Chapter 177

~ Octavia ~

The silence of my bedroom was a fragile bubble, waiting to be burst by the reality of the world outside. I sat on the edge of my bed, eyes burning as I stared at the letter—the first and last I would ever receive from Franklin. It was a physical weight in my hands, heavy with the ink of words I had spent months trying to ignore.

I couldn’t wrap my mind around the finality of it. My stubbornness had been my armor, but now it felt like my shroud. I had ignored his calls, dismissed his presence, and walled myself off behind a barricade of resentment. I had clung to the ghosts of the past so tightly that I had missed the man standing right in front of me.

Outside my door, the low murmur of my parents’ voices drifted in. They spoke in hushed, clinical tones about sleeping pills and stress levels, worried that my recovering brain couldn’t handle the trauma. They wanted to sedate the pain; I wanted to scream into the void.

I stood up, placing the letter on my nightstand like a sacred relic. I couldn’t stay here. I needed to get to the estate. Olga, Clarence, and the household needed to know. They were the living pulse of Franklin’s world, and they deserved to hear the truth from me.

But as I stepped into the living room, the world had already beaten me to it.

The television was on, casting jagged shadows across the floor. My father moved with a panicked jerk, clicking the power button to kill the image, but he wasn’t fast enough. I had seen the scroll. I had seen the wreckage.

"I’m heading out," I announced, my voice sounding hollow. I grabbed my coat, my fingers fumbling with the fabric.

"What? To where?" my mother asked, her face a mask of terror.

"Flemington Estate," I replied, walking out before they could find the words to stop me.

The drive was a blur of gray asphalt and stinging eyes. Long before I reached the gates, I saw the swarm—a frantic, multi-headed beast of paparazzi and news crews. The air was thick with the smell of exhaust and the aggressive flash of cameras.

As my car slowed, microphones were thrust toward my windows like weapons.

"Mrs. Flemington! Any updates on your husband?"

"Is it true the aircraft went down in the Amazon?"

The questions were a suffocating noise. I fumbled for the window switch, desperate to seal the glass against the intrusion. My chest tightened; the whole world was now a spectator to my grief. I flagged the security guards, and the heavy iron gates groaned open. I surged through, the gates clicking shut just as the first reporter reached for my door handle.

When I stepped out at the driveway, the front doors of the manor opened. Olga emerged first, her face etched with a frantic sorrow. Behind her stood Lila, Joyce, and Clarence. They didn’t look like the polished professionals who ran the city’s most prestigious estate; they looked shattered.

"Mrs. Flemington, we have been waiting for you," Clarence said, his voice tight.

Olga rushed forward, her hands trembling as she reached for mine.

"Mrs. Flemington...you are back. Olga feels happy you are here."

"Me too," I whispered.

"Your memory...it is back?" she asked, her Russian accent thick with emotion.

I nodded. The floodgates broke as Olga pulled me into a fierce, maternal embrace. I buried my face in her shoulder, fighting the sob that threatened to shatter my ribs.

The living room felt cavernous and cold. The television was on, though muted. The headline was a jagged blade across the screen: EXECUTIVE CHAIRMAN OF FLEMINGTON GROUP INVOLVED IN JET CRASH.

Clarence turned up the sound. "...search and rescue teams are currently deployed in the Amazon. Authorities have yet to confirm if there are any survivors—"

"Nyet," Olga whispered, shaking her head. She turned to me, her eyes searching mine for a miracle. "Mrs. Flemington...do you think it is true?"

My throat was a desert. "Yes," I managed to choke out.

The word was a grenade. Lila covered her mouth, tears streaming instantly. Joyce turned away, her shoulders heaving. Olga staggered back, clutching a chair as the color drained from her face and Clarence shook his head, he was quiet.

"I got a call," I said, my voice gaining a brittle strength. "From an officer named Reynolds. He said the plane went down. He said...they don’t know if anyone survived." I let out a sharp, bitter laugh. "I told him he was wrong. But he wasn’t."

I wiped a stray tear. "I didn’t even talk to him properly before he left. I was so busy holding onto a grudge...that I didn’t fix anything."

Olga stepped forward. "No, Mrs. Flemington. It is not your fault."

"But it is!" I snapped, the volume of my voice startling the room. "I didn’t try hard enough for him to earn my forgiveness, even though he had already earned it. He wrote me a letter, Olga. He apologized for everything...and I didn’t even open it until he was gone."

The silence that followed was heavy.

"Mr. Flemington cared deeply for you, Mrs. Flemington," Clarence said softly. "And you for him."

That was the killing blow. Olga took my hands again. "Listen to me. Olga does not feel this is the end. The heart knows things the news does not."

"We don’t know that," I whispered.

"We do not know it is the end, either," she countered. She straightened her back, gesturing toward the windows. "And now... you have to be strong. They are watching. All of them. The Flemington family is in trouble. People will wait for the empire to fall. And you? You are still the wife of Franklin Flemington. You are Mrs. Flemington."

The weight of the title settled onto my shoulders—no longer a burden, but a mantle.

"Senior Flemington is not here. Mr Flemington is...not here. So now, rebënok, you must stand for them."

I looked at the television, then at the loyal faces surrounding me. They weren’t just staff; they were the last remnants of the world Franklin had built. I wiped my face roughly, forcing the trembling in my knees to stop.

"I can’t fall apart," I whispered. "I want to, but I can’t."

Olga nodded. "Good."

"I need to go," I said suddenly, reaching for my keys. "To Manhattan General. I need to see Frederick. If everything is falling apart, I need to hold onto what is still here. I won’t let him find out from the news."

I walked toward the door, the ghost of Franklin’s letter burned into my mind. I hadn’t given him my words when he was here, but I would give him my strength now.