Chapter 195
“She is a liability!” Robert snapped, his face flushing. “And she is married to that Collins deviant. Do you want to be dragged down with them when his secrets come out? Do you want to lose this house?”
Elouise shuddered. The house. Her status. It was all she had.
“Fine,” she said. Her voice hardened, freezing over whatever remained of her maternal instinct. “Do it. Say she is mentally unstable. Say we tried to help her and she refused treatment.”
Robert nodded and picked up his phone. “Get a press release ready for the morning,” he said into the receiver. “Title it: ‘A Family’s Heartbreak.’”
The lobby of the Golden Horizon Care Facility was quiet, the night shift moving in hushed tones. Near the elevators, however, there was a wall of muscle.
𝘍𝗼𝘭lo𝗐 u𝗌 𝗼𝘯 𝘨𝘢lո𝗼𝗏𝗲l𝗌.c𝘰𝗺
Justin Collins stood at the nurses’ station in a dark suit, his face grim. Two large men flanked him, both wearing the kind of stillness that comes from professional training.
“No one named Schneider or Douglas gets past this lobby. Is that clear?” Justin said. His voice was low and authoritative — the voice of a man accustomed to being obeyed.
“Yes, Senator,” the head nurse nodded, eyes wide. “We’ve flagged their names in the system.”
The automatic doors slid open.
Jocelyn walked in. She looked like a ghost. Her hair was windblown, framing a face drained of all color. Her eyes were hollow, dark circles bruising the skin beneath them. She was still in the trench coat, clutching it tight around her waist.
Justin’s expression softened the moment he saw her.
“Jocelyn,” he said gently, stepping forward. “Gaston called me. He told me what happened. Is it true?”
Jocelyn did not answer. She stared past him at the ICU doors.
“Is she alive?” she whispered. Her voice was brittle as dry leaves.
“Stable,” Justin said. “But weak. She’s in the ICU.”
“Thank you,” she breathed. She leaned against the wall, her legs trembling.
“Go in,” Justin said. He reached out and patted her shoulder — a stiff gesture, but kind. “Gaston is on his way. He’ll be here soon.”
Jocelyn nodded. She pushed herself off the wall and walked toward the elevators, not looking back — moving like a soldier advancing toward a battlefield where the war was already lost.
Morning light filtered into Kieran’s penthouse — grey and unforgiving, illuminating the dust motes drifting through the air and the stark, modern emptiness of the room.
Aspen was asleep in Kieran’s bed, sprawled out and taking up most of the space, her injured leg propped on a pillow.
Kieran was awake. He sat in the leather armchair by the window, watching the news on mute. He looked haggard. He had not slept. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Jocelyn raising that crop. He saw the coldness in her eyes. It would not leave him.
Aspen stirred. She groaned, stretching her arms. “Kie? My leg hurts.”
Kieran rose and walked to the nightstand, picking up a bottle of painkillers and a glass of water.
“Take these,” he said, handing them over.
.
.