Chapter 26
~ Octavia ~
The next morning, my hand trembled slightly as I reached for my cup of coffee. Franklin arrived at the dining table like clockwork, dressed in a sharp, three-piece black suit that looked like armor.
I couldn't stop thinking about the Polaroid photo. The photo of Franklin and I was etched into my mind.
Who could have been close enough to take that? The thought of a lens following my every move, even inside the estate, made my skin crawl.
"My grandfather wants us to have lunch," Franklin announced, his voice cutting through the fog of my anxiety.
"Huh?" I blinked, refocusing on him.
"Did you even hear a word I said?" He frowned, his eyes narrowing.
"I'm sorry, I'm just...lost in thought," I said, setting the half-empty cup back on its saucer.
"Whatever it is, I don't care to know the details," he said with a harsh, dismissive tone.
"I said my grandfather wants us to have lunch with him today."
"Oh," I said, my heart sinking as I thought of my schedule.
"But I have a presentation with the board this afternoon and—"
"Cancel it. Tell Miranda or whoever is in charge that you have a family emergency. I'm sure they'll understand," he shrugged, signaling a maid to bring his breakfast.
I glared at him, a spark of resentment lighting up in my chest. Why did he belittle everything I did? Was my career nothing more than a hobby to him? I wanted to refuse—the word no was sitting right at the tip of my tongue—but I remembered who Frederick Flemington was.
Frederick was the antithesis of his grandson. Where Franklin was ice, Frederick was sun. He was warm, jovial, and genuinely kind-hearted. I couldn't say no to him.
"Fine. I'll join you. Text me the address and I'll meet you there."
"There's no need for that. I'll pick you up," Franklin countered as his breakfast was set before him.
"Is noon alright?" He asked.
"12:30 is better. I need to finish up some work and…"
"Yeah, yeah, whatever. 12:30 it is," he huffed, hushing me before I could finish.
The dismissal stung, but I remained silent.
A moment later, Olga appeared in the dining room.
"Good morning, Mr. Flemington. Mrs. Flemington," she greeted us warmly.
"Good morning," we replied in a flat unison.
"Heater good now? Olga called plumber," she said, her brow furrowed as she navigated the English words.
"Yes, thank you, Olga. The heater is working fine," Franklin said, snapping his briefcase shut and standing up.
"I'll be leaving now." He announced.
I said nothing. Olga bowed low as he turned toward the door.
"Octavia?" He paused, still not looking me in the eye.
"Should I wait to drop you off at the office?"
"No, I'm good. I have my car today. I'll drive myself," I told him.
"Suit yourself," he said, and then he was gone.
The room felt lighter the moment the front door closed. Olga moved closer, noticing the tight set of my jaw.
"Olga want know if Mrs. Flemington okay," she said softly, her eyes full of genuine concern.
"It's nothing, Olga. I'm fine," I lied, shrugging.
"Olga doesn't think so," she murmured, pulling out a chair to face me.
"Speak, rebënok. Olga want know if you fine."
"What does rebënok mean?" I asked.
"Means 'child,'" she replied politely.
I sighed heavily, the weight of the secret pressing down on me.
"Talk to Olga," she pleaded.
"Is it Mr. Flemington again?"
"Not exactly. It's... I don't know if I'm losing my mind or hallucinating, or—"
"What is it?" she cut in.
"I think someone is stalking me, Olga," I finally whispered.
She looked confused, her head tilting to the side. "Hold on. I'll be right back."
I ran upstairs to my bedroom, grabbed the Polaroid photo from my nightstand, and hurried back down. I handed it to her with trembling fingers.
"I found this on my windshield last night," I explained.
"I don't know who put it there. And that's not all...I feel like I'm being followed. Everywhere." I paused, searching her face.
"Do I look crazy? Do I sound paranoid?"
"No, no," she shook her head firmly. "What about police? You call them?"
"It wouldn't make sense. What if it's just stress? What if it's a colleague at work playing a cruel prank especially when there's rumours of me marrying Franklin for money, I don't have proof of anything other than a photo," I mumbled, biting my cuticle nervously.
Olga reached out and took my hand in hers.
"Does Mr. Flemington know?"
I scoffed. "No. If I tell him, he'll think I'm crazy. Honestly, I'm starting to believe him."
"Olga does not think you are crazy. Olga believes you," she said firmly.
"You... you do?" I asked, my eyes widening.
"Da," she nodded. "You talk to police. Report it."
"I can't," I shrugged helplessly.
"If the tabloids get hold of it, I'll be labeled the 'paranoid wife.' I'd be an embarrassment to the CEO of Flemington Group. He'd only hate me more."
Olga stared at me, her expression clouded with worry.
"Don't worry, Olga. I'll be careful," I tried to assure her, though I didn't feel assured at all. I checked my watch.
"I have to go. I'm almost late. Have a nice day."
"Olga wishes Mrs. Flemington a nice day too," she smiled sadly.
…
At 12:30 sharp, Franklin's car pulled up to the office.
The drive to the restaurant was silent and suffocating.
Frederick had rented out the entire venue; the dining room was elegant, quiet, and completely empty save for us. When we reached the table, the old man beamed.
"It's been far too long since we've seen each other, Octavia!"
"But we saw each other at your birthday just a few days ago, Frederick," I teased as the waiter arrived.
"My dear, at my age, a few days feels like a century," he chuckled.
He then turned his gaze to Franklin, who was buried in his phone.
"Table manners, Franklin. Put the phone away."
"I'm finalizing a deal with Nova Corp, Grandpa. It's important," Franklin muttered, his thumbs flying across the screen.
"Do it later. Focus on having lunch with us," Frederick commanded.
"I can't," Franklin snapped, sounding provoked.
Suddenly, his phone rang. He stood up abruptly. "Excuse me. It's them."
He walked toward the foyer to take the call.
Frederick watched him go and sighed, rubbing his forehead. "I wanted a family lunch, and he chose a board meeting."
"I guess lunch was a bad idea today. I was quite busy too," I admitted.
"And yet, you aren't the one hovering over a phone," Frederick said dryly.
"Anyways dig in, dear. I'm sure you're hungry."
Halfway through the meal, Frederick excused himself to use the restroom. Almost immediately, Franklin returned to the table.
"Seems you two started without me," he said, picking up his fork.
"I wonder whose fault that is," I replied, leaning back and crossing my arms.
"It isn't mine if the world doesn't stop turning for a salad," he shot back.
"Whatever," I rolled my eyes.
"Where is my grandfather?" He asked.
"Restroom," I replied.
I turned to look out the window at the quiet street. My heart stopped. A familiar black SUV was idling at the curb directly in front of the restaurant. The windows were tinted so dark they looked like voids.
I leaned closer to the glass, trying to catch a glimpse of the driver, but before I could, the vehicle peeled away from the curb and vanished around the corner.
"What the hell?" I breathed, my face paling.
"What is it?" Franklin asked, looking up from his plate.
"N-nothing," I stammered, shaking my head.
Frederick returned a moment later, blissfully unaware of the tension.
"Still busy with your 'business' calls, Franklin?" he teased.
"For now? Nope..I'm all yours now, Grandpa," Franklin sighed, finally pocketing the phone.
"Good," Frederick nodded.
"Now, did I tell you about the clubhouse the other day? I scored three over par on the back nine, and let me tell you, the look on the pro's face..."
He launched into a story, his voice rhythmic and comforting. I smiled absent-mindedly, nodding in all the right places, but my mind was elsewhere.
The SUV had been there. It was following me. And for the first time, I realized that whoever was behind the glass wasn't just watching—they were waiting.