Chapter 18
~ Octavia ~
The gold band and the heavy diamond on my finger had started to feel like a fallacy. They were marks of ownership that offered no protection—only a steady, cold weight.
It was a Tuesday morning when Franklin cornered me in the breakfast nook. The sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows was unapologetically bright, illuminating the changes I had made to the estate over the last few weeks.
I had replaced the sterile, museum-like sculptures with warm ceramic vases; I had layered the sofas with blankets that smelled of cedar and vanilla. I had tried to turn his hollow fortress into a home, hoping that if the environment changed, perhaps the man within it would, too.
Franklin wasn't moved. He didn't praise my effort. He only gave me a look of icy indifference.
"Don't get too comfortable with the decorations, Octavia," he said.
"And don't think that fluffing pillows makes this arrangement any less of a transaction.
