Chapter 60

~ Franklin ~

Two days later, I had everything I needed.

Anthony’s private investigator had tracked Clinton to a modest apartment building in Brooklyn. I didn’t call. I didn’t send a warning. I simply showed up.

I knocked on his door and waited, my hands shoved deep into my pockets.

When the door finally swung open, Clinton stood there, looking tired and disheveled.

"Hello, Clinton," I said, a cold smirk playing on my lips.

"Franklin? What the hell are you doing here? And how did you find this place?" He looked genuinely shocked, his grip tightening on the doorframe.

"I have my sources. Can I come in?"

"No. Tell me what you want and then get lost."

"Fair enough," I said, my voice dropping an octave. "I’m here to give you a warning. Leave Octavia the fuck alone. She’s still my wife, and I don’t appreciate her associating with the son of my family’s greatest enemy. Stay away from her, Harrington."

Clinton scoffed, crossing his arms. "Is that a threat?"

"Consider it a friendly suggestion with very unfriendly consequences."

"You really think I’m going to listen to you?" Clinton stepped closer, his eyes flashing with a defiance that irritated me. "You think you can just bark an order and I’ll vanish? Sorry to burst your bubble, Flemington, but I’m not going anywhere."

"She’s my wife. You’re destroying a marriage."

"Marriage?" Clinton laughed, a jagged, bitter sound. "Where were you when she was broken-hearted and alone? Oh, that’s right—you were busy in the arms of another woman. You don’t get to play the protective husband now."

"Watch your mouth," I warned, stepping into his personal space.

"Or what? You don’t deserve her, Franklin. You’ve hurt her enough. She’s happy with me—or she was, before your family’s drama blew everything up. I’m not going to let her slip back into the miserable life you built for her. Not on my watch."

I stared at him for a long moment, then forced a smile. It was a mask for the sudden, sharp pang of jealousy in my gut.

"There are millions of women in this city, yet you chose Octavia. It’s suspicious. If I find out you’re using her to get back at me, I won’t just fire you from this city—I’ll ruin you."

"Empty threats," Clinton said, looking entirely unimpressed. "I’m not afraid of you. So bring it on."

"I’ll be watching," I said, turning on my heel.

"She’s not yours anymore, Franklin! Deal with it!" he yelled as I walked down the hall.

I got into the limo and slammed my fist into the leather seat.

"God damn it!" I hissed. I pulled out my phone and called the investigator.

"Detective, I need another location. Find out exactly where Octavia is living. Don’t tell a soul but me."

Two days later, I was standing in front of an apartment building downtown. I had come alone—no driver, no guards. In my hand was a massive bouquet of red roses, the same kind my grandfather used to send her.

I straightened my tie, took a breath, and knocked.

"Coming!"

The door opened, and Octavia stood there. Her face went through a rapid transformation: shock, realization, and finally, a cold, hard anger.

"How the fuck did you find me?" she demanded, stepping into the hallway and pulling the door shut behind her. "What are you doing here, Franklin?"

"I came to see you. Can we go inside?"

"Absolutely not. Get out of here before I call security."

"Octavia, please. I just want to talk." I held out the flowers with a practiced smile. "I brought your favorites. Roses. Remember?"

"You can take those roses and shove them up your ass," she said flatly. "I’m going back inside."

As she turned, I reached out and caught her arm, pulling her back toward me. We were inches apart, her breath hitching as she entered my space. For a second, I thought the old spark might still be there. Then, she shoved me away with a look of pure disgust.

"I mean it, Franklin. Leave."

"I will. But I need you to know...Bella and I are over. I broke up with her."

Octavia paused, a flicker of surprise crossing her face before it vanished behind a mask of indifference. "Why tell me? I thought she was the love of your life."

"I was tired of her," I said, which was the closest I could get to admitting I’d been a fool.

Octavia laughed—a dry, mocking sound.

"Tired of her? Did you hit your head somewhere? You spent our entire marriage obsessing over her."

"I’m telling the truth. It’s over. It was a mistake."

"Okay, so you made a mistake. How is that my business? You made it very clear that your life with her was off-limits to me, and I liked it that way. Now, if you’re done playing the repentant husband, get out."

"Is that it? You’re just going to shut me out forever?"

Octavia turned back, her eyes blazing.

"You ignored my existence from the day we said ’I do.’ Now you waltz in here with roses to bribe me back into that gilded cage? Fuck no! I am never coming back to the estate, Franklin. Do us both a favor—stop stalking me and sign the fucking divorce papers!"

She slammed the door so hard the frame rattled.

I stood in the hallway for a long time, the heavy scent of the roses suddenly making me nauseous. When I got outside, I tossed the bouquet into a street bin and marched to my car.

It was clear she was being influenced.

Clinton was the poison in her ear, keeping her from seeing reason. I gripped the steering wheel until my knuckles turned white. Next time I saw her, I wouldn’t bring flowers. I’d bring the truth about who Clinton Sancho Harrington really was.

The city lights blurred as I accelerated, my mind a storm of cold fury and desperate longing, as I realized the war has truly just began.

I drove off into the night, the plan already taking shape in my mind.