Chapter 124
Chapter 124
That night, Octavia didn't go straight to bed after returning to her apartment. She sat at her desk and read the investigation report Finnian had sent from overseas—three times, cover to cover.
With each pass, her heartbeat quickened.
The report was damning. Yvaine's school abroad was registered at a nondescript office building—two rented rooms posing as an institution. The so-called master's program had never received proper accreditation. Pay a fee, receive a diploma. The impressive projects listed on her resume were either credited in name only or entirely fabricated.
But what made Octavia's fingertips go cold was an attachment. Finnian had pulled strings to uncover black-market transaction records. Over three years ago, someone had used an offshore account under Yvaine's name to purchase a batch of controlled substances. The transaction amount was significant. The drug composition matched the toxicology report from the night Octavia had been drugged at a dinner event.
The timeline matched. The amounts matched. The method matched.
She stared at the dense records on her screen. Her throat constricted. Her eyes burned. But not a single tear fell.
She remembered waking up that morning—the bone-deep weakness, the deafening ringing in her skull. She remembered the looks that followed—contempt laced with pity from everyone around her. She remembered five years of Ignatius's ice-cold gaze every time he looked at her. She remembered the day she signed the divorce papers, and Yvaine strutting down the office corridor, chin high, declaring, "You stole what was mine. That makes you the other woman."
From the very beginning, she'd been shoved into an elaborately designed trap. And Yvaine had stood outside it, watching her struggle for five years.
Octavia closed her laptop. She walked to the window and drew a deep breath. The night was thick and dark, the city lights scattered like distant stars. She pressed her forehead against the cold glass and stayed there a long time before slowly exhaling.
---
The next morning, she didn't rush to confront Yvaine. Instead, she made three copies of the report. One she locked away. One she mailed to Mason. The third she kept within arm's reach.
She'd always been methodical. She knew something like this couldn't be rushed. She needed to choose the perfect moment—one that would leave Yvaine no way out.
---
Meanwhile, Yvaine was unraveling.
Since the scene at the project office and her little power play parading Holden around the new company, she'd expected Octavia to lose her temper and self-destruct the way she always had. But days passed, and Octavia's side remained eerily calm. She went to work. She attended meetings. Her expression didn't betray a single ripple.
It was Yvaine's own affairs that were falling apart, one after another. Recruitment for the new company had stalled. The partnership with the Dixon Group still hadn't been formally signed. And then Jasper called, pressuring her—Xanthe was making a fuss, and apparently Octavia had declared she was tying herself permanently to the Miller family.
Yvaine hurled her phone onto the couch. Face dark as thunder, she dialed her assistant, barely containing her fury. "What have you found? What the hell has Octavia been doing lately?"
The assistant's voice trembled. "She's... been going to work as normal. But she's also been spending a lot of time at the Miller Group. It looks like she's helping the Miller family raise capital. She pawned a collection of jewelry."
"What jewelry?"
"The pieces she received from Mason, apparently. Worth quite a lot."
Yvaine's eyes narrowed. Her mind raced. After a long moment, she let out a cold laugh. "How generous of her. Fine. Let her scramble. I'll see how long she can keep it up."
She assumed the jewelry would net a few tens of millions at most—pocket change for a company the size of the Miller Group. But she'd overlooked something crucial.
Octavia didn't just have jewelry. She had three hundred million dollars in cash and two properties, spelled out in black and white in the divorce agreement. And more importantly, standing behind Octavia was Mason—nearly out of the hospital and now fully aware of everything.
---
Mason's illness had struck fast and receded just as quickly. After a week of stable vitals, he was demanding discharge. The doctors wanted a few more days of observation. He thumped his cane against the floor. "What good am I doing rotting in this hospital bed? Everything's gone to hell out there!"
Ignatius had been drowning during that stretch. Several relatives had seized on Mason's hospitalization to make power grabs behind the scenes. It took multiple emergency board meetings before Ignatius wrestled the situation back under control.
By the time he found a moment to visit the hospital, Mason was already packing. Octavia stood beside him.
She wore a simple white knit top, her hair pulled back in a casual ponytail. She was bent over the nightstand drawer, efficiently sorting pill bottles into a bag—every movement brisk and careful. Sunlight slanted through the window, falling across her profile.
Ignatius stood in the doorway, watching for several seconds. Something about her had changed. He couldn't pinpoint what—whether it was the resolve in her eyes or the quiet confidence radiating from her entire being. She was nothing like the woman who used to tiptoe around him, reading his every mood.
Mason spotted him and let out an irritable grunt. "Oh, so you do remember I exist."
Ignatius didn't take the bait. He walked over and took the cane from Mason's hand. "The doctor said your blood pressure's still unstable. Two more days."
"Two more days of what? I'll have people looking after me at home." Mason jerked his chin toward Octavia. "This girl comes by every single day after work. More than I can say for you."
Octavia smiled softly. "Grandpa, don't say that. He's been busy."
Mason looked at her, then at Ignatius. He sighed and said nothing more.
---
On discharge day, Octavia drove Mason back to the Grimaldi Manor. After getting him settled, she was about to leave when he called out to her.
He was silent for a moment before speaking. "That matter... I know everything now."
Octavia's step faltered. She turned to face him. Mason sat on the sofa, color better than it had been in the hospital, but he looked years older. He patted the cushion beside him, gesturing for her to sit. His voice was rough.
"That woman—I'll handle it. Rest assured. The Grimaldi family owes you. I won't let you suffer for nothing."
Octavia sat down beside him. She was quiet for a few seconds, then gently shook her head. "Grandpa, I don't need the Grimaldi family to compensate me for anything. I just need her stopped from hurting anyone else."
Mason studied her calm gaze. Something ached deep in his chest. He reached over and patted the back of her hand. "Good girl. You've been through too much."
Heat prickled behind Octavia's eyes, but she pushed it down quickly. She stood with a smile and said she needed to get back to work. Mason didn't try to keep her.
But the moment she left, he picked up the phone and called Ignatius. He said only one thing: "What are you going to do about Yvaine?"
Silence stretched on the other end.
Finally, Ignatius spoke. "I'll handle it."