Chapter 85
Chapter 85:
He froze when he saw her. His gaze raked over her, expecting to find the broken, frantic girl he had left in the dust. Instead, he saw a woman glowing with health, wealth, and power.
“Jocelyn,” he said. His voice was raspy, as though he hadn’t used it in days.
Jocelyn’s heart gave a traitorous skip — a muscle memory of fear. Then it settled. Cold. Indifferent.
“Mr. Douglas,” she said, her tone professional, icy. “Checking out p>
Kieran flinched at the formality. He stepped forward, closing the distance. “I need to talk to you p>
“I’m busy,” Jocelyn said, stepping around him. “Make an appointment with my secretary — though I believe her schedule is full until next year p>
She reached for the elevator button.
Kieran’s hand shot out and grabbed her upper arm. His grip was tight, desperate. “Don’t walk away from me p>
The lobby went quiet. Harvey, at the security desk, stood up and moved his hand to his radio.
Jocelyn didn’t look at Harvey. She looked down at Kieran’s hand on her silk blouse. Then she looked up, meeting his eyes with a flat, dead stare.
і𝗻st𝖺n𝘁 𝖺𝖼𝗰𝘦𝘀𝘀 о𝗇
“Let go,” she said quietly. “Now p>
“Joss, please,” Kieran whispered, his arrogance cracking. “You don’t understand. Aspen… she trapped me. I didn’t want this p>
“I don’t care,” Jocelyn said. “Let. Go p>
Kieran looked shocked. He was used to her pleading, to her seeking his approval. This coldness was new. It was terrifying.
He released her arm slowly.
“You’re playing a dangerous game, Joss,” he warned, his voice dropping low. “Gaston Collins isn’t who you think he is p>
“And you aren’t who I thought you were,” she retorted. “You’re smaller p>
She stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for the penthouse floor. As the doors slid shut, she watched Kieran’s face — confused, angry, and pathetic.
For the first time in two years, looking at him didn’t hurt. It just felt like looking at a stranger.
Kieran didn’t leave. Of course he didn’t.
Jocelyn had barely made it to the executive lounge on the mezzanine floor to grab a coffee before he was there. He hadn’t run — that wasn’t his style. He had bribed a night-shift manager, a holdover from Vincent’s corrupt regime, for a temporary all-access keycard, anticipating her routine with a predator’s patience. He was waiting near the espresso machine. The lounge was empty, save for a businessman in the far corner reading the Times.
“Stop pretending, Jocelyn,” Kieran hissed, blocking her path to the door. “I know about the contract p>
Jocelyn poured her coffee calmly, adding a splash of oat milk. Her hand was steady. “It’s a marriage certificate, Kieran. Valid in all fifty states p>
“He’s gay,” Kieran laughed — a cruel, jagged sound. “Everyone in the city knows it. Page Six has been hinting at it for years. You’re a beard, Jocelyn. A glorified prop to help him secure his inheritance p>
Jocelyn took a sip of her coffee. It was hot, bitter. “Is that what you tell yourself to sleep at night p>