He threw money on the bed after our one-night stand.
I threw it back in his face at his own inauguration.
By sundown, we were engaged. By the week's end — married.
Franklin Flemington needed a wife to secure his empire. I needed a miracle to save my family. For two years, we played our parts flawlessly — the golden couple the whole city envied.
Behind closed doors, I was invisible to him.
When the two years were up, I handed him divorce papers without blinking.
He stared at me like I'd lost my mind. "I've given you everything a husband should. What more do you want from me, Octavia?"
I smiled, signed my name, and walked out.
I thought that was the end. I thought I'd finally won.
I forgot one thing — Franklin Flemington has never lost anything in his life. And he has no intention of starting with me.
Game on.

The sterile, white-washed air of the VIP wing felt colder than usual as I pushed through the heavy double doors. Inside the private ward, the silence was absolute, broken only by the rhythmic, artificial sigh of the ventilator. Patricia Herman was exactly where I expected her to be: perched on a small stool by Octavia's side, her forehead resting against the mattress. Her eyes were closed, her face a map of exhaustion and grief.


I moved with practiced stealth, crossing the room to the opposite side of the bed. I didn't want to startle her. I reached for the empty crystal vase on the nightstand and carefully placed the bouquet of orchids and sunflower inside. The soft rustle of the plastic wrap was enough to break the quiet.


Chapter 102 - ~ 102