Chapter 10
~ Octavia ~
It was Saturday morning — moving day. I had texted my address to Franklin earlier, and he'd replied with a curt message saying I would be picked up shortly. I didn't know if "shortly" meant him arriving in person or sending a subordinate.
As I began the final sweep of my apartment, a wave of overwhelm crashed over me.
My white feline, Nola, was curled in a peaceful ball on the sofa.
"I wish I had your peace of mind, Nola," I murmured, stroking her soft fur.
She purred, oblivious to the fact that our lives were about to be upended.
I finished packing my two suitcases, the click of the latches sounding like a final gavel.
The intercom buzzed.
I pressed the button, my voice hovering between hope and dread.
"Yes?"
"Miss Herman? This is Walter Hall, Mr. Flemington's driver. Good morning. I've been instructed to collect you."
A sharp pang of disappointment hit me.
Why did I care? It was foolish to expect Franklin to show up himself. To him, this was a logistical transaction, and I was just another piece of cargo to be moved.
"I'll be down in a bit," I replied, my voice flat.
I took one last look at my apartment. Most of the furniture was draped in white tarps, waiting for a future I couldn't yet see. Since the place was owned by a friend of my father, I knew my belongings would be safe.
With my suitcases in hand, Nola in her carrier, and my laptop tucked into my satchel, I headed down to meet Walter.
"You should have called for help with those, Miss Herman," Walter said, stepping forward to take the bags.
"I can handle myself," I shrugged, though the weight had left my palms red.
He loaded the trunk while Nola purred anxiously in her cage.
I found myself straining my neck, trying to peer through the limo's dark tinted glass.
"Is Franklin inside?" I asked, trying to sound nonchalant.
"Oh, no, Miss Herman. Mr. Flemington is at the golf course downtown with his grandfather. He won't be back until much later."
Avoiding me already, I thought. Great.
"Are we set?"
Walter held the door open, and I nodded, sliding into the cool leather interior.
We crossed the suspension bridge into the Upper East Side.
The Flemington estate was a fortress of old money. It sat behind towering wrought-iron gates embossed with a massive, stylized "F." Armed security guards monitored the entrance, and surveillance cameras lined the perimeter walls.
After Walter flashed his ID, the gates groaned open, revealing a long, tree-lined driveway that curved toward a massive stone manor.
The driveway was lined with a fleet of cars — everything from the latest Italian supercars to meticulously restored vintage models.
He wasn't just rich; he was "collection-of-rare-steel" rich.
When I stepped out, the air was still and smelled of freshly cut grass. Two gardeners worked in the distance, their movements synchronized and quiet.
"This way, Miss Herman," Walter said, ushering me inside.
In the grand foyer, I was met by a small assembly of staff.
"Miss Herman, meet the household team," Walter introduced. "Lila Hanson, the chef; Joyce Ryder, the housemaid; Olga Ivanov, the housekeeper; and Clarence O'Connor, the butler."
"Pleased to meet you, Miss Herman. You must be Mr. Flemington's wife-to-be?"
Olga's thick Russian accent chirped in, and the maids bowed low.
"Yes, I am, and I'm pleased to meet every one of you. Please call me Octavia," I smiled.
"No, no... can't do that. Miss Herman better," Olga said, struggling with her English, but I understood her perfectly.
"Okay, if you say so."
I continued to smile despite knowing that I was going to soon be a prisoner in this beautiful house that would be my cage.
Clarence stepped in to welcome me, though his greeting was a bit stiff, his posture impeccably professional.
After the introductions, Clarence led me up a winding staircase to my bedroom. To my immense relief, it was located in a separate wing from Franklin's master suite.
As I began to unpack, Clarence lingered by the door, his eyes falling on Nola's carrier.
"Miss Herman? A word of advice," he said softly. "Mr. Flemington has quite severe allergies to cats and dogs. It might be best to keep your feline companion strictly within this suite."
I froze.
Franklin was allergic? How can someone be allergic to cute animals like cats and dogs? What a killjoy!
"Thank you, Clarence. I'll make sure she stays put."
He informed me that lunch would be served shortly and vanished.
I let Nola out of her cage, watching her cautiously sniff the expensive rug.
Just then, my phone buzzed in my pocket.
It was a text from Victoria.
Attached was a grainy, high-quality long-lens photo.
My heart dropped.
It was Franklin and Bella Washington — the same Bella Washington that I work with at the company? Was she the same Bella Franklin spoke to on the phone back at the hotel? The one he was having a break up with?
I recalled him mentioning her name, but I never knew that it was the same Bella from work.
How are they together?
They were outside a clubhouse, locked in an intimate, lingering hug.
VIC: WHY IS BELLA FREAKING WASHINGTON WRAPPED AROUND YOUR MAN LIKE THAT???
A surge of hot jealousy flared in my chest, followed quickly by a cold splash of reality.
I was the obstacle.
I was the one standing in the way of their "true love," or whatever twisted version of it they shared.
I was the legally bound wife-to-be, and she was the woman he actually wanted to hold.
Another text popped up:
Why aren't you saying anything???
Hello???
Are you there???
Victoria knew I had seen it.
I stared at the screen, my thumbs hovering over the keyboard.
What was I supposed to say? Don't worry, he only hates me in private?
I tossed the phone onto the bed and turned back to my suitcase, shoving my clothes into the mahogany dresser with a force that made my knuckles ache.
The "peace of mind" I had envied in Nola was officially gone.