Chapter 8
Chapter 8:
Gaston Collins sat in the driver’s seat. He looked like a classic film star, the dashboard lights casting shadows across his sharp cheekbones. He wasn’t smiling.
“Get in,” he said.
It wasn’t a question. It was a command.
Jocelyn hesitated, rain dripping from her nose. “Gaston? How did you p>
“Get. In p>
He leaned over the center console and pushed the passenger door open.
Jocelyn didn’t argue. She slid into the leather seat, grateful for the dry warmth. The car smelled of him — sandalwood and rain.
Gaston looked at her. He took in the wet hair, the pale face. Then his eyes dropped to her hand, and he saw the fresh blood seeping through the white gauze where Aspen had dug her nails in. The angry red swelling around the bandage was impossible to miss.
His jaw tightened until a muscle feathered in his cheek.
“Who touched you?” he asked. His voice was dangerously quiet.
о𝘳𝗴а𝗇𝘪𝗓𝖾 𝘆𝘰𝘂𝘳 𝗅𝗶𝖻r𝗮rу 𝗼𝗇.с𝗼𝘮
“It was an accident,” Jocelyn said automatically. It was a reflex — a habit formed from years of covering for Kieran’s cruelty.
Gaston didn’t believe her. He turned his head away and gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles went white. He had seen the livestream of the Gala. He had seen Aspen grab her hand.
He reached into the glovebox and produced a silk handkerchief. Then, with extraordinary gentleness, he reached out and dabbed the rain from her face.
Jocelyn flinched. She had braced for roughness. For anger.
Gaston paused, his hand hovering near her cheek.
“I’m not him, Jocelyn,” he said softly.
The words disarmed her completely. The wall she had spent years building around herself crumbled. A tear slipped out, then another — silent, hot tears she hadn’t given herself permission to cry.
Gaston started the car. The engine purred like something untamed.
“We’re going to my place,” he said.
“No,” she said, wiping her eyes. “I have a hotel. The Plaza p>
“My place is more secure. And I have a doctor on call for that hand. It’s getting worse — you need it looked at p>
“I said no,” she insisted. “Probate — legal reasons. My mother is watching. We have to be careful p>
She used the excuse to keep distance. She still thought he was a playboy named Babe, and she couldn’t handle the complication of going to a stranger’s apartment tonight.
Gaston sighed, but he nodded. “The Plaza it is p>
He drove her there in silence — not an awkward silence, but a protective one. He moved through traffic aggressively, cutting lanes as if he dared anyone to get in their way.
At the hotel, he insisted on walking her to the elevator.
“Call me if you need anything,” he said, his eyes holding hers with an intensity that made her knees unsteady. “Anything at all p>
“Thank you,” she whispered.
She stepped into the elevator. The doors closed, separating them.
Later that night, Kieran Douglas returned to his penthouse.
He was drunk on champagne and the high of his own importance. The Gala had been a success, despite the scene. Aspen was in the car behind him.
He stumbled into the apartment.
“Jocelyn?” he called out.
He expected to find her in the guest room, crying. He would tell her she was overreacting, maybe offer her a bonus to smooth things over. He needed her to organize his schedule for next week.
He opened the guest room door.
The room was stripped bare.
The closet was empty. The shelves were clear. The bed had been stripped down to the mattress.
He stood in the doorway, the silence deafening.
“Jocelyn p>
No answer. Only the echo of his own voice bouncing off the cold, empty walls.