Chapter 45
Hearing the sour note in Octavius's voice, I realized what was happening and felt helpless.
"Zephyr sees me as a sister, just like Ondine—we're friends. Don't read into it."
"Sister?" Octavius snorted through his nose, clearly unconvinced, but he dropped the subject.
He gave the driver the name of an upscale restaurant before turning to me. "Let's get dinner first. I'll take you home after."
I was starving, but my mind was still on work. "My dad wanted me back at the office today..."
"Work can wait until tomorrow. I've got it handled—nothing's going to fall apart."
Octavius cut me off with that commanding tone of his that left no room for argument.
I couldn't help but smile a little. Leaning closer, I dropped my voice to a playful whisper. "Octavius."
His eyes locked on my face—so close now—lingering on my lips. His throat bobbed before he tore his gaze away. "What?"
"You're worried about me, aren't you? Afraid I'll go hungry?" I blinked innocently, teasing him on purpose.
The driver shot us a startled glance in the rearview mirror, his expression clearly saying: [Wait, weren't you two fighting this afternoon? How are you okay now?]
Octavius turned his face toward the window.
Passing streetlights flickered across his sharp profile, illuminating then shadowing his features.
"Your stomach issues are partially my fault," he said stiffly. "I'm just being responsible."
Watching him act all tsundere, I bit back a laugh, deciding not to call him out.
The car headed toward the restaurant.
Suddenly, Octavius asked, "Why didn't you tell Grandfather about the medicine?"
It took me a second to realize he meant the medication I'd sent to the nursing home.
"What would be the point? To take credit?" I shook my head. "I did those things because I genuinely wanted to make amends. I hurt your grandfather, and I wanted to fix that—not to get something in return."
There was no need to mention it. Bringing it up would only make my motives look questionable.
Octavius fell silent.
I could've sworn I caught the briefest twitch of a smile at the corner of his mouth.
Though I wasn't sure if I'd imagined it, the atmosphere in the car definitely softened.
He let out a quiet hum. After a long pause, he said, "Grandfather's doing much better."
Relief washed over me, and for the first time in a while, I smiled genuinely.
"That's all I needed to hear. As long as it helped, I'm satisfied."
Octavius didn't press me about where I'd gotten the prescription.
When we arrived at the restaurant, he led me straight to the top floor.
As always, Octavius ordered with practiced ease, rattling off every dish I usually enjoyed.
Watching him order so attentively, I felt an unexpected sense of peace.
Actions spoke louder than words. Caring for someone wasn't about flowery promises—it was all in these little details.
And Octavius didn't just have the details down. He was willing to spend stupid amounts of money to make me happy.
Yet I'd once brushed off all his kindness like it meant nothing.
What was I thinking back then?
I hadn't eaten all day, so I devoured everything with genuine appreciation.
Octavius barely touched his food, too busy cutting my steak, refilling my water, and making sure I had everything I needed.
There was something incredibly attractive about the way he maintained that cold, unapproachable exterior while doing such thoughtful things.
I lost count of how many times my heart did that stupid flutter during dinner.
What I didn't expect was running into paparazzi the moment we stepped outside.
A camera flash exploded right in our faces.
Instinctively, I moved to intervene, but Octavius caught my wrist.
"Let them."
His tone was indifferent, as if he'd just spotted an annoying fly.
Seeing how unbothered he was, I forced myself to calm down and followed him to the car.
"Aren't you worried about being photographed? Making the news?"
Octavius's lips curved into a wicked smirk. "Only if they've got the guts to actually publish a story about me."
I froze.I'd thought he didn't mind being photographed with me, but really, he just knew no reporter would dare run the story.
A pang of disappointment settled in my chest, though I kept my expression neutral.
By the time we got back to the estate, it was late.
Everyone had already gone to bed. The house was silent as I headed upstairs to shower and sleep.
The next morning, I came downstairs to find the three of them—Heath, Amara, and Brielle—already seated in the dining room having breakfast.
Heath looked up from his newspaper, his brow furrowing when he saw me.
"Where were you all day yesterday? And why didn't you tell me the project got transferred to Brielle?"
Brielle immediately set down her glass of milk, piling on. "Seriously, Seraphine, you're so unreliable. The client probably transferred the project to me because you were being unprofessional. You didn't even answer their calls—how could they trust you?"
Before I could respond, Amara shot Brielle a performative glare. "Don't say that. Seraphine's probably just been exhausted lately."
Then she turned to me with fake concern plastered across her face. "Maybe you should take some time off? Get some rest. You don't need to come into the office for a while."
I watched their little tag-team act and almost laughed.
Stayed away from the office?
That would be perfect for Amara and Brielle—giving them free rein to rally support, win over shareholders, steal my shares, and eventually kick me out entirely.
Did they think I was stupid?
I kept my expression neutral. "The client made their choice. Since they went with Brielle, I hope she lives up to Dad's trust—and theirs."
Heath's expression softened slightly, though his tone remained stern.
"The shareholders aren't happy about you losing this project. You need to figure out your next move."
I nodded.
Of course, they weren't happy. No one had expected Brielle to swoop in and take the project from me.
The shareholders had high hopes for me, and now that reality didn't match expectations, their disappointment was natural.
But if they knew I'd deliberately handed the project to Brielle, they'd react very differently from this cautious wait-and-see approach.
Seizing the moment, Amara chimed in sweetly. "Heath, now that Brielle's managing such a major project independently, don't you think we should consider giving her some company shares? It would really motivate her."
My head snapped toward Heath.
I'd worked my ass off at that company for years—consistently ranked top performer—just to earn the right to hold shares.
Brielle had barely started, and they wanted to hand her equity?
That would never fly with the board.
Thankfully, Heath was fair-minded when it came to business. He always kept emotion out of these decisions.
He considered it for a moment, then shook his head. "Let's see how she handles this project first."
Disappointment flickered across Amara's face. She exchanged a quick glance with Brielle but wisely didn't push further.
I exhaled quietly.
At least the share situation wasn't settled yet. That bought me some breathing room.
I wolfed down breakfast and headed to the office. The atmosphere had completely shifted overnight.
Brielle's team was riding high—congratulatory flower arrangements lined their section of the office.
Meanwhile, Soren and my team sat in gloomy silence.
"Ms. Whitaker."
Soren approached, clearly conflicted. "They're throwing a promotion dinner after work tonight... and they specifically invited us. Should we go?"