Chapter 149

~ Octavia ~

I groaned softly, the sound low and ragged in my throat as consciousness slowly pulled me back from the darkness. My eyelids fluttered open, heavy and reluctant, and for a long moment I simply stared at the ceiling, disoriented. The sterile white tiles and the faint beeping of monitors told me I was back in a hospital room, but the details felt hazy, like waking from a nightmare that refused to fade.

Where am I?

I sat up slowly, wincing at the dull ache in my head and the stiffness in my limbs. My mother was seated in a chair beside the bed, her head tilted forward in exhausted sleep, one hand still loosely holding mine. The sight of her brought a rush of warmth and relief, but it also triggered the flood.

Everything came back.

The memories hit me like a tidal wave—sharp, vivid, and merciless.

I remembered the hospital park, the stranger who promised to help me regain my lost memories. I remembered the prick of the needle, the sudden dizziness, the world tilting as I was drugged and carried away. I remembered waking up strapped to a chair in a dim warehouse, the duct tape across my mouth, the cold fear that gripped me when Anthony Rice stepped into the light.

Anthony Rice—Franklin’s trusted secretary.

The man I had never suspected.

Why had he kidnapped me? Why had he pushed me down those stairs at JeffTech? The questions swirled in my mind, each one heavier than the last. I winced, clutching my head as a sharp pain lanced through my skull. The groan that escaped me was loud enough to wake my mother.

"Octavia? Sweetheart? Are you awake?" she asked, jolting upright, fully alert in an instant.

"Mom," I whispered, reaching for her. She pulled me into a tight embrace, her arms trembling with relief.

"Oh, Octavia... you’re awake. I’m so happy to see you’re okay," she murmured, patting my back soothingly, her voice thick with unshed tears.

"I’m happy to see you too, Mom," I said, clinging to her for a moment longer before we pulled apart.

"I thought I wasn’t going to see you again after you were kidnapped," she sighed, brushing hair from my face with gentle fingers.

"I’m here, Mom. I’m here," I reassured her, though my own voice shook.

She knew I had been taken. She knew I had been brought back. The relief in her eyes was palpable.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, studying my face carefully.

"I’m okay," I lied, the memories still crashing over me in waves.

"How did I get here?" I asked, needing to piece the timeline together.

"It was Franklin and Clinton who brought you here yesterday," she explained. "You were unconscious. The doctor said you had been drugged with propofol. It was supposed to wear off in a few hours, and now that you’re awake, it clearly has."

"Franklin and Clinton brought me here?" I clarified, my stomach twisting at the mention of Franklin’s name.

"Yes," my mother nodded, still holding my hand.

That meant Franklin knew it was his secretary who had taken me. The realization settled like lead in my chest.

"Is everything okay, honey?" she asked, noticing the shift in my expression.

"Yes, Mom. I’m just glad I’m here," I said, forcing a small smile.

"That’s good. Let me tell Franklin you’re awake," she said, already moving toward the door.

"No!" The word burst out of me too quickly.

She turned back, frowning in confusion. "What is it?"

"Is it necessary to let Franklin know I’m awake?" I asked, my voice quieter now.

"I don’t understand... shouldn’t your husband know that you’re awake?" she asked, clearly puzzled.

"Mom, I—" I started, wanting to tell her the truth—that I had regained every single memory. The pain of Franklin’s betrayals, the humiliation of seeing those nude photos, the way he had called me a slut, the nights I had cried alone, the contract marriage, the one-night stand that started it all, the beach confession, the second betrayal when he left me at the resort. All of it was fresh, raw, and burning inside me.

"Hold on, let me call him. He deserves to know," she insisted, already heading for the door before I could protest further.

Minutes later, the door flew open. Franklin rushed in, my mother right behind him, her face bright with relief.

"Octavia, you’re awake," he said, surprise and joy mixing in his voice as he raced to the bed and pulled me into a tight hug.

I didn’t hug him back.

He noticed immediately and pulled away, confusion clouding his features. "What’s wrong?"

"Everything," I said simply, my voice flat.

"What?" He looked even more confused.

"I’ll leave you two to talk," my mother said softly, excusing herself and slipping out of the room.

"What’s wrong?" Franklin asked again, searching my face.

"Your secretary—Mr. Rice," I began, my tone steady but cold. "He was the one who kidnapped me, right?"

Franklin’s eyes widened in genuine surprise, which only confused me further. I had assumed he already knew, since my mother said he and Clinton had brought me back.

"Yes, he was the one," he admitted. "But how did you know? I thought you were sedated the entire time you were kidnapped."

"I was awake when I was strapped to that chair," I said quietly. "I saw him. I never thought he was capable of hurting me like that."

"Me neither," Franklin sighed, running a hand through his hair. "The worst part is that I never saw the signs. He played his role so well I missed every flaw."

"So where is he now?" I asked.

"He fled with his accomplice," Franklin replied.

"His accomplice?" My frown deepened.

"Yeah," he nodded.

"So he’s not... he’s not in jail?" I asked, anger and disbelief rising in my chest.

"Unfortunately... no, he isn’t," Franklin said, looking away.

I shook my head, squeezing my hands into tight fists until my nails dug into my palms. "That bastard almost killed me."

"I know," Franklin said softly, reaching for my hand.

I jerked it away, the anger still too fresh, too raw. "He told you he was the one responsible for my accident?"

"Yes," Franklin nodded. "He admitted it."

"And then he fled," I mumbled, turning my face away as tears threatened to spill.

"I’m handling the situation, Octavia. There’s no need for you to worry," he tried to reassure me.

"I’m—" I paused, sniffing back the tears. "I’m just tired of being a toy for your enemies to play with. First Bella, then Dorian Harrington, and now your secretary. It’s too much, Franklin. I can’t take it anymore."

I began to cry, the sobs breaking free despite my efforts to hold them back. Franklin looked even more confused. He tilted his head, studying me.

"Wait, hold on," he said slowly. "You remembered who Dorian Harrington is? You mentioned his name."

"Yes, I did," I said, my voice trembling. "That’s because I’ve recovered every fucking memory I lost, Franklin."

Franklin’s eyes widened in shock, the color draining from his face as the weight of my words sank in.