Chapter 148
Chapter 148:
His nose was splinted. His ribs were taped. His face was a topography of purple and blue.
Aspen walked into the room. She didn’t look concerned. She looked annoyed.
“You look terrible,” she said.
“He set me up. He’s a monster,” Kieran slurred through his swollen lips. “He nearly killed me p>
“The media is already spinning it,” Aspen said, scrolling her phone without looking up. “Brawl at The Grill: Douglas Attacks Collins Wife. Hero Husband Intervenes. Your stock is down eight percent in after-hours trading p>
“Do something! I want her destroyed,” Kieran snapped, striking the bed rail with his fist.
Aspen looked up from her phone. She smiled — cold, slow, and reptilian.
Back at the penthouse, Jocelyn had finished bandaging Gaston’s hand. She sat on the rug, her back against the sofa, the last of the adrenaline draining out of her and leaving exhaustion in its place.
Gaston ended his call with Vance. The news cycle was already consuming Kieran’s reputation. By morning, it would be ash.
Total victory.
But when he looked down at Jocelyn — at the faint bruise beginning to darken on her cheek, at the worried line etched between her brows — victory felt beside the point.
аc𝗍i𝗏𝖾 co𝗺𝗆𝘂𝘯і𝗍у о𝗻 ѕ.𝖼𝗼𝗺
He crouched in front of her. He lifted her hand and pressed his lips to her knuckles.
I’ll handle whatever comes next, he promised her silently.
His phone buzzed on the table. A message from the hotel manager:
Ms. Wolfe, the Vienna Orchestra has checked in. The lead violinist is demanding special security for his instrument.
Gaston frowned at the screen. He didn’t like the timing.
The lobby of the Wolfe Hotel was in full chaos. Teenagers with instrument cases were everywhere — sprawled across the furniture, crowding the elevators, weaving between bewildered guests.
Jocelyn stood at the reception desk, greeting the conductor with her most composed smile. Hosting the Vienna Youth Orchestra was a significant PR coup, and she intended to make it flawless.
“Ms. Wolfe!” A young man with disheveled hair and an expression of practiced arrogance cut through the crowd toward her. He clutched a black case to his chest as though it were a child.
“I am Zack. The soloist,” he announced. “This is a 1715 Stradivarius. It is worth five million dollars. I need a safe — a real safe, not a hotel room safe p>
“Of course,” Jocelyn said, keeping her smile steady. “We have a secure vault in the manager’s office. Only senior staff have access p>
Across the street, inside a coffee shop, Aspen sat in a baseball cap, watching through the window. She picked up her phone and typed a message to Zack: Do it tonight.
Back in the lobby, Jocelyn scanned the floor for someone to handle the escort. Harvey, her most trusted manager, was fielding three calls simultaneously, visibly struggling under the combined weight of gala preparations and the orchestra’s chaotic arrival.
“Harvey!” she called.
He rushed over, a sheen of sweat across his forehead. “Yes, Ms. Wolfe p>