Chapter 201

Chapter 201

Octavia didn't say anything.

She stared at those words, and her heart—lost and adrift for days—suddenly began to pound again, fast and hard.

She remembered asking him once, "Will you stand by me?" and he'd said, "Of course I'll stand by you."

He'd said, "You're my wife, not a pet."

She'd thought that once he knew the truth, he would hate her, find her disgusting, see her as a woman who'd stop at nothing to get what she wanted.

But he didn't.

Not only that—when everyone else was tearing her down, he'd stepped forward to defend her. Using the Seymour Group's official account, in the most direct way possible, he'd told the world he didn't care who she was.

Octavia's hands started to tremble. Her eyes began to burn.

She bit her lip, refusing to let the tears fall, but something lodged in her throat, choking her until she couldn't breathe.

Sierra watched her struggle and sighed, reaching over to pat her back.

"Just cry. Don't hold it in."

Octavia shook her head and took a deep breath, forcing the tears back down.

She stood up, shoved her phone into her pocket, and turned to start packing.

"What are you doing?" Sierra asked.

"Going back." Octavia stuffed clothes into her suitcase, moving quickly, almost frantically.

"Now? Didn't you say you wanted to wait a little longer?"

"I'm done waiting." Octavia yanked the zipper shut and straightened up to look at Sierra. "He's already done this much. What am I waiting for?"

Sierra opened her mouth, about to say something, then swallowed it back.

She looked at Octavia's red-rimmed eyes and tightly pressed lips, and suddenly smiled.

"All right. Go. I'll handle things here. I'll find out who's behind Claire, I promise."

Octavia nodded, grabbed her suitcase, and headed for the door.

At the threshold, she stopped and turned back to look at Sierra.

"Sierra, thank you."

"For what? Just go." Sierra waved her off. "Don't miss the earliest flight."

The hallway was quiet. The suitcase wheels rolled across the carpet with a dull, muffled sound.

Octavia reached the elevator and pressed the button, waiting for it to arrive.

When the doors slid open, she stepped inside and leaned against the mirrored wall, staring at her reflection.

Her eyes were still red, her nose too. She looked like a mess. She wiped at the corner of her eyes and took a deep breath.

Once she got back home, everything would be different.

She'd have to face Leopold, face Monica, face everyone she'd deceived.

She didn't know how they'd treat her. Didn't know if Monica would point a finger in her face and scream at her. Didn't know if Leopold, once he saw her, would get angry again—or take back those words: "Mrs. Seymour can be whoever she wants to be."

But she had to go back. Even if he didn't forgive her. Even if he never wanted to see her again. She had to apologize to his face.

---

At the same time, in Emberfall City.

The Seymour Group headquarters, top floor executive office.

John stood before Leopold, tablet in hand, the screen displaying the information he'd just pulled up. He glanced at Leopold, hesitated, then spoke.

"Mr. Seymour, I've checked. There's no flight record for Mrs. Seymour—domestic or international. She hasn't booked any tickets under her name."

Leopold sat behind his desk, twirling a pen between his fingers. At those words, his hand paused.

"She's still in Veridian."

"It seems so," John said. "Should I arrange for someone to pick her up?"

Leopold didn't answer.

He set the pen down and leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling.

John stood there, waiting.

After a long moment, Leopold sat up straight and picked up the office phone, dialing a number.

"Arrange a flight route to Veridian. Today."

The person on the other end acknowledged and hung up. John blinked, then realized—Leopold was going himself.

"Mr. Seymour, if you go to Veridian, what about the company?"

"You'll handle things here." Leopold stood and grabbed his coat from the rack. "Call me if anything urgent comes up."

John nodded, saying nothing more.

He knew Leopold's temperament. Once he'd made up his mind, no one could stop him.

And besides, this was something he really should do in person.

Octavia had sent that message. Not replying, not going to see her—what kind of response would that be?

Leopold slipped on his coat and picked up his phone from the desk, glancing at the message.

He stared at those words he'd already read countless times. This time, finally, he typed a reply.

On the way to the airport, Leopold tried to close his eyes and rest, but the moment he did, Octavia's face filled his mind.

The way her eyes curved when she smiled. The way her brow furrowed when she was angry. The way she lowered her head and went silent when she was upset.

Oh, right—he hadn't told her yet. His eyes had healed. He'd already seen her face, vivid and beautiful.

He thought about all the acts she'd put on in front of him, and also about those moments when she wasn't acting.

The focused look on her face during his treatments. The contentment when she drank her coffee. The eye-roll when Monica pissed her off.

Those moments were too few. So few that every time he thought back on them, it never felt like enough.

He regretted his stubbornness—always waiting for Octavia to come to him first, to tell him the truth, to ask for his help. He'd forgotten that she could be afraid.

But it was fine. Some things should be his to initiate.

Like the reply he'd just sent her:

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