Chapter 521 Octavius Regrets: Calliope, Forgive Me 1
Sarah leaned against Oliver's shoulder, gazing out through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Against the black night, fireworks bloomed in brilliant clusters—dazzling but fleeting.
A wave of melancholy washed over her, yet Oliver's presence brought comfort. He had promised her that flowers would bloom again next spring, that he would be there for every holiday, every birthday celebration with their children. He had whispered that their happiness would last for years to come.
They stood together at the window, watching the fireworks paint the sky—brief but beautiful.
After a long moment, Zoey's voice drifted from the doorway, "Mr. Windsor, the reception is ready. The guests are waiting for you and Mrs. Windsor to bring Elliot out."
Oliver looked down at his wife. Her eyes were still glistening with unshed tears, so he spoke gently, "Take a moment to freshen up. I'll get Elliot."
Sarah nodded softly.
Oliver walked to the doorway and lifted his son into his arms. Once Sarah had composed herself, he took her hand while cradling Elliot, and together they made their way toward the ballroom.
Red carpet stretched before them, surrounded by elaborate floral arrangements.
In the ballroom, tensions simmered beneath the polished surface.
Calliope and Octavius—former spouses—found themselves seated at the same table with their respective new partners, creating an atmosphere thick with unspoken drama.
What made the situation even more explosive was Seraphine's history with Pembroke.
Pembroke came from considerable wealth—his family owned an international trading company, his sister Elowen was a society darling, and he himself was a rising star in architecture. Despite Seraphine's relentless pursuit for months, he had remained utterly indifferent to her advances.
Yet here he was, devoted to an older woman.
Yes, Octavius was an excellent catch and they were engaged, but everyone understood their passion wouldn't last. Octavius would inevitably stray, keeping his primary relationship while indulging in affairs on the side.
Pembroke was different—young, untainted, genuine.
Seraphine burned with jealousy.
Across the table, Pembroke's hand rested possessively on his girlfriend's slender waist, his usual coldness replaced by tender attentiveness. Unable to contain herself, Seraphine spoke with calculated sweetness, "Pembroke, doesn't it bother you that Ms. Lark is divorced?"
The question hung in the air like a blade.
Everyone at this table held significant social standing and maintained close ties with the Windsors. They all moved in the same circles. Seraphine's comment was deeply inappropriate.
But everyone deferred to Octavius's presence.
Octavius raised an eyebrow, glancing at Calliope with detached interest, content to watch the drama unfold.
Calliope felt the sting of embarrassment.
Under the table, Pembroke squeezed her hand reassuringly before fixing Seraphine with a pointed stare, "Miss Vey, aren't you marrying a divorced man yourself?"
The atmosphere grew even more charged.
Seraphine's composure cracked. She looked to Octavius, expecting him to defend her, but he merely wiped his hands with a hot towel, his tone maddeningly casual, "He's not wrong. Calliope and I were married for many years."
The statement seemed innocuous enough, yet carried an undercurrent of possession.
Calliope recognized his game—marking his territory—but she refused to be intimidated. She was free now, entitled to love whomever she chose.
Octavius's presence wouldn't dictate her life.
She continued her easy intimacy with Pembroke, and when mingling with other guests, she remained at his side, her arm linked through his, her voluptuous figure leaning gracefully against him. They made a striking couple.
Pembroke's hand settled on the curve of her hip, just below her waist.
The image was undeniably sensual, charged with erotic tension.
Behind them, Octavius watched with barely controlled fury, his champagne flute nearly shattering in his grip. This didn't stop Calliope from laughing at someone's joke and nestling against Pembroke's shoulder, gazing up at him with sparkling eyes full of genuine affection.
How long had it been since he'd seen Calliope like this?
Only during their honeymoon had she looked at him with such radiant joy. Later, as his business dinners stretched late into the night and he began staying out entirely, her smiles had faded. She'd started her own social life, playing mahjong until dawn with other society wives.
Octavius tilted his head back, the realization hitting him like a physical blow.
Their marriage had been a disaster.
"Hurting now? Having regrets?" Seraphine appeared beside him with a glass of wine, her voice dripping with malice.
Octavius shot her a withering look. "You're pathetic."
He didn't bother hiding his contempt, his patience completely exhausted. Seraphine was livid but knew better than to cause a scene at the Windsors' party—Oliver would destroy her socially by morning.
The lovers' quarrel would have to wait for the privacy of their hotel suite.
Hotel Suite
Night settled over the city as Octavius lounged on the sofa, cigarette smoke curling around him in pale blue ribbons.
He looked utterly spent.
He and Seraphine hadn't been intimate in over a month, and despite her beauty, he felt nothing but indifference toward his fiancée. His mind was consumed with images of Calliope nestled against Pembroke's shoulder. He tortured himself imagining them together now, lost in passion.
The thought made him sick with longing.
Seraphine emerged from the bathroom wrapped in a silk robe, having decided that confrontation would be counterproductive. Her intuition screamed that Octavius still harbored feelings for Calliope.
If she wanted to replace Calliope, she needed to be patient.
Understanding men's carnal nature, she'd made herself irresistible—perfumed and soft. She curled into his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her lips to his.
Octavius responded to her seduction, crushing his cigarette and tearing away her robe.
Passion ignited between them.
Seraphine flushed with desire, breathlessly moaning his name, "Octavius... Octavius..."
But as Octavius lost himself in the moment, his mind betrayed him. Through the haze of arousal, he heard another voice—gentle, pleading, 'Octavius, can we try being husband and wife again?'
Calliope's voice. His wife's voice.
Confusion clouded his eyes as desire evaporated. Seraphine waited expectantly, but he had gone completely still, lost in memory.
Her composure finally shattered.
"Octavius, this is cruel."
"You're thinking about her, aren't you? Well, she's in another man's bed right now, crying out Pembroke's name—not yours!"
Octavius told her to shut up.
But Seraphine was beyond reason. "She's nothing but Pembroke's used plaything! What's worth clinging to? Have some self-respect!"
The slap echoed through the room.
Seraphine's delicate cheek split from the force.
For a long moment, she stared at him in shock. "You hit me."
Octavius knew he'd crossed a line, but her crude words about Calliope—his former wife, regardless of everything—were unforgivable. The urge to end their engagement crystallized into certainty.
Rather than apologize immediately, he pushed her away and stood, pulling on his pants and fastening his belt. Looking down at her with cold finality, he said, "We both need time to think."
Seraphine wasn't naive—when a man suggested "taking time," it meant the end.
She stared up at him desperately. "Octavius, we're engaged."
His throat worked as he swallowed hard.
Instead of leaving immediately, he sat down and lit another cigarette. Seraphine remained on the sofa, disheveled and waiting for judgment like a condemned prisoner.
Half a cigarette later, Octavius ground out the stub. "If we break the engagement, I'll compensate you financially. I'll return to Evergreen City next month, and we can discuss terms then."
Without another word, he left.
No hesitation, no backward glance.
Seraphine knelt there alone, bewildered by her defeat. She was younger than Calliope, more beautiful—didn't men crave novelty?
That same night, Octavius returned to Evergreen City with his decision made. He would break his engagement to Seraphine. He couldn't deny the truth any longer—he wanted Calliope back as his wife. She was the only woman worthy of being mistress of his estate.
Octavius couldn't let go of Calliope.
He'd developed an obsession—thinking of his ex-wife constantly, desperate for any news of her, aching to see her again.
He began writing her letters and sending gifts.
At nearly forty, Octavius was learning how to court a woman all over again. Daily letters accompanied carefully chosen presents.
Crimson maple leaves before they turned.
Summer rain collected in crystal vials.
Exclusive luxury items from around the world—limited editions of everything she'd once loved. He hunted down these treasures and had Percival deliver them personally, along with handwritten love letters.
Octavius wrote:
Calliope, these words carry my heart to you.
Last night at a business dinner, someone mentioned a classical performance that reminded me of our happiest days as husband and wife. We had a joy that others could only envy.
I couldn't sleep afterward.
I'm hoping you'll grant me one chance—just to see you again would be enough.
Forever yours,
Octavius
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