Chapter 4: You Are Just A Friend

Franklin went to bed that night simmering with frustration. He resolved to ignore Christy and swore never to show up at her house again, even if she begged.

Day after day, he kept glancing at his phone. The call he was waiting for never came. Not even a text. Christy had stopped messaging him on W******p.

By the second day, his chest tightened with anxiety. He read the same file more than twenty times and still couldn’t make sense of a single line—his mind was fixed on Christy.

“Boss, you called me?” his personal assistant asked, stepping into the office.

“Go find out what my girlfriend is doing—and what’s been keeping her busy all this while,” Franklin said, brow furrowed, displeasure etched across his face.

Tony hesitated, confused. He’d seen too many women introduced as his boss’s “girlfriend” to know which one he meant. “Who should I spy on, boss?”

Franklin’s expression darkened. “Are you dense, Tony? Christy. Go check on Christy. I want to know what she’s been up to.”

Tony didn’t linger. He rushed out to do as he was told. He returned at dusk, a cautious look in his eyes. “Boss, Christy went to see your grandfather yesterday and stayed till late. Today, the staff there say she’s been with him all day.”

Franklin shot to his feet, fists clenched, his face tightening with cold anger. “Are you sure?”

He knew Christy. She rarely went out. She preferred staying in—unless it was for shopping, and even then, she’d beg him to come along. She wouldn’t even take a bath without telling him first. This didn’t add up.

“There are photos,” Tony said, sliding an envelope onto the desk.

Franklin pulled out the pictures. Christy and his grandfather, smiling, looking comfortable—happy. Heat rushed to his face. Without a word, he shoved the photos back into the envelope and stormed out of his office.

With hurried steps, he slipped into the private elevator and jabbed the button. He bounced on his heels as it descended, impatience clawing at him.

The doors slid open. He shot out and collided with a staffer balancing a tower of documents. Papers exploded across the floor.

“Who’s the blind idiot—” she snapped, then froze as she recognized the company president. Color drained from her face. She stammered, but he didn’t spare her a glance. He was already in his car, reversing hard, and tearing out of the lot.

On the highway, he blew past traffic laws. Sirens lit up behind him, but he didn’t slow. He didn’t stop until he screeched to a halt in front of Christy’s place. As he stepped out, a patrol car pulled in behind. Two officers approached.

“Mr. Winchester, you’ll need to come with us to the station,” one said.

“I’m handling an emergency,” Franklin replied, cool and flat. “When I’m done, I’ll come.” He turned away. The officers exchanged a helpless look; they couldn’t drag him in, not here, not now.

At Christy’s door, he slammed his fist against the wood, pounding without pause. After a few minutes, the door flew open.

“Who the hell—” she started, then stopped when she saw him. Her expression soured. “What is wrong with you? Trying to knock the door off its hinges?”

“What the fuck do you want from my grandfather?” he demanded, icy and direct.

She folded her arms and leaned against the frame. “Who are you to ask me that?”

Shock flickered across his face, then burned off into fury. The vein in his forehead pulsed. “I’m your boyfriend,” he ground out. “I don’t know what game you’re playing or what stunt you’re pulling, but it ends now. Stay away from my grandfather. Don’t go near his house again. Got it?”

She rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”

She started to close the door. He shoved his arm out, stopping it mid-swing.

She gave him a sideways look. “What else?”

“Word for word,” he said through clenched teeth, “this relationship is over.”

He pulled his arm back. She slammed the door in his face.

He stood there, stunned. He’d expected pleading, tears—anything but that. Confusion and anger churned in him. He paced, then somehow found himself back behind the wheel, ignoring the waiting officers.

He floored it, heading straight for his grandfather’s house.

It was already Winchester’s bedtime when Franklin arrived. He found his grandfather in the bedroom, about to set down the book he liked to read before sleep.

“Grandpa, I want to talk to you,” Franklin said, his tone heavy with unhappiness as he stepped closer.

Winchester glanced up, concerned. “Is something wrong with the new deals with the Chinese investors?”

Franklin shook his head. His fists clenched. “No, not that. It’s about Christy, Grandpa.”

A smile warmed Winchester’s face. “That girl—she’s such a sweet, cute thing…”

Franklin’s frustration sharpened. He cut in, voice tight. “Grandpa, she’s my girlfriend. I intend to marry her.”

Winchester’s smile faded into a frown. “She told me you’re just friends—that the two of you are only friends.”

Franklin’s eyes widened at the words. He couldn’t keep his composure any longer.