Chapter 168
He kept walking, the icy rain a welcome shock against his burning skin. He needed the cold. He needed the physical discomfort to drown out the fire raging inside him. He covered three blocks, his expensive shoes slapping against the wet pavement, each step a hammer blow of rage.
She thinks I’m a joke. She thinks this is funny.
At last, spotting the black sedan still trailing him patiently through the downpour, he stopped. The first wave of fury had crested and receded, leaving behind something colder and harder in its place. He yanked open the car door and dropped inside, the leather hissing under his soaked coat.
“Home,” he commanded, his voice stripped of all warmth.
He stared out at the rain-streaked city lights as the car pulled away, the anger inside him no longer burning — just sharpening, quietly, into something dangerous.
Jocelyn was curled up on the white sofa, a bowl of Pad Thai balanced on her knees. A romantic comedy played on the television, but she was not watching it. She was checking her phone every thirty seconds.
No text from Vance. No text from Gaston.
Maybe they were having too much fun. Maybe they were busy.
The front door slammed open with a force that shook the walls.
Jocelyn jumped, nearly sending her noodles to the floor.
Gaston stood in the entryway — a wreck. Water dripped from the hem of his blazer and pooled on the marble. His hair was wild. His chest heaved with each breath.
ѕ𝗵𝖺𝗿e уо𝘂𝗿 𝘵h𝗼𝘶𝘨h𝗍s 𝗼n 𝗀𝖺lո𝘰𝘷𝗲𝘭𝗌.𝗰o𝘮
“Gaston?” She set the bowl aside and rose. “You’re back early. Did the game end?”
He didn’t answer. He walked toward her, his wet shoes leaving dark prints across the expensive rug.
“Did you think it was funny, Jocelyn?” His voice was low. Terrifyingly calm.
She took a step back. “What? No — I thought you’d like it.”
“You sent me on a date with my employee,” he said, moving into the living room light. His eyes were dark and unreadable. “To the Kiss Cam.”
Jocelyn’s hand flew to her mouth. “The Kiss Cam? Oh my god. I didn’t know. I swear.”
“Why?” He stopped two feet from her. The smell of rain and cold air radiated off him. “Why are you so obsessed with who I sleep with?”
“Because you’re my husband!” she yelled back, defensiveness surging through her. “And I support you! I support you being who you are! I was trying to be nice!”
“Who I am?” He let out a laugh — harsh and jagged. “Tell me, Jocelyn. Who am I?”
“Stop pretending, Gaston!” she shouted, frustration boiling over. “It’s okay to be gay! I don’t care! Just stop treating me like I’m stupid!”
That snapped the last thread of his control.
He crossed the distance in a single stride. His hands — cold and wet — seized her waist, soaking through her silk blouse as he pulled her flush against him.
“Let me show you exactly who I am,” he growled against her ear.
Before she could process the words, his mouth crashed onto hers.