Chapter 58

~ Franklin ~

"He joined forces with me the moment I whispered the plan in his ear," Dorian sneered, his eyes gleaming with a manic sort of triumph. The arrogance in his tone was suffocating, filling the small side room with a stench of entitlement that made my skin crawl. He stood there, draped in a coat that cost more than most people made in a year, acting as if he had already won the crown.

"You’re lying," my grandfather countered, though I could see the muscle jumping in his jaw. The tension between us was palpable, a decade-old rivalry finally reaching its boiling point in the shadows of our greatest celebration.

"Believe what you want, Frederick. But the reign of the Flemingtons ends now. All it takes is one press release—one look at the ’truth’ behind your grandson’s hollow marriage—and your stock prices will plummet faster than your reputation."

Dorian stood there, smug and untouchable. My grandfather and I exchanged a sharp look. We knew this game. It was a game of chicken played with billion-dollars stakes, and Dorian was betting that our fear of a scandal was greater than our hatred for him.

"What proof do you actually have, Dorian?" my grandfather demanded, his voice dropping to a dangerous baritone. "Or are you just grasping at straws?"

"You don’t think I’ve had eyes on the inside? I know the timeline, Frederick. I know about the separate rooms, the lack of a paper trail before the wedding, and the cold reality of their ’domestic bliss.’ I’m willing to expose every sordid detail to the world." He paced the room with the grace of a shark, his eyes never leaving my grandfather’s face. He was enjoying this—the chaos, the leverage, the power to make the great Fredrick Flemington sweat.

"This is blackmail," I cut in, stepping forward to glare at him. "Plain and simple. You’re singing the same song you sang two years ago. What’s the price this time?"

Dorian smoothed the lapel of his expensive coat. "Reinstatement. I want my seat on the board back."

"Preposterous," my grandfather snapped. "You’re asking us to let a wolf back into the sheepfold after he’s already tasted the blood of the flock"

"You were caught embezzling and laundering funds. The board knows exactly what you are. What makes you think they’d welcome a criminal back into the fold?"

"That’s for you to figure out, Frederick. You’re the master of PR, aren’t you? Clean up my image, give me my seat, and the ’truth’ about Franklin and Octavia stays in the vault." He leaned against the mahogany desk, his posture relaxed, as if he weren’t threatening to dismantle a fifty-year legacy with a single phone call.

My grandfather’s frown deepened. He turned to me, his voice low and urgent.

"Go. Check on Octavia. Stay with her as much as you can. If the press asks, tell them the marriage is a fortress. We cannot afford a scandal right now."

"What about him?" I jerked my chin toward Dorian.

"We aren’t finished talking," Grandpa assured me. His eyes were hard, the look of a man who was already calculating the cost of a counter-attack.

After the circus on the stage—after I’d lied to the world to protect our flank—I watched Octavia drive away. She looked fragile, her eyes haunted. The sight of her retreating taillights left a bitter taste in my mouth, a reminder that she was the one paying the highest price for a war she never asked to join.

The moment her taillights faded, my mind went straight back to Clinton. I’d known something was off the second I ran into him at the gym. My grandfather wanted to believe the boy was reformed, but a snake doesn’t change its skin; it just hides better. If Dorian was bold enough to crash our 50th anniversary, it meant he had a mole. And who better to play the part of the devoted friend than the son who supposedly hates his father? It was the perfect setup, a Trojan horse draped in a designer suit.

I headed back to the estate, finding my grandfather in his study, staring out at the darkened grounds.

"What else did he say after I left?" I asked, leaning against the doorframe.

"The same demand. Reinstatement or ruin."

"You aren’t actually considering it, are you?" The thought of Dorian sitting across from me in the boardroom made my stomach churn.

"I don’t know what else to do, Franklin," he sighed, looking every bit his age in the dim lamplight. The shadows under his seemed deeper tonight, the weight of the company finally beginning to bow his iron spine.

"Call the police. Get him arrested for trespassing and extortion."

"And trigger a landslide? If Dorian is backed into a corner, he’ll release whatever ’evidence’ he has. The public loves a fall from grace, and Octavia... she wouldn’t survive that kind of scrutiny. I have to protect her, too."

"What about Clinton?" I pushed.

"He’s been circling her for a month. You still think he’s innocent?"

"I don’t know," Grandpa admitted. He rubbed his eyes, a rare gesture of fatigue.

"Dorian spoke of him with such vitriol. Two years ago, the boy risked everything to help us bring his father down. Why would he switch sides now? It doesn’t follow a logical path."

"Maybe he’s playing both sides," I muttered, rubbing my temples. "He’s with Octavia every day. I told her he was a traitor, but she wouldn’t listen. She’s too close to him to see the teeth behind the smile. She thinks he’s her saviour, but he’s just the one holding the leash while his father sharpens the axe."

"She’ll have to find out for herself, Franklin. But in the meantime, Dorian is waiting for my call."

"How did he even get past the perimeter?" I asked. "Our security is supposed to be impenetrable."

"He bribed them. It was that simple." My grandfather’s voice went cold. "I’ve already handled it. Every guard on duty tonight has been fired. I’ll have a new team in place by morning." The ruthlessness in his voice was a comfort; it was the side of him that had built this empire from nothing.

"Good. But we can’t let him win this, Grandpa."

"We’re caught in a web, Franklin. I need to sleep on it before I decide which strand to cut." He stood up, patting my shoulder heavily. "You should get some rest too. Despite the chaos, the event was a success on paper."

"Goodnight, Grandpa."

I waited until I heard his bedroom door click shut before pulling out my phone. The silence of the estate was heavy, the air tasting of old wood and the looming threat of ruin.

I dialed a number I knew by heart.

Anthony, my secretary, picked up on the first ring.

"Mr. Flemington?"

"Anthony, I need a full deep-dive on Clinton Sancho Harrington. I want everything—his bank statements, his recent associates, his call logs for the last month. If your usual channels can’t get it, hire the best private investigator money can buy. I want to know exactly what he’s been doing with my wife. If he’s even breathed in the wrong direction, I want to know about it. I want to know where he sleeps, and who he talks to"

"I’ll have a preliminary report by morning, sir."

"Make it fast," I said, ending the call.

I stared at the darkened hallway of the estate. The portraits of my ancestors seemed to watch me from the wall, their silent eyes demanding that I protect the legacy they had bled for.

Dorian Harrington had declared war tonight, but he had no idea how far I was willing to go to protect what belonged to me. If he thought he could use Octavia as a bargaining chip, he was about to find out that I was more than willingly to burn the entire world down just to keep her out of his reach. He wanted a fight? Fine. I would give him a massacre if he dared to mess with my family.