Chapter 53

~ Franklin ~

The morning air at the golf course was crisp, a sharp contrast to the heated thoughts swirling in my brain. The dew still clung to the blades of grass, shimmering like thousands of tiny diamonds under the rising sun, but I couldn’t appreciate the beauty of the landscape. My mind was a battlefield of conflicting emotions and unanswered questions.

My grandfather and I were moving leisurely across the green, a tradition that usually served to clear my head, but today, it felt like an interrogation under the sun. The rhythmic clinking of the clubs in the bag was the only thing keeping me grounded as we moved from one hole to the next.

"The preparations for the Flemington Group’s fiftieth-anniversary gala are nearly complete," my grandfather said, adjusting his glove before pulling a golf club from his bag. He looked the picture of ease. "The board has finalized the guest list."

"Good," I nodded, watching him line up his shot. I tried to focus on the logistics of the event, but the thought of the gala only brought one person to mind. The image of Octavia walking through those doors, perhaps on the arm of someone else, sent a fresh wave of irritation through me.

"It will be quite the event," he continued, his ball soaring down the fairway with a satisfying thwack. "Half the business world will be watching."

"That’s the point, Grandpa."

We began walking toward the balls, the soft crunch of gravel beneath our shoes the only sound in the mid-morning quiet. The silence between us wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was pregnant with the things we hadn’t said—the elephant in the room that had been growing larger by the hour.

I cleared my throat, the weight of the last few days finally pushing to the surface. "And then there’s Octavia," I sighed, eyeing him sideways. "Whom you invited without my consent."

"I had to. She is still legally my granddaughter-in-law, is she not?"

"She is, but next time you go behind my back to invite her to a major event, I need you to ask me. I need to be consulted." I felt like a child being managed by his elders, and the loss of control over my own domestic situation was starting to grate on my nerves.

My grandfather let out a short, knowing sigh. "Even if I had asked, Franklin, you would have refused."

"Exactly!"

"Which is precisely why I didn’t ask," he replied with a small, mischievous chuckle. He stopped to inspect his ball, his expression unreadable beneath the brim of his visor.

I ran a hand over my face, frustrated by his logic. "She’s still part of this family, Franklin. Her presence isn’t just a formality; it’s a necessity. We cannot celebrate fifty years of this legacy while appearing fractured. That public feeds on weakness, and a Flemington divorce—or even the hint of one—is a scent of blood in the water"

I stayed silent for a moment, watching him take another swing. "I saw her the other day," I announced abruptly.

"Octavia? That’s good. I hope you exchanged more than just glares."

"Not exactly. She wasn’t alone."

My grandfather tilted his head, his interest piqued. "Who was she with?"

"Clinton Sancho Harrington."

The name acted like a physical weight. My grandfather’s grip tightened on his club, and a long, heavy silence stretched between us. I could see the gears turning in his head, the decades of corporate warfare manifesting in the sudden sharpness of his gaze. "What exactly was Dorian’s son doing with Octavia?"

"Dropping her off after lunch. They looked...comfortable. Too comfortable for my liking. There was an ease between them that felt like a deliberate insult to the two years we spent together"

"Interesting," he murmured, his eyes narrowing as he stared down the green. "Of all the men in this city she could spend her time with, why a Harrington? It’s too specific to be a coincidence."

"That’s what I intend to find out. But when she told us at dinner that she was seeing someone else...it’s him, Grandpa. It’s Clinton." The words felt bitter in my mouth, like I was swallowing venom.

"And how did seeing them together make you feel?"

I looked away, focusing on the distant flag. "It made me angry. Just seeing him lean toward her, seeing them together in public...I can’t quite put my finger on the feeling."

My grandfather smiled, a slow, knowing expression that irritated me. He patted my shoulder firmly. "It’s called jealousy, Franklin. Plain and simple."

"Jealousy?" I scoffed, shaking my head. "I don’t think so. I was just concerned about the optics. She’s still my wife, and being seen with a Harrington—especially without her wedding band—is a recipe for a scandal. It’s a blow to our reputation. I’m thinking about the company, Grandpa. I’m thinking about the stockholders and the image we’ve built for half a century"

"Reputation," he repeated, his voice dry. He let out a short, bark-like laugh that echoed across the empty fairway.

"I’ve handled scandals for over fifty years, Franklin. I can tackle a few gossip columns. But you? You’re confused. And confusion can be quite revealing."

"I am not confused. I don’t have feelings for her."

"If you say so." He didn’t look convinced. He hit his ball again, sending it rolling toward the hole. "A man who doesn’t care doesn’t track his wife’s movement with the precision of a private investigator"

"But tell me, do you think the boy has a vendetta? Is he using her to get to us?"

"It’s a possibility I’m looking into," I said, my voice dropping an octave. "The Harringtons have been waiting for a crack in our armor for years. If Clinton thinks he can use Octavia as a Trojan horse, he’s underestimated me. And there’s something else. I’ve ended things with Bella."

My grandfather froze, looking genuinely surprised. "Truly? I thought you adored her."

"I thought I did, too," I said, focusing intensely on my ball as I prepared to swing. "But her demands for money grew...excessive. I realized I didn’t love her, Grandpa. I was obsessed with a version of her that didn’t exist. I was a fool." I was listening to a siren song while my own house was burning down, and the cost of my blindness is only just starting to hit me"

I swung, and the ball streaked across the grass, stopping inches from the hole.

"I’m glad you finally opened your eyes," he said, his voice softening. "I never liked that woman. She was a leech. But now that she’s in the past, you have a chance. A real one. You and Octavia are still married; the universe is giving you a second chance to fix what you broke. Don’t waste it. It’s rare to get a clean slate in this life, especially when you’ve been the one to smudge the ink"

He patted my back one last time and headed toward the golf cart.

"Come on. Let’s head to the clubhouse. I think we’ve done enough ’bonding’ for one morning."

I watched him go, his words ringing in my ears. A second chance? I looked down at my hands, still vibrating from the force of the swing. I didn’t know if I deserved a second chance, but I knew one thing for certain: I wasn’t going to let Harrington take what was mine. The thought of him touching her, of him being the one she turned to in the dark, ignited a fire in my gut that no amount of morning air could cool.