Chapter 27
~ Franklin ~
After work, I decided to head to Bella's apartment.
I needed to see her, to just exist in a space that wasn't stifled by corporate politics or the hollow silence of my own home.
I was exhausted, and Bella was the only person who knew how to strip that weight away.
"Seeing how you look, work must have been hectic today," Bella said softly after we shared a lingering kiss at the door.
"You have no idea," I sighed, collapsing onto her velvet couch. Her loft wasn't far from the subway station; I could hear the faint, rhythmic rumble of the trains and the distant, mournful honk of a horn.
"How was your day at work?" I asked, pulling her down beside me.
"Good. Meetings here and there," she shrugged.
"Let's order pizza for dinner. I'm too tired to even think about cooking." She suggested.
"Sure," I agreed with a tired nod.
I reached into my suit jacket, pulled out my black express unlimited debit card, and handed it to her.
"Dinner is on me."
"Cool," she smiled, kissing my cheek.
She placed the order, and within fifteen minutes, the buzzer rang.
She disappeared for a moment and returned with a steaming box. "Dinner is served," she announced, laying it out on the carpet.
I removed my suit jacket, tossed it over a chair, and rolled up my sleeves.
"Oh, I forgot the wine," she said, heading to the kitchen. She returned with a chilled bottle and two glasses, pouring a deep red vintage before sitting cross-legged opposite me.
"So, how's life living with the whore?" she asked casually.
I shrugged, taking a slice of pizza.
"Boring. As usual."
"I thought as much," she chuckled.
"I saw her at the office the other day. She's always glued to her computer, her eyes never leaving the screen. Sometimes I think she isn't human—normal eyes get tired, but hers? She looks so... helpless. Like a mouse caught in a trap."
She laughed, and I found myself joining her. "I'm sure she is," I said, sipping my wine.
Bella reached over, trailing her fingers along my jaw before pulling me into a kiss.
The pizza was forgotten. I stood up, lifting her in a bridal carry and heading toward the bedroom.
But just as I began to undress her, a sharp, insistent knock echoed through the apartment.
I froze, my lips against her neck.
"Are you expecting someone?"
"No," I felt her body tense beneath mine.
She pulled away, her eyes darting toward the hallway. The knocking continued—loud, rhythmic, and demanding.
"Let me go check who's at the door," she said, reaching for her clothes.
"Don't bother, Bell. If they realize no one is answering, they'll get tired and leave," I said, my voice thick with frustration.
"Regardless, Franklin, I have to know who it is. Stay here. I'll be right back." She pulled her shorts up and hurried out of the room.
"Seriously?" I sighed in defeat, rubbing my temples as I fell back against the pillows.
Ten minutes passed.
Then fifteen.
My frustration turned into a quiet, nagging suspicion. I sat up, frowning.
What could possibly take this long? I stood, pulled my suit pants back on, and walked toward the living room.
As I approached the foyer, I heard voices. They were low, urgent whispers.
"He's here and you need to leave. I'll take care of it myself," I heard Bella hiss.
"You better do it quickly, otherwise—"
"What's going on?" I demanded, stepping into the light.
Bella jumped, her face pale as she spun around to block my view of the door.
"Franklin! I thought I told you to wait in the bedroom."
She was trying to hide the visitor, but I was tall enough to see over her shoulder.
Standing in the doorway was a young man with a thick beard and dark, cold eyes. He looked at me with a gaze that wasn't just unfriendly—it was disgusted.
"I couldn't wait anymore," I said, my voice hardening as I looked at the stranger. "Who is he?"
"He's... he's just someone I owe a loan to," Bella stammered, her hand trembling as she gripped my arm.
"He came to collect tonight. I told him I didn't have the money yet. That's all."
I stared at her.
Something in my gut twisted—a warning flash that she was lying—but the love I had for her acted like a blindfold.
I convinced myself she was just embarrassed. Bella wouldn't hurt me; we were in this together.
"Is that so?" I turned my glare toward the man. He mirrored my expression, his lip curling in a sneer.
"Yes," Bella nodded frantically, holding my arm affectionately.
"Don't worry, baby. I'll handle this. Just go back to the bedroom, okay?"
"I want to help, Bell. I'm not going to stand by while you're being harassed," I murmured, kissing her temple before addressing the man again.
"How much does she owe you, sir?"
The man scoffed, his eyes filled with a strange mockery.
"How much does…"
"A hundred thousand dollars!" Bella cut in loudly. "That's what I owe him."
"Fine," I said, not missing a beat.
"I'll wire the money to your account tonight so you can pay him off. I don't want him bothering you again." I looked at the man.
"I trust that will be the end of this?"
"Goodbye," the man spat. He looked from Bella to me, gave a short, cynical laugh, and stepped back into the hall.
Bella closed the door quickly, leaning her back against it.
"Thank you, baby," she breathed, pulling me into a hug.
"Anything for you, Bell," I told her, though a small shadow of doubt lingered.
"Everything is okay, right?"
"Of course, everything is fine. Now, come on... let's pick up where we left off."
She grabbed my hand, leading me back to the bedroom. By the time we were under the sheets, the strange man had been pushed to the back of my mind.
Later that night, I returned to the estate. After a quick shower, I retreated to my study for a series of back-to-back online meetings with our international partners.
Just as I was rounding up the final call, a soft, hesitant knock sounded on the door.
"Who is it?" I asked, a frown deepening on my face. I assumed it was Octavia coming to annoy me with some trivial complaint.
"It's Olga, Mr. Flemington...may I come in, please?"
My irritation vanished, replaced by concern.
"Olga?" I stood up and opened the door. "Good evening. Is everything alright?"
She shook her head, her face etched with worry.
"It is about Mrs. Flemington...your wife."
"Octavia?" I poked my head out into the hallway, half-expecting to see her standing there.
"What about her?"
"Can Olga come in?" she asked.
I stepped aside and gestured for her to enter. "What is it?"
"Olga worried for Mrs. Flemington. Mrs. Flemington very sad," she said.
"I don't follow. Why are you worried about Octavia?"
"Mrs. Flemington says someone follow her. She showed me a picture—you and her in it. She believes someone is watching her," Olga explained, her hands clutched over her chest.
"You mean she thinks she has a stalker?" I asked, my skepticism rising.
"Da," Olga nodded.
"I told her to call police, but she refused. She said she can't... poor rebënok."
I sighed and sat back down in my leather chair.
"I'm sure she's just exhausted, Olga.
Between the move and the new project, her mind is playing tricks on her. She's probably seeing shadows where there aren't any."
"Not true, Mr. Flemington. You need to believe. She thinks she is going crazy because no one listens."
"I've heard you, Olga," I said, my tone dismissing the subject.
"I'll talk to her at breakfast tomorrow. But she's an adult; she can handle a few nerves.
Don't let it keep you up."
"Talk to her, Mr. Flemington...Olga doesn't want her hurt."
"I've got it. Goodnight, Olga."
She bowed low and left the room. Once the door was shut, I shook my head, staring at the closed door.
"What are you doing now, Octavia?" I muttered to the empty room.
"Are you really this desperate for my attention? You had to drag Olga into your little drama?"
I let out a cold laugh, turned back to my laptop, and forced myself to focus on work. I had a legacy to run; I didn't have time for Octavia's imaginary ghosts.