Chapter 97
~ Franklin ~
The news of Octavia's accident didn't just leak; it erupted.
By the time I checked my phone in the sterile quiet of the hospital corridor, the internet was already ablaze.
Some opportunistic employee at JeffTech—someone with a cold heart and a steady hand—had filmed the moment the paramedics wheeled her through the lobby.
"Fuck," I hissed under my breath, my thumb hovering over the screen.
The video was grainy but unmistakable. There was Octavia, the woman who usually carried herself with such untouchable poise, strapped to a backboard, her head immobilized, her face a mask of pale porcelain beneath a smear of blood. The comment section was a cesspool of speculation, linking her name to mine and dragging our private wreckage back into the public square.
