Contract Marriage After a Crazy Night

Chapter 195: ~ 195

Chapter 195

~ Octavia ~

By the time I stepped back into the estate, the atmosphere had shifted. It wasn’t loud or obvious, but the air felt heavy, like the house itself was holding its breath in anticipation of a blow. Clarence was already waiting for me in the foyer, his posture as rigid as a sentry’s.

"Mrs. Flemington," he said as I approached. His tone was calm, but the usual warmth was gone, replaced by a clinical edge.

"What is it, Clarence? Tell me."

"Bella Washington is gone."

The words landed quietly, but the impact was like a physical strike to my chest. "What do you mean, gone? She’s a creature of habit. Where could she go?"

"She didn’t report to work this morning," Clarence began, his voice level. "We sent a discreet team to her apartment. It’s been cleared out. Not just packed—scrubbed. Her neighbor mentioned seeing a moving van sometime during the middle of the night."

I felt a deep frown pull at my features. "No notice? No resignation letter?"

"Nothing. No forwarding address, no traceable travel bookings under her name, no activity on her primary bank accounts. She didn’t just move, Octavia. She disappeared."

I leaned against the mahogany banister, my mind racing through the implications. "Did she know we were watching her? Did your team slip up?"

"It’s possible," Clarence admitted cautiously. "Or someone within the company warned her. Either that, or she was told to leave by the people she truly works for."

"She didn’t run," I whispered, the realization chilling me. "She was extracted. Someone realized she was a loose end and they pulled her off the board."

I straightened my shoulders, the exhaustion of the day momentarily forgotten. "Show me everything you’ve gathered so far."

We moved to the study—Franklin’s sanctuary. I took a seat behind the massive desk, feeling the weight of the Flemington name pressing down on me. Clarence handed me a neatly organized file. I opened it slowly, scanning through phone records, transaction logs, and movement patterns.

At first glance, it looked like the digital footprint of an ordinary young woman. But the deeper I dug, the more the facade crumbled. There were repeated, late-night calls to a number that wasn’t registered to a person or a company. A ghost line.

"The frequency of these calls increased over the past few weeks," Clarence noted, pointing to a highlighted section.

"Was it before or after the crash?" I asked, looking up at him.

"It started two weeks before the flight took off."

I flipped to the next page. Transactions. Small amounts, spread out across various digital wallets and shell accounts. They were carefully spaced to avoid triggering internal audits, but they were consistent.

"She was being paid," I said, my voice cold. ƒгeewebnovёl.com

"Yes. It appears so."

"For what? For being a secretary?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.

"For access," Clarence said. The word seemed to echo in the quiet room.

I turned to the security logs from JeffTech. I scanned the timestamps, the system overrides, and the maintenance reports. My heart began a slow, rhythmic thud against my ribs. There it was—clear as day. A manual override on the elevator bank in the east wing. Activated at the exact moment I had been standing in the lobby, growing increasingly frantic about my presentation.

"Bella had the override codes?"

"As a lead developer with clearance to the executive floor, she had limited system privileges," Clarence explained. "It was enough to stall the doors. It was enough to control the timing of your movements."

I closed my eyes, the memory of that day returning with terrifying clarity. I had been late. I had been stressed. And she had ensured that the only way up was the stairs.

"She made sure I took the stairwell," I mumbled, a bitter taste rising in my throat. "She funneled me right into the path of the person Anthony sent to push me. She didn’t just watch it happen—she set the stage."

"It appears she was the primary coordinator for your ’accidents,’" Clarence added.

I clenched my teeth so hard my jaw ached. I wanted to scream, to break something, to let out the grief and the fury that was threatening to swallow me whole. But I remembered the resolve I had felt earlier. This was a war. Soldiers don’t cry on the battlefield; they adapt. They become brave.

Bella was gone, which meant the clock was ticking faster than I realized. If they were hiding her, they were preparing for their next move.

"What’s our next move, Mrs. Flemington?" Clarence asked.

I didn’t answer immediately. I looked at the desk, at the space where Franklin used to sit, and I tried to think like him. Strategy over emotion. Logic over impulse.

"We don’t chase her," I finally said.

Clarence’s brows lifted in surprise. "We don’t?"

"No. If we hunt her now, we alert Dorian that we have the full picture. We let her think she’s safe in whatever hole they’ve tucked her into. We let Dorian believe his ’loose end’ is successfully tied up."

"And in the meantime?"

"We build the case for the bigger fish. I want every shred of evidence we can find on Dorian and Anthony. Quietly. I want their offshore accounts, their private communications, and their connection to the sabotage of Franklin’s plane. We don’t confront them until the trap is so tight they can’t even breathe."

Clarence gave a single, firm nod. "It will be done. And I’ll personally oversee the silence of the operation."

"Good. You can go, Clarence. I need a moment."

He bowed slightly and retreated, closing the door with a soft click. I stood up and walked to the window, staring out at the Manhattan skyline. The night was dark, the city lights flickering like a thousand distant eyes. I felt more alone than I ever had, but I also felt a strange, cold power.

My phone buzzed in my hand. I glanced down, expecting another grim update from the search teams. Instead, it was an Instagram notification. A message request from an account I didn’t recognize.

I tapped it open. The handle was Annie_R.

Hi Octavia... this is Annie, Clinton’s friend. This might be random, but I came across your page and thought I should reach out. ƒгeewebnovёl.com

My brows furrowed. I barely knew her, other than the brief mentions from Clinton. I saw another message appear immediately below the first.

’I think we need to talk.’

My chest tightened. Why would she be reaching out to me now? Was it a trap?

It’s about something important, the bubbles on the screen typed.

I hesitated, my thumb hovering over the keyboard. If she was close to Clinton, she might know things about the Harrington family that even Clinton didn’t. I typed back, my pulse quickening.

’Hey Annie. If you want to talk, you’re free to tell me here.’

Seconds later, the reply came: ’It’s better if we meet in person. I don’t trust the apps.’

Another message followed: Let’s meet at Central Park tomorrow morning, near the Bethesda Terrace. 8:00 AM. Come alone, if you can.

I stared at the screen. 8:00 AM.

Okay. I’ll see you there, I sent it.

I lowered the phone, my mind spinning. First the flash drive, then the revelation of Bella’s betrayal, and now a secret meeting with someone I barely knew. The web was untangling, but I didn’t know if I was pulling the strings or if I was being lured deeper into the center of the trap.