Chapter 112
Chapter 112:
Panic — cold and sharp — replaced the lingering warmth of the night. This violated everything. The contract. The boundaries. The careful architecture she had built around her heart. She was the beard. She was the business partner. She was not supposed to be the lover.
She began to slide out from under his arm, holding her breath. One inch. Then two.
Gaston’s arm tightened. A reflex, deep in his sleep-addled brain. He mumbled something unintelligible and pulled her back, flush against his chest. His nose nuzzled the curve of her neck, his breath warm and slow, sending a traitorous shiver down her spine.
“Morning, wife.” His voice was rough, scraping against her nerves like sandpaper.
𝖣𝘰𝗐𝗻𝗹o𝘢𝘥 P𝗗𝗙ѕ f𝘳𝗲𝘦 оn.с𝗈𝗺
Jocelyn’s heart hammered so hard she was certain he could feel it against his arm. “Gaston. Let go p>
Gaston opened one eye. A lazy, satisfied smirk settled on his lips as he looked at her. He didn’t look regretful. He looked like a cat that had eaten the canary and savored every feather.
“You weren’t trying to escape, were you?” he teased, his thumb tracing a slow circle on her hip bone.
“Last night…” Jocelyn began, her voice too high, too breathless. She pushed against his arm. “It was the soup. The ginseng. It was a reaction — a chemical imbalance p>
Gaston propped himself up on one elbow. The sheet fell to his waist. He was naked.
Jocelyn averted her eyes and fixed her gaze on the curtains, her face burning. “Put some clothes on p>
“You didn’t mind the view a few hours ago,” he countered. He was enjoying this. He was enjoying every second of her fluster.
“We were intoxicated,” she insisted, sitting up and wrapping the sheet tightly around herself like a toga. “It was a lapse in judgment. A side effect of your father’s tonic p>
Gaston’s smile faded. The playfulness in his eyes cooled. “Is that all it was? A lapse p>
Jocelyn felt a pang of guilt, sharp and twisting deep in her gut. She crushed it. She could not be the pathetic woman who fell for a man who could never want her the way she needed. She could not become the punchline to a joke she wasn’t meant to hear.
“Yes,” she said, her voice turning carefully icy. “We have an agreement. No emotional entanglements p>
Gaston studied her for a long moment — the sheet clutched in her white-knuckled fist, the fear swimming behind her eyes, the desperate need to rebuild the wall between them brick by brick.
“Fine,” he said, his voice dropping to a flat, professional tone. “Blame the soup p>
He got out of bed, entirely unashamed, and walked to the bathroom without looking back at her.
“I’ll have Mrs. Higgins make coffee. You have work,” he said over his shoulder.
The bathroom door shut with a decisive click.
Jocelyn collapsed back onto the pillows and stared at the ceiling. She felt hollowed out — as though she had just kicked a puppy, except the puppy was a six-foot-three billionaire with the power to unravel everything she had built.
Why does it hurt? she asked herself. It shouldn’t hurt to tell the truth.