Chapter 266: ~ 266
Chapter 266
~Octavia~
It took a massive amount of convincing to get Franklin to leave the estate this morning. He had an incredibly important board meeting that required his physical presence, but he had stood by the bedroom door for nearly twenty minutes, scowling at the floor and checking Lael and I. I practically had to push him out of the room, kissing his cheek and repeatedly promising him that baby Lael and I would be absolutely fine with the security team outside.
Now, I was sitting quietly in the nursery lounge, nursing a sleeping Lael against my chest. The house was peaceful, the only sound being the soft ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner.
The heavy oak doors of the lounge swung open without a sound. I braced myself, half-expecting to see Olga or one of the staff, but instead, Flynn casually strolled into the room.
He was wearing another one of his brightly colored shirts, looking completely relaxed. In his hands, he carried a beautifully arranged silver tray filled with fresh fruit, warm soup, and a cup of freshly made cocoa tea.
I stared at him, my mind immediately flashing back to the chilling phone call I had overheard last night. If Franklin were here right now, he would have completely flipped the table and thrown Flynn through the window.
Flynn caught my skeptical look and let out a bright, dramatic chuckle. He walked over, setting the tray down carefully on the marble coffee table right in front of me.
"Don’t look at me like that, Octavia," Flynn said, flashing his usual bright, white smile. He held his hands up in defense. "I swear I didn’t poison it. I know my dear cousin Franklin probably thinks I’m an international assassin, but I value my life far too much to mess with his queen."
To prove his point, Flynn grabbed a small silver spoon, scooped up a bit of the warm soup, and took a deliberate bite, swallowing it with a theatrical sigh of satisfaction. "See? Completely safe. Delicious, actually. I made it myself."
Instead of being cold to him or letting my anxiety show, I leaned back against the plush cushions of the sofa. I forced my posture to relax, looking at him with a normal, friendly smile. If he was on a mission, I needed to keep him close, not push him away. I couldn’t let him know that I was suspicious of a single thing.
"Thank you, Flynn," I said softly, my voice calm and conversational. "That’s actually very thoughtful of you. You didn’t have to do all this."
"Oh, please, it’s the least I could do," Flynn scoffed playfully, waving his hand dismissively as he sat down on the opposite armchair, draping his long legs over the side. "Franklin treats this place like a maximum-security prison. Someone has to bring a little flavor and warmth into these dreary hallways."
"He’s just protective," I replied gently, keeping my tone light. "He loves his family very much."
"Yeah, well, he has an aggressive way of showing it," Flynn muttered, though his smirk quickly returned. "So, how are you adjusting to all of... this? The baby chronicles? Is the big guy actually helping, or is he just standing around looking terrifying?"
"He’s actually an amazing father," I laughed softly, looking down at Lael. "He gave her her very first bath yesterday. He was so gentle, it almost made me cry."
Flynn’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second, a strange, unreadable shadow passing over his eyes before he quickly masked it with a chuckle. "Wow. The stone-cold Franklin Flemington doing baby baths. I would have paid a million dollars to see that."
Just as the words left his mouth, baby Lael suddenly stirred in my arms. Her tiny face scrunched up, turning a bright shade of pink, and she let out a sudden, loud, piercing cry. I instantly shifted her, rocking her against my shoulder and patting her back. "Oh, shh, it’s okay, sweetie. It’s okay."
No matter how much I rocked her, her cries only grew louder, her little fists flailing in the air.
Flynn stood up from the armchair, his movements surprisingly fast. He stepped over to the sofa and looked down at the screaming infant. "Hey, let me have her for a second."
I paused, looking up at him. Every protective instinct Franklin had drilled into me told me to say no. But looking into Flynn’s eyes right now, there was no malice. There was just a strange, eager curiosity.
"Alright," I whispered, carefully transferring the crying baby into his arms. "Support her head, Flynn."
"I’ve got her, I’ve got her," he murmured.
I watched him closely as he interacted with baby Lael. Flynn cradled her against his chest, his large hands holding her securely. He didn’t rock her aggressively; instead, he began to sway on his feet in a slow, rhythmic circle, making a low, soft clicking sound with his tongue.
Surprisingly, within less than thirty seconds, Lael’s sharp cries began to dwindle into small whimpers. She rested her tiny cheek right against his shirt, her dark eyes blinking up at him before slowly closing. She stopped crying completely.
Flynn froze.
The loud, goofy, arrogant smirk completely vanished from his face. The theatrical persona he had been wearing since the moment he arrived broke apart, leaving a raw, heavy silence in the room. He stared down at the sleeping baby in his arms, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths.
In that quiet moment, Flynn looked incredibly sad. His eyes were wide, filled with a deep, hollow loneliness that broke my heart. Looking at him right now, I didn’t see a dangerous infiltrator. I saw a glimpse of the lonely little boy who had been raised by a bitter, hateful mother, a boy who had been starved of real, peaceful family warmth his entire life.
But a small, chilling voice in the back of my mind reminded me of the truth. He could be acting. This could all be part of the play.
Before I could say a word to break the silence, the distant, heavy thud of the mansion’s main front doors echoing downstairs traveled up the stairwell. A second later, the familiar, heavy, and commanding footsteps of Franklin rumbled through the hallway, moving toward the nursery wing with rapid speed.
The change in Flynn was instantaneous.
The moment those footsteps registered in his ears, Flynn’s shoulders dropped, and that loud, arrogant, "cool uncle" persona snapped right back into place like a shield. The sadness in his eyes vanished, replaced by a mischievous, teasing glint.
"See that, Octavia?" Flynn boasted loudly, his voice booming through the lounge as he carefully handed Lael back to me. "The kid clearly recognizes absolute genius when she sees it. I have the magic touch!"
The nursery doors burst open, and Franklin walked in, his dark eyes instantly locking onto Flynn with a cold, protective glare.
As I took Lael back into my arms, my mind was spinning with a million questions. Flynn was so deeply human in that one quiet second, yet so terrifyingly quick to hide it. I looked at him as he began to playfully banter with an annoyed Franklin, a heavy realization settling in my chest.
Flynn might actually be completely torn between the lifetime of hatred his mother had drilled into him, and his own secret, desperate desire for a real, loving family.
But the terrifying question still remained. What was his mission really?