Chapter 203

Chapter 203

Leopold was missing.

Octavia couldn't remember how she'd taken the phone from Monica's hand. All she saw was the headline on the screen.

Seymour Group CEO Leopold's Private Jet Lost Contact, Suspected Crash at Sea.

She stared at those words, reading them over and over.

Monica's voice came from beside her, broken and choked with sobs.

"Octavia, Leopold—is Leopold—"

Before she could finish, the housekeeper's panicked voice cut in: "Miss Seymour!"

Octavia whipped around to see Monica's body going limp.

"Help her to the couch."

Octavia heard her own voice. Strangely calm.

Something in her mind was driving her forward, commanding her not to collapse like Monica.

She went upstairs, returned to her room, and picked up her phone. One unread message on the screen.

[Octavia, I don't agree to the divorce.]

So Leopold really had replied to her.

Octavia stared at it blankly for a moment. When she came back to herself, she'd already dialed John's number.

John hadn't flown with Leopold.

Octavia asked, "Where are you?"

"At the coast. Search and rescue teams have already deployed." John paused for two seconds. "No word yet."

Octavia closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

"Block calls from the board members. Tell anyone who asks that you don't know anything. For the media—have PR issue a statement saying search and rescue operations are proceeding in an orderly manner. Don't respond to anything else."

"Yes."

"Notify me immediately if there's any news."

"Yes."

Octavia hung up and realized her hands were shaking badly. She clenched them twice, forcing herself to steady.

Monica's urgent, frantic voice drifted up from downstairs.

"Octavia! Octavia!"

Octavia descended the stairs. Monica was awake now, hair disheveled, face streaked with tears.

When she saw Octavia, her lips trembled and fresh tears spilled over.

"Where's Leopold?"

Octavia walked over and sat down beside her.

"The search and rescue teams have deployed. At a time like this, no news is good news."

Monica wiped at her tears, looking at her. "How can you be so calm? Aren't you worried at all?"

Octavia didn't answer. She lowered her head, looking at her hands resting on her knees.

She didn't know what 'worried' was supposed to look like.

Her heart was slamming painfully against her ribs. Her stomach felt like someone had it in a vice grip. Her mind was full of Leopold's face.

But her heart couldn't turn into a trembling puddle of useless mush right now.

Monica could only cry. If Octavia panicked too, the Seymour family would be devoured by outside forces.

"I need to handle some things." Octavia stood. "Rest here. Call me if you need anything."

Over the next several hours, Octavia's phone barely stopped ringing—John, the search and rescue team, PR, and reporters who'd somehow gotten her number.

She answered every call, spoke every sentence, her tone so calm she might have been handling someone else's crisis.

The search and rescue team said they'd found aircraft debris on the water's surface, but no people.

PR said the media was blowing up their lines, the stock price was dropping, shareholders were asking questions.

John said some board members were proposing to call an emergency meeting.

Octavia responded to each one. She spent the entire day on the phone.

Monica sat nearby watching her. Several times she wanted to speak, but seeing how focused Octavia was, she swallowed her words back down.

When evening came, Monica brought over a glass of water and set it in front of her.

"You haven't eaten all day. I had the housekeeper make something. You need to eat."

Octavia: "Not hungry."

"You have to eat even if you're not hungry." Monica's voice rose slightly, part aggrieved, part helpless. "Leopold still hasn't been found. If you collapse too, what am I supposed to do?"

Octavia turned to look at her. Monica's eyes were red-rimmed again, but she bit her lip, refusing to let the tears fall.

After a few seconds of silence, Octavia went to the kitchen herself and ladled out a bowl of soup, not bothering anyone else.

The soup had no taste. She added a spoonful of sugar, but still couldn't taste any sweetness. After eating barely half the bowl, she set down the spoon and returned to the living room.

Monica wanted to say something. Her mouth opened, but she stood there dumbly, unable to form words.

Finally, she sat down beside Octavia, watching her work, listening to her make arrangements.

Night deepened.

Monica leaned against the couch, eyelids growing heavier, but she didn't want to go back to her room.

She was afraid of being alone, afraid that if she closed her eyes she'd dream of terrible things.

At some point, Monica drowsed off. When she woke again, the couch was empty. Octavia was gone.

She sat bolt upright, heart racing, looking around frantically.

After a moment, she spotted a figure standing on the balcony.

Octavia faced the distance, motionless. Moonlight fell across her, stretching her shadow long and thin.

Monica pushed open the glass door and stepped out. The night breeze was colder than she'd expected, making her shiver.

"Octavia."

Octavia didn't turn around.

Monica walked up beside her and followed her gaze.

There was nothing to see—only the dark, heavy sky and darker still, the direction of the sea.

"What are you looking at?"

Octavia didn't answer.

Monica turned her head to study Octavia's profile.

In the moonlight, Octavia's complexion was pale to the point of translucence, eyes rimmed red, lips pressed together slightly.

Her eyes had no focus, as if looking at something very, very far away.

Then Monica saw it—tears pooling in Octavia's eyes, not falling, held back by sheer force of will.

Monica's heart clenched painfully. She lowered her gaze and saw Octavia clutching her phone, screen still lit.

She leaned in closer and made out the words on the screen.

[Octavia, I don't agree to the divorce.]

Monica's tears burst forth all at once. She covered her mouth with the back of her hand, trying not to sob aloud.

Octavia finally spoke, her voice so soft it seemed about to be scattered by the wind.

"I shouldn't have turned off my phone."

Her expression was weary, eyes still fixed on that distant point, somewhat dazed.

Monica couldn't hold it in anymore. She cried out loud.

"Octavia, is Leopold dead?"

Octavia's body trembled slightly.

"He's not." She said quietly, "He won't die."

It didn't sound like she was answering Monica. More like she was trying to convince herself.

Monica cried for a long while before gradually stopping. She wiped her face with the back of her hand and took a deep breath.

"You should go rest." Octavia said. "There's a lot to do tomorrow."

Monica looked at her, wanting to say something. Her lips moved several times, but nothing came out.

She turned and headed back inside. After a few steps, she stopped and looked back.

Octavia still stood there, in exactly the same position as when Monica had arrived.

Monica pulled her gaze away and pushed through the door.

She'd always thought Octavia was so composed. From the moment Leopold went missing until now, Octavia hadn't shed a single tear, hadn't spoken a single word of defeat, hadn't shown even a hint of panic.

Monica had thought she didn't care. When her own tears were flowing, she'd even secretly resented Octavia for it.

But just now she'd seen it—seen the tears pooling in Octavia's eyes, seen her knuckles gone white as she gripped the phone, heard that sentence Octavia had spoken.

Monica felt bewildered, and a strange kind of sadness, as if she'd caught a glimpse of the grief that belonged to Octavia alone.

In the early morning hours, the doorbell rang.

The housekeeper went to answer it. Footsteps echoed up from downstairs, hurried and familiar.

"Octavia!"

Sierra had flown back from abroad without stopping, arriving at the Boleyn residence travel-worn and exhausted.

She walked up to Octavia and looked at that face, pale to the point of transparency.

"I'm here. Are you okay?" Sierra's voice was somewhat hoarse. The moment she arrived, she'd scrutinized Octavia's condition carefully.

Seeing Octavia's state, Sierra froze, struck by sadness.

"Octavia, if you're heartbroken, just cry. Holding it in will destroy your health."

Octavia looked at her. Her lips moved slightly.

She wanted to say she didn't feel that bad, but she couldn't get the words out.

She looked at Sierra, her gaze somewhat unfocused, as if looking at Sierra, or perhaps at something else very far away.

"Sierra." After a long moment, she finally heard her own voice.

Sierra quickly responded, "I'm here, I'm right here."

But Octavia fell silent again.

Sierra felt panicked. Others might not understand, but she knew Octavia's personality too well.

Octavia being this silent worried Sierra more than if someone else were sobbing hysterically.

A very long time passed before Sierra heard the faintest sound, wrapped in the night breeze—she almost didn't catch it.

"Sierra, tell me—"

"Is everyone who's good to me destined for bad luck?"