Chapter 115
Chapter 115
"Besides, consider it compensation."
Compensation?
The word hit Mason like a match to gasoline. His cane slammed against the ground again. "You're out of your mind! You have a wife and a child, and still you're not satisfied—carrying on like this! Don't push me, Ignatius. If I get involved, the Lavien family—or anyone else—won't survive it."
Silence crashed down around them.
Mason's words struck Octavia like a thunderclap.
Her entire body went rigid. She knew Mason was doing this for the company, but warmth still bloomed in her chest.
After all, this was how Mason had always protected her—with that same iron fist.
Then, cutting through the quiet, came a cold scoff.
"Isn't this exactly what you did to me back then? You forced my hand, and I married Octavia. Wasn't that enough?"
The words hit like a shockwave.
Ignatius's furious declaration exploded in Octavia's ears.
All these years, she'd wondered—if Ignatius loved Yvaine so much, why had he married her? Now she had her answer.
He'd been forced.
It made sense, really.
To Ignatius, Yvaine and her family were the ones who mattered.
Marrying a woman you didn't love to protect the woman you did—of course he would.
Once that clicked into place, something in Octavia's chest loosened. She glanced at Yvaine beside her, that smug satisfaction radiating from every pore, and her eyes narrowed with quiet irony.
Yvaine was lucky. She had Ignatius's devotion—fierce and deep as the ocean.
But Yvaine was also ruthless.
For her own gain, she'd pushed away a man who truly loved her with her own two hands.
Their eyes met.
Yvaine tossed her hair with practiced elegance, deliberately exposing the trail of intimate marks along her neck and shoulder.
A silent boast.
Octavia had seen this trick too many times to count. She spared it a single glance, then looked away.
Since Yvaine had invited her to watch a show, she might as well see the whole thing.
Soon enough, Mason's thunderous voice erupted again from the terrace above.
"Fine! Fine! You really think you're all grown up now, don't you? I can't touch you at the company, but in this house—I won't let this slide."
Mason rose slowly and stood before Ignatius. "I'll give you one more chance. Cancel every partnership. Do it, and I'll spare you the beating. Otherwise—"
Ignatius didn't budge. "Do what you want."
"Very well." Mason raised his cane high, his face dark as a storm, and brought it crashing down.
A heavy thud.
Ignatius let out a muffled grunt but didn't move an inch. His eyes burned with absolute resolve.
Mason, blinded by fury, swung again. And again.
Octavia shifted forward without thinking, just in time to see the cane come down. Ignatius staggered but refused to beg.
She watched, frozen. She didn't know what to do.
The cane kept falling.
Ignatius stumbled harder with each blow. Dark stains seeped through his white dress shirt.
Mason wasn't holding back.
Octavia drew a sharp breath. She hesitated—then stepped out into the open. "Stop! You promised me you'd respect our decision."
Mason and Ignatius both froze at the sight of her.
Neither had expected her to be here.
Yvaine emerged too, rushing to Ignatius's side. Tears glistened in her eyes. "I'm sorry—this is all because of me. Stop taking the hits. Mr. Grimaldi, I'll cancel the partnership. I'll cancel everything. Please, just stop hurting him."
She pressed close to Ignatius, the two of them leaning into each other—the picture of star-crossed lovers.
Mason instinctively looked at Octavia.
Her face was perfectly calm.
Disappointment flickered through Mason's eyes—deep and unspoken. "Enough. Family business is none of your concern," he said to Yvaine. "This is my home. Who let you in? Someone escort Ms. Lavien out."
He said 'escort.' He meant 'remove.'
At his command, two staff members appeared, flanking Yvaine.
Yvaine turned to Ignatius with tear-filled eyes. He gave her a small nod. "Go. I'll be fine. He won't kill me."
"Okay. I'll call you later."
She left reluctantly, glancing back with every step.
---
The terrace fell silent again.
Mason sighed, the fight draining out of him. "How did it come to this? If I'd known, I never would have pushed you two together. You're going to regret this, you stubborn fool."
He waved a weary hand. "You're still married. For now. Help him with his wounds."
Octavia opened her mouth to refuse, but Ignatius seized her wrist and pulled her downstairs.
---
The bedroom was vast and still.
Ignatius set the first-aid kit on the bed. "Put the medicine on."
Several words. Flat. No emotion.
Octavia didn't argue. She guided him to sit on the edge of the bed.
The white shirt came off. Purple and blue welts mapped his back like a battlefield. Octavia's pupils contracted sharply. She took out the ointment and began applying it to his wounds with careful, gentle strokes.
The room was silent enough to hear a pin drop. Sweat beaded across Ignatius's forehead, but he didn't make a sound.
When she finished, Octavia set the kit aside.
"Why were you here? What's your angle?"
Ignatius broke the silence, suspicion threading through his voice.
Octavia shrugged. "Think whatever you want."
Even if she told him Yvaine had brought her here to watch the spectacle, he'd never believe it. Explaining would only look like making excuses.
So why bother?
Ignatius studied her for several long seconds. "We'll be done with each other soon. I'll make sure you get everything you're owed. But don't play games. Otherwise—"
"I know. My family and I can't afford the consequences."
After all this time together, Octavia had gotten good at finishing his sentences.
When Ignatius said nothing more, the tension in her shoulders eased.
Ignatius, by contrast, looked as if he'd swallowed a fly—his face shifting between sickly green and pale as chalk.
Minutes passed. The ointment dried. He sat on the edge of the bed, expression dark as a thunderhead, and dressed without a word.
Octavia hovered awkwardly. She wanted to leave, but worried it might reignite the conflict between Mason and Ignatius.
So what now? Stay the night here?
The thought alone made her recoil. She stood and headed for the door—
A hand clamped around her wrist.
"More ointment."
Under her confused gaze, Ignatius pulled off his pants, revealing a swollen, reddened ankle.
"When did this happen?"
She'd been at the stairwell the entire time—she hadn't seen everything that happened on the terrace. But one look at the injury told her it was fresh.