Chapter 154

~ Octavia ~

Shock rooted me to the spot as my mother’s words sank in. I stared at her, my mouth slightly open, struggling to process what she had just said.

"What?" I mumbled, my voice barely audible.

My mother turned calmly to Dr. Aris. "Can you excuse us for a moment, Doctor?"

"Of course," he replied, though his expression remained cautious. "Please take it easy with her. Regaining her memories is a huge step forward, but she’s not yet strong enough to absorb too much distressing news at once."

"I understand," my mother assured him. "I’ll be careful."

She stood and gestured for me to follow. "Let’s go back to your room."

I rose slowly, my legs still unsteady, and we walked in silence down the corridor to my private ward. The moment the door clicked shut behind us, the questions poured out.

"Mom, what do you mean Franklin’s grandfather was shot?"

She took a deep breath, speaking quickly as if the words were painful to release. "I probably shouldn’t have told you so soon, but you would have found out eventually. You deserved to know." She paused, then reached for my hand, her touch warm and grounding. "His grandfather was shot, honey."

"But... how?" My voice trembled with disbelief.

"I don’t have all the details. Maybe you should ask Franklin directly."

I nodded slowly, my mind racing. "Where is he now?"

"He’s in the third room down this floor. You’ll see the sign for the private ward."

"Is that where his grandfather is?"

"Yes," she replied gently. "He’s staying with him."

Without another word, I turned and made my way down the hallway. My heart pounded harder with every step. When I reached the door, I knocked softly. A few seconds later, Franklin opened it. His eyes looked hollow, exhausted.

"My mother told me your grandfather was shot," I said quietly.

He simply stared at me, saying nothing.

"Can I see him?" I asked. 𝒇𝓻𝓮𝓮𝙬𝙚𝒃𝒏𝓸𝙫𝒆𝙡.𝓬𝓸𝒎

Franklin stepped aside without a word and pushed the door wider. The moment I entered the dimly lit room and saw Frederick Flemington lying motionless in the bed, the air left my lungs in a sharp gasp.

"Oh my God..." I covered my mouth with both hands, walking closer on shaky legs.

The once-powerful man looked like a shadow of himself. His skin was unnaturally pale, his famous silver hair now dull and lifeless. Tubes and wires connected him to machines that beeped rhythmically, keeping him alive. It was like staring at a ghost—familiar features, but drained of the commanding presence I remembered. My own heartbeat thundered in my ears, louder than the steady rhythm of the EKG monitor.

"Who did this to him?" I whispered, unable to tear my eyes away from Frederick.

"I don’t know for sure," Franklin replied, his voice low and strained. "But I’m certain it was connected to my secretary and whoever he was working with."

"How did it happen?" I asked softly.

"You were unconscious at the time. All I saw was a hand holding a gun, sticking out from the tinted window of a black car. It was aimed straight at me. Before I could react, my grandfather stepped in front of me...and took the bullet."

I covered my face with my hands, horror washing over me. "He saved you."

Franklin nodded silently, his jaw tight.

"I’m so sorry, Franklin," I said, genuine pain lacing my words.

"Thank you," he coughed out, clearly fighting to hold himself together.

"Mr. Rice is behind all of this," I continued, my gaze returning to the frail figure on the bed. "Your grandfather doesn’t deserve what happened to him, Franklin. None of this is fair."

"Do you think I don’t know that?" Franklin snapped, anger flashing in his eyes. "Anthony and whoever helped him will pay. They will pay dearly." His voice dropped to a dangerous murmur. "The bastards will pay."

I stayed in the room for a while longer, the heavy silence broken only by the machines. Eventually, exhaustion pulled at me. "I’m really tired. I should go back and rest."

Franklin glanced at me. "What did the doctor say about your condition?"

"You should ask my mom. She’ll explain everything. I don’t have the energy right now."

He nodded understandingly.

I looked at Frederick one last time, my voice soft but hopeful. "He will wake up soon. I can feel it. Just like I did."

Franklin shook his head slowly. "A head injury and a gunshot wound are two very different things, Octavia. My grandfather’s situation is far more serious than yours, and he’s older."

"Hey," I said gently, stepping closer. "Have a little faith. Don’t give up hope."

He let out a long, weary sigh but didn’t argue.

"I have to go," I added quietly. "And... thank you for bringing me back to the hospital after the kidnapping."

"You’re welcome," he replied, his tone heavy with sadness.

I nodded and turned to leave, the image of Frederick’s pale face burned into my mind.

Back in my own ward, I found my mother on the phone with my father. Her face glowed as she shared the results of my tests. Just as she had predicted, I could hear my father’s excited voice on the other end, full of joy. She glanced at me and smiled warmly, continuing her conversation.

I picked up my phone from the dresser, my thoughts drifting to Clinton. He had also played a role in rescuing me. I owed him my thanks too. I dialed his number, and it connected on the second ring.

"Hey, Clinton. Good morning," I greeted warmly.

An icy female voice answered instead. "Who’s this?"

I frowned, pulling the phone away to double-check the caller ID. It was definitely Clinton’s number.

"Hello?" the woman prompted again.

"Um...this is Octavia Herman speaking. Is this Clinton’s line?"

"Yes, it is," she replied.

"Okay...can you put him on the phone please? There’s something I’d like to tell him."

"I’m afraid he isn’t available right now, Miss Herman. But you can tell me the message. Don’t worry—I’ll make sure he gets it."

I hesitated, confusion swirling in my chest. "Maybe it’s better if I just call him back later."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I’m sure. Thank you for offering, though."

"My pleasure," she said. I caught a sharp edge of irritation in her tone before the call ended.

I stared at the phone in stunned silence. A woman had answered Clinton’s phone. The realization hit me hard. Did he have a girlfriend now? Was that why he hadn’t visited me since that earlier call? Was that the reason he seemed to be avoiding me?

The more I thought about it, the more annoyed and hurt I became. Maybe I had become a liability to him—someone who brought nothing but danger and complications into his life. Perhaps he had simply moved on.

With a heavy sigh, I set the phone down, the warmth of gratitude I had wanted to express now replaced by a quiet ache of disappointment and self-doubt.