Chapter 7
~ Octavia ~
I looked from the black binder to Franklin, still struggling to reconcile this reality with the man I'd met days ago. It felt like a waking nightmare.
As I stared at the leather-bound trap, a bitter realization settled in: Franklin's "romantic" voice on the phone had been nothing but a lure. It was a weaponized tool, a calculated performance designed to keep me compliant until he got my signature.
Franklin wasn't the stranger I'd shared a vulnerable, electric night with; he was a CEO protecting his throne. To him, I was a placeholder — a temporary fixture while he waited for his true preference, the woman he spoke to back at the hotel we had the one night stand at. She stole his heart. It was obvious that he loved her, and he belonged to her.
I was a pawn in a game I didn't even know I was playing.
"Well?" Franklin asked, his voice tight with impatience. "What is your answer?"
I was caught in a brutal ultimatum. If I refused, my family's legacy would be incinerated by bankruptcy, and my parents would likely disown me for failing to save them. But if I signed, I'd be caged for two years — a lifetime of misery and cold glares.
Slowly, my fingers reached for the heavy fountain pen. I gulped, looking down at the document.
"Even if I decide to do this, I need to know exactly what I'm signing up for."
"Go ahead," Franklin said, his tone icy. "Read."
The contract was divided into three clinical sections.
Section One covered the Terms of Agreement: the duration of the marriage, the performance of "affection" in public, and mandatory joint appearances.
Section Two focused on Financial Considerations: the liquidation of my family's debts, a monthly stipend for my personal use, and a rigid exit clause.
Finally, Section Three outlined Living Arrangements. In private, we were to be strangers; in public, public displays of affection (PDA) were not only allowed but expected.
When I finished, I looked up. My vision was slightly blurred by a mix of anger and defeat.
"Finished?" he asked.
"Yes," I said flatly.
I hesitated for a heartbeat, then scribbled my name. The ink looked like a bloodstain on the white paper. The deed was done. There was no going back for two long years.
I was now legally bound to a man who secretly pined for my rival and viewed me as a necessary tool.
Franklin reached across the table, sliding the binder back toward him to add his own swift signature.
"My grandfather and the board want the wedding in a week," he said, not looking up. "You'll move into my estate in a few days. We won't share a bedroom, obviously. You'll have your own wing; do whatever you want with it. I don't care."
The "I don't care" hit me like a physical blow. The words were needles piercing my skin, drawing blood I didn't want to show him.
I had reached my limit.
"Stop it," I snapped, my voice trembling with suppressed rage. "Stop acting like I'm the one who orchestrated this. Just like you, I'm being forced into this. Stop acting like I'm some desperate woman clawing at your heels."
I was out of breath, my light brown eyes clashing with his cold blue stare.
"Well, if I hadn't met you at that fucking bar, we wouldn't be in this position, would we?" he shot back.
I scoffed, leaning back. "So now it's all my fault? You're blaming me?"
"You seduced me, Octavia. What else am I supposed to call it?"
That was it.
I stood up abruptly, the chair screeching against the floor.
"I won't sit here and be insulted for a situation we both created," I said, turning to walk away.
Franklin's hand shot out, catching my wrist in a firm grip.
"What do you think you're doing?"
I jerked my hand away, my eyes blazing. "What does it look like I'm doing? I'm leaving."
"You can't just walk out," he growled behind me. "We were seen entering together. The optics—"
"Watch me," I threw over my shoulder, punctuating the sentence with a middle finger as I marched past his wall of bodyguards.
The moment I stepped out of the restaurant and onto the sidewalk, I fumbled for my phone to call an Uber.
But the street wasn't empty.
A swarm of paparazzi appeared as if from the shadows, their camera flashes blinding.
"Miss Herman! How has life changed since your engagement to Franklin Flemington?"
"Is the wedding date set?"
"Will it be a private ceremony?"
I stumbled back, shielding my eyes. How did they know we were here? Had they been stalking us, or had someone leaked our location?
Before I could find an escape route, Franklin was there. He gripped my hand firmly, pulling me toward the limo while his bodyguards shoved the shouting photographers aside.
We scrambled into the back of the car, and the door slammed shut, cutting off the noise.
The silence in the limo was deafening as we drove off.
I stared out the window, my heart still racing from the ambush.
"Are you okay?" he asked eventually, breaking the tension.
"Fine," I muttered.
"If it makes you feel better, those photos will be on every social media handle by the hour. It helps our case with the board."
I shot him a venomous glare.
"How the hell is that supposed to make me fucking feel better, Franklin?"
"Well…"
"Never mind. Just take me back to the office."
The rest of the ride was silent.
When the limo pulled up across from my building, Franklin spoke one last time.
"Remember, you move in soon. Text me your address later so my driver can collect your things."
"Whatever. Bye," I said, hopping out before the driver could even round the car.
I scurried toward the building, desperate for the anonymity of the elevator.
But as I reached the lobby and pressed the button, a sharp, familiar voice cut through the air.
"So, the little whore finally caught the big fish."
I turned slowly.
Bella was standing there, her arms crossed and a malicious glint in her eyes.
My frown deepened.
The battle at the office, it seemed, was only just beginning.