Chapter 248
“`
– For each row, replace every instance of “Chapter 248” with “Chapter N” (where N is that row’s chapter number). Do not alter any other text, HTML attributes, or formatting.
Chapter 248:
“I bought it at the Sotheby’s auction this morning,” he said, as though commenting on the weather. “It belonged to Queen Marie. Or possibly a Duchess. I stopped listening to the history portion p>
“Why?” She reached out and touched the cold stones.
“So everyone knows you belong to the crown,” he said.
He moved behind her and fastened the clasp. The diamonds settled against her collarbone — cold, heavy, and brilliant. A beautiful weight.
“Wear it to the wedding,” he said, his hands lingering on her shoulders. “And to the gala tonight p>
“There’s a gala tonight?” Jocelyn asked, looking at her reflection. The necklace sat like a collar of light.
𝘑𝗈𝗂𝘯 𝘵𝗁𝗲 𝖼𝘰𝗺𝗺𝘶𝗻𝗶𝘵𝘺 a𝘵
“Business cocktail,” he said, pressing his lips to the sensitive spot just behind her ear. “I need my wife there p>
While he spoke, he discreetly pulled out his phone and typed a message to Xavier: Dig into Aspen Schneider’s past. St. Jude’s Academy. I want everything — every rumor, every detention slip. Find me a weapon.
Outside the office door, Branden stood against the wall with his phone in hand, his expression carefully blank.
He had caught the possessive edge in Gaston’s voice, and the mention of the gala.
He typed quickly.
He’s possessive. The gala tonight is the perfect time to create a scene.
Aspen’s reply was immediate.
Do it. Make a scene.
Branden pocketed his phone and walked away, whistling to himself.
It was pouring rain by late afternoon. The sky had opened up, turning the city into a grey wash of water and noise.
Jocelyn stood under the hotel awning, checking her phone. Her car was delayed. She needed to get to her dress fitting for the gala.
“Allow me, Ms. Wolfe p>
Branden appeared with a massive black umbrella, opening it with a snap.
“My car is just there,” she said, pointing.
“I’ll walk you,” he insisted.
He held the umbrella over her and moved close — his shoulder brushing hers. To anyone watching, it looked protective. To a camera lens, it looked intimate.
He placed a hand on the small of her back to steer her around a puddle.
Click. Click.
Across the street, a photographer hired by Aspen snapped a rapid series of shots. The angle was perfect. The umbrella closed the visible space between them. It looked like an embrace — a shared secret in the downpour.
“Thank you, Branden,” Jocelyn said, getting into her car.
Branden folded the umbrella and directed a subtle smile toward the camera lens across the street.
An hour later, Gaston was at his desk in Collins Tower when his phone buzzed.
Google Alert: Jocelyn Wolfe.
He picked it up. The headline made his blood run cold.
Jocelyn Wolfe’s New Mystery Man? Cozy in the Rain.
He opened the link. The photograph loaded slowly. It showed Jocelyn and the floor manager — Branden’s hand at her back, their heads bent together beneath the umbrella.
His first instinct was rage. His second, something colder and sharper: they were targeting her. Using her to get to him.
Gaston’s grip tightened on the phone until the screen cracked under his thumb with a sharp, glassy sound.
“That floor manager again,” he said.