Chapter 8

The breeze stirred, lifting her hair.

Yvaine tucked her hair back again, deliberately exposing the hickey on her neck. She stared at Octavia without blinking, as if trying to read something from that face.

Too bad. Nothing. No breakdown, no jealousy, no heartbreak—just calm.

Her red lips curved into a mocking smile. "You've got some nerve coming here to ask for your data. You know what? Your work is riddled with errors. If it weren't for the company's sake, I wouldn't have bothered taking over."

The disdain in her eyes practically spilled over.

Octavia laughed—a bitter, incredulous sound. "You're saying my data is riddled with errors?"

"What else? I really don't know what you've been doing these past few years. No talent whatsoever."

"Fine. Since you have such contempt for my work, let's settle this. Point out every single error. Make me admit it. How about that?"

Her husband might've been stolen, but her work would not be slandered.

Octavia stood tall in her heels, looking down at Yvaine. She stepped forward, voice cutting. "You need to own your words. If there are no errors, you owe me an apology."

"An apology? Sure. But your attitude is the problem here. I'm your superior, remember?" As Yvaine spoke, her eyes flicked behind Octavia. She took a deliberate step forward, then let out a sharp cry. "Why are you pushing me—"

Like she'd been shoved by thin air, Yvaine fell hard to the ground. Tears welled in her eyes.

Octavia went silent.

She'd been through this too many times. She was numb to it.

Before Ignatius could rush over, she stepped back, putting distance between them to avoid getting caught in the crossfire.

"Are you okay? Let me help you up." As always, Ignatius gently lifted Yvaine to her feet. His deep eyes glinted cold and sharp as he fixed them on Octavia. "You've got some nerve, putting your hands on a superior."

"I only asked for my data back. As for her... she's too fragile. The air knocked her over."

"Apologize." Ignatius's voice was icy. Final.

"No." Octavia lifted her chin, meeting his gaze without flinching. The word came out cold and clear.

Their eyes locked. In that charged moment, Yvaine swayed unsteadily and fell toward Octavia.

Octavia's face changed. She tried to dodge, but too late—she was shoved hard to the side.

A heavy thud.

Her body spun out of control. Her head slammed into the wall.

Everything swam. Her ears rang. She touched her forehead—her hand came away red. Blood. Her head was split open.

Dizzy, she braced one hand against the wall to keep herself upright.

On the other side, Ignatius held Yvaine protectively against his chest. He looked up and saw the streak of blood. His pupils shrank.

"You—"

"Octavia, I know you don't like me. But even if you want to scheme against me, you shouldn't resort to hurting yourself. It breaks my heart to see you like this." Yvaine's voice was soft, fragile, as though she genuinely cared.

The concern in Ignatius's eyes flickered, then vanished. "Octavia, stop with the tricks. Apologize. As for the data, handing it to your superior is standard procedure."

The last few words came out ice-cold.

Octavia calmly pulled a tissue from a nearby box and pressed it to the wound. "Apologize? Never. As for the data, fine. Let my superior have it. My superior's so capable, I'm sure you can crack the encryption, right?"

The data was locked. No one but her could open it. She'd love to see what Yvaine could do with it. Worst case, no one could use it.

"You... we're all colleagues here. How can you say something like that? You're putting company interests at risk..." Yvaine's tone turned righteous, as if Octavia were some kind of corporate spy.

Ignatius looked at Octavia like she'd lost her mind. "Unbelievable. If this is your attitude, once you transfer to headquarters, don't bother coming back."

"Perfect. Thank you. Couldn't ask for better."

It was clear—she wasn't getting her data back today.

Aware of the curious stares around her, Octavia turned and walked away without a backward glance, hand still pressed to her bleeding forehead.

She kept her back straight, her stride steady—just like the day she'd left home.

Watching her figure disappear, Ignatius felt an inexplicable surge of irritation.

In his eyes, Octavia was like a stubborn rash that kept appearing in his life, impossible to shake off. What was she playing at now? Running away from home, applying for a transfer to headquarters...

She wanted to leave her job, abandon their child. As a mother, as a wife, she was failing on every front.

He tugged at his tie, returned to his office, and downed half a cup of coffee in one go.

At the floor-to-ceiling window, his hand reached instinctively for a cigarette.

Yvaine stopped him. "This is an office. The smell won't go away. Are you upset? Is it because of—"

"Don't overthink it. To me, that woman is just the mother of my child. She means nothing to me. Back then..."

He looked out the window, voice cold. "Whatever. Let's see how long she keeps this up."

"Fine. Don't let someone else ruin your mood. What do you want for dinner?"

"Whatever you want."

Outside the company building.

Octavia walked into a pharmacy and bought antiseptic and gauze.

In the bathroom, staring at the gash on her forehead and the blood streaking her face, a bitter smile tugged at her lips.

Her not-yet-ex-husband kept letting her get hurt for the sake of his mistress. Old wounds hadn't healed, and now there were new ones. Bandages on her arm. Now bandages on her head. She really did look pathetic.

She poured antiseptic over the wound. Pain twisted her face. Her skin went chalk-white.

She finally cleaned the blood off her face and was about to apply the gauze when her phone rang sharply.

She glanced at the screen. Her brows furrowed.

Her.

Remembering what had just happened, Octavia's mood sank even lower.

She took a deep breath and answered.

"Are you trying to get yourself killed? You have no manners! Why would you offend them? Make them unhappy? Listen to me—go apologize right now, or I swear I won't let this go..."

A furious voice exploded through the speaker. Even without seeing her face, Octavia could tell the woman on the other end was seething. Every word dripped with blame. Every syllable was ugly.

The shrill voice echoed in the empty bathroom. Octavia glanced around instinctively. No one. She exhaled in relief.

She was used to this. She held the phone at arm's length. But tears still filled her eyes.

"Are you listening? You need to know your place. If you want a good life, you need to know who to please. Useless girl. You married into that family and still can't win his favor. Now I'm suffering because of you..."

"Apologize immediately. Get Ignatius and Yvaine to forgive you. Or I'm done with you. You're not my daughter anymore."

That line again. 'I'm done with you. You're not my daughter anymore.' It had become Xanthe Miller's favorite threat. Her most powerful weapon.