Chapter 111
Chapter 111
"Mrs. Grimaldi, I know it's not my place to say this, but I can't help it. If not for yourself, then think of Holden. Please, just hold on a little longer."
"What if—what if someone else marries in and has another child? It could threaten Holden's position. Mr. Mason Grimaldi is still here. No one can bully you while he's around. Why not stick it out?"
The servant had been working here since Octavia and Ignatius's wedding day.
She'd witnessed everything that happened in this house. And because of that, her heart ached for Octavia all the more.
Years of serving wealthy families had taught her how these things worked—the stakes, the trade-offs, the silent calculations.
Her words made sense. Any other society wife might have gritted her teeth and endured it for the money and the status. But Octavia was done enduring.
"You only get one life. Why waste it stuck in quicksand?" Octavia's voice was light, almost airy, but underneath ran a current of quiet steel.
The servant frowned, clearly not understanding.
Octavia was patient with her. "There are so many meaningful things in life. My work, for instance. Maybe one day I'll build my own empire and make plenty of money on my own terms. But thank you. Really."
She walked into the living room just as Ignatius came through the front door.
Octavia set her bag of belongings by the entrance, then turned to face him. "We need to talk."
Ignatius didn't refuse.
---
In the study.
Octavia got straight to the point. "You gave me those assets, and I believe you were sincere. But I don't want them becoming a source of trouble, and I don't want the Lavien family getting involved."
She knew exactly what she was dealing with. Jasper, Thora—they were all the same. Cowards who bullied the weak and cowered before the strong. They came at her with fists swinging, but in front of Ignatius they turned into frightened little quails, barely daring to breathe. Rather than waste her energy sparring with them daily, she'd cut the problem off at the root.
One word from Ignatius outweighed everything.
After all, in Jasper's mind, the greatest achievement of Yvaine's life was keeping Ignatius firmly in her grasp. They'd never risk the big picture over something small.
The study fell deathly silent.
Ignatius's gaze was heavy, unblinking, fixed on Octavia as though searching her face for something—anything.
He found nothing. Octavia's expression was perfectly calm, her eyes still as a windless lake. She might as well have been discussing the weather. Not a single flicker of emotion from start to finish.
A long moment passed. Just when Octavia thought he wouldn't respond at all, he let out a quiet sound of acknowledgment.
"Got it." His voice was hoarse. He turned and walked out.
Got it—meaning what, exactly?
Would he help?
Octavia frowned. Before she could dwell on it, Holden came bounding in, fresh from his tutoring session.
"You're here?" A smile had been on his face, but the instant he saw Octavia, it vanished. He shifted awkwardly, his greeting stilted and reluctant.
Octavia didn't take it to heart. She stepped forward and ruffled his soft hair. "How have you been the last couple of days? Feeling okay? Did you go for your follow-up at the hospital?"
Hearing that familiar voice of concern, Holden's eyes quietly reddened.
The little boy—trying so hard to be brave—ducked his head as if afraid someone might hear. He mumbled a small sound of confirmation. "Don't you think it's a little late to start caring? It's been forever."
She caught the reproach in his words but didn't explain herself. "Let me go make you something to eat."
Work would only get busier from here. Once this project wrapped up, Octavia would officially join Finnian's company.
As a partner, her schedule would be relentless. Time with Holden would grow scarcer. She intended to cherish every moment she still had.
Without looking back, she headed straight for the kitchen.
---
Out on the balcony, Ignatius chain-smoked, one cigarette after another. His phone screen lit up. He stubbed out the cigarette and walked toward the master bedroom—the one he'd shared with Octavia. He pushed open the door.
And froze.
"What happened here?" The butler happened to be passing by. Ignatius's tone was ice-cold.
The butler's face went blank. He approached, took one look at Ignatius's expression, and lowered his head. "I assumed you knew, sir. Ms. Yvaine Lavien arranged it."
At the mention of Yvaine, Ignatius's brow furrowed. "Fine. I see."
So was that tacit approval?
The butler opened his mouth, but in the end said nothing. He turned and walked away.
---
In the kitchen.
Octavia had been making pastries and was sitting in the corner during a lull, resting, when the sound of approaching chatter reached her ears.
"Mr. Grimaldi just found out the bedroom was cleared out. I thought for sure he'd be furious, but all he said was 'I see.'"
"Well, obviously. If anyone else had done it, sure, he'd be angry. But Ms. Yvaine Lavien is different to Mr. Grimaldi. Those two go way back—deep feelings there. He probably gave her the green light. Otherwise, how would she dare?"
"Exactly. I just hope they get together soon. Ms. Yvaine Lavien is so generous—she brings us gifts every time she visits."
The gossip drifted closer. Then they spotted Octavia sitting in the corner, and their faces changed instantly.
"Mrs. Grimaldi, we—"
"It's fine. Go on about your work."
The words came out easy enough. But something inside Octavia's chest dropped like a stone.
Those two really couldn't wait. The divorce proceedings had barely started, and Yvaine was already making herself at home—changing the little details first, then emptying out the bedroom entirely.
What came next? Erasing every last trace of her from this house?
Octavia walked out of the kitchen and looked around. A self-deprecating smile curved her lips.
Honestly, there had never been many traces of her here to begin with. The entire house had been designed to Ignatius's taste.
She wasn't so much the lady of this house as she was a guest passing through.
From the wedding to the separation, she hadn't lived here long. And when she searched her memory, she couldn't find many good ones.
---
Ignatius came down the stairs. Octavia instinctively ducked behind the stairwell.
"Okay, I know. I'm on my way. Don't be scared—I'm right here..."
His voice was tender. Impossibly, unprecedentedly tender. He spoke as he walked, and before the words were even finished, he'd disappeared through the front door.
The engine roared to life. The luxury car shot forward like an arrow and vanished into the darkness.
Night pressed in, black and heavy. Octavia pulled her gaze from the empty driveway and returned to the kitchen.
"You know what? This is all your fault! Why do you have to go around hurting people? Because of you, Ms. White is back in the hospital. Her wound got infected—she's in so much pain!"
Holden's young voice cracked through the air like a whip.
Octavia spun around. She stared at the boy in the doorway, disbelief flooding through her.
He was defending the other woman. Condemning his own mother for the sake of a mistress.
In that moment, Octavia's mind went utterly, crystallinely clear. She just looked at him. Silent.
Holden stood in the doorway, rooted to the spot. His dark eyes were full of confusion.
And beneath the confusion, unmistakably—anger.