wasn’t just blinded; they were bought. I wouldn’t find justice here. I turned on my heel and stormed out, Locke and Holt a silent, dark shadow behind me.
This wasn’t a corporate dispute anymore. This was a war for survival.
