Chapter 36
~ Octavia ~
It was the weekend—my first taste of true independence away from the office—and I decided to spend it at home, healing in the quiet of my own space.
Part of me expected Franklin to storm into my workplace, especially since I had blocked his number and vanished from the estate.
I half-waited for him to demand a conversation about the divorce, but the silence from his end was absolute.
As I was standing over the stove making breakfast, my phone buzzed on the counter.
My heart skipped when I saw the name: Clinton.
He was the man I’d just met, the one who had managed to make me feel lighter in a few days than I had in years.
“Hello?” I answered, unable to keep the smile out of my voice.
“Hello, gorgeous,” his deep voice chirped.
“Hey p>
“How was your night?” he asked.
“Not bad,” I said, sliding my scrambled eggs onto a plate. “And yours p>
“Perfect. Want to know why?” I could practically hear the smirk in his voice.
“Why?” I leaned against the kitchen counter, my pulse quickening.
“Because I dreamt of you. And in the dream, everything was perfect p>
I felt a heat rise to my cheeks.
“Oh, yeah p>
“Mmm-hmm. So, what are the weekend plans for a brilliant game developer p>
“I’m just at home with my cat, enjoying a very late breakfast. I plan on doing absolutely nothing but lazing around p>
“That sounds like a plan that needs a guest,” he said smoothly. “I’m coming over to keep you company p>
My eyes widened.
“What? Clinton, I look a mess! My hair is in a bird’s nest of a bun, I’m wearing an oversized shirt and shorts p>
“And you’d still be the prettiest thing in the room, trust me,” he cut in. “Address? I’m waiting p>
I hesitated for a second, then laughed and gave in. I texted him the address and immediately went into a whirlwind of cleaning. I even had to nudge Nola out of her new favorite sunspot to vacuum.
“Sorry, Nola, we have a visitor,” I whispered. She just purred and relocated to the top of the fridge.
I swapped my loungewear for a fresh white t-shirt and denim jeans, barely finishing my hair before the buzzer rang.
When I opened the door, Clinton was standing there, looking effortlessly handsome and holding a large brown paper bag.
“Hey,” he said, his eyes sweeping over me with a warmth that made my skin tingle.
“Hey. Come on in p>
He stepped inside, glancing around.
“Your place is cool, Octavia. And that balcony? The view must be breathtaking p>
“It is,” I said, closing the door.
I pointed at the bag he had set on the coffee table.
“What’s the mystery cargo p>
“See for yourself.” He sat on the couch with an amused grin.
I sat on the carpet and peered into the bag. I pulled out two containers of sushi and a small tub of soy sauce.
I looked up at him, deadpan. “Are you serious? You actually brought the sushi p>
Clinton burst into laughter. “I told you I was going to! You should have seen your face—it was hilarious p>
“Very funny, Clinton,” I said, moving to sit beside him on the couch.
“In all seriousness,” he said, his laughter dying down into a soft, sparking gaze.
“I didn’t bring it just for the joke. I want you to try it properly at least once before you decide it’s gross p>
“I don’t need to try it; I know it’s a disaster,” I grimaced.
“Okay, tell me: what happened the first time p>
“It was a friend’s birthday,” I explained, gesturing dramatically.
“I was excited to try it. But the first bite was… wrong. The second was worse. I ended up spitting it out. Sushi is a no-no for me. Sorry to the culture, but it’s bad p>
“Maybe it wasn’t fresh p>
“It was steaming hot rice over raw fish, Clinton. It was fresh p>
“Ah, but did you use the soy sauce p>
“I don’t think so p>
“There it is. Okay, here’s the deal: one bite, dipped in the sauce. If you still hate it, I will never mention the word’sushi’ to you again. I cross my heart p>
“Fine,” I sighed. “Let’s do this p>
Clinton cheered, opening the containers.
He expertly handled the chopsticks, dipping a piece of sushi and bringing it to my lips.
“I know how to use chopsticks, you know,” I whispered.
“Just pretend you don’t,” he replied, his voice dropping to a husky, intimate register.
“Let me take care of you p>
I shivered, the intensity of his gaze making me flush. I opened my mouth and took the bite.
My eyes widened instantly.
“Wow,” I said, covering my mouth as I chewed.
“Gross?” he asked, though he looked like he already knew the answer.
“No… it’s actually delicious! Give me another one p>
We ended up huddled over the coffee table, laughing as we polished off the containers, my original breakfast sitting forgotten and cold on the counter.
“Why does this feel like a date?” I asked, resting my chin on my hand.
“Because it is a date,” he said, pausing with a piece of ginger.
“Isn’t it a bit fast? We met a few days ago, and now you’re in my apartment p>
“Some people call that being’forward.’ I call it being soulmates,” he said with a shrug.
The word soulmate hit me like a physical weight. My smile faltered as the reality of my life came rushing back. I was still legally Octavia Flemington. I was still tied to a man who loathed me.
“Are you okay?” Clinton said, his hand reaching out toward mine.
“I’m fine! Just… thinking,” I lied, giving him a quick smile. I couldn’t tell him. Not yet.
If I told him I was the wife of the city’s most powerful CEO, this magic would vanish.
“I just feel a connection to you, Octavia,” he said, his light brown eyes burning with a sincerity that felt almost painful.
“Do you feel it too p>
“I do,” I whispered.
He took my hand and kissed my knuckles gently.
“I’m happy to hear that p>
Nola chose that moment to trot over, rubbing her head against my feet.
“Look who’s awake,” I said, scooping her up.
“Nola, say hi to Clinton Sancho p>
“Hi, Nola. Beautiful fur,” he said, reaching out to stroke her.
“You aren’t allergic, are you?” I asked, a sudden memory of Franklin’s sneezing fits surfacing.
“No, I love animals. Cats, dogs—I’m a fan of them all p>
I breathed a sigh of relief.
“Why? Do you usually hang out with guys who are allergic?” he teased.
“Because—” I stopped myself just in time.
Because my husband is.
“Never mind. Want to hold her p>
He took Nola, and to my surprise, she settled right into his lap, purring as he stroked her.
“I think she likes you,” I murmured.
We talked for hours, the conversation flowing effortlessly until the sun began to set.
When he finally stood up to leave, I walked him to the door, feeling a strange reluctance to let him go.
“Thank you for today, Clinton. I haven’t had this much fun in… well, ever p>
“I should be thanking you,” he said softly.
We stood in the doorway, the air between us thick with unspoken tension. I found myself looking at his lips, wondering if he was going to kiss me. I wanted him to.
I wanted to forget everything else.
“I’ll text you when I get home,” he said, breaking the silence.
“Oh. Yes. Do that,” I said, trying to hide the slight disappointment in my voice.
“Give Nola a stroke for me.” He squeezed my hand, his voice dropping to that sexy, husky tone again.
“Goodnight, Octavia p>
“Goodnight, Clinton p>
I closed the door and leaned my back against it, a ridiculous, giddy grin spreading across my face. I felt like a teenager. I sprawled onto the couch and stared at the ceiling, my heart racing.
Was I moving too fast? Probably. But for the first time in two years, I wasn’t a ghost in a big house. I was Octavia.
And I was finally alive.