Chapter 313
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Chapter 313:
Gaston stood alone in the dark, his black silk robe snapping violently against his legs. He had just ended the call with his head of security. The lie he had told Jocelyn sat uneasily in his gut — a necessary poison. But the source of that poison, Kieran Douglas, still needed to be dealt with. A cold, possessive jealousy, sharp as ice, burned in his chest.
He turned his head. Through the thick soundproof glass doors, he stared into the brightly lit living room.
His eyes locked onto the massive bouquet of deep red Ecuadorian roses. Jocelyn had carefully arranged them in a crystal vase on the coffee table. They were a physical infection in his home. A disgusting reminder of Kieran Douglas.
Gaston raised his phone again and dialed his private driver, Chen, on a fully encrypted line. His voice was as cold and unforgiving as a Siberian winter.
“Come up to the penthouse immediately,” Gaston ordered, his jaw tight. “Bring two men. I have a piece of garbage in my living room that needs to be disposed of p>
L𝘢𝘵еѕ𝘁 c𝘩а𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗋𝘀 𝗈𝘯
Ten minutes later, the private elevator doors slid open without a sound.
Chen stepped into the penthouse, followed by two large bodyguards. All three wore pristine white gloves.
Gaston stood in the hallway and pointed at the crystal vase.
“Take it,” Gaston said softly, careful not to wake Jocelyn in the master bedroom. “Do not crush the petals. Do not ruin the arrangement. I want it returned to its original owner exactly as it is p>
Chen nodded once. He lifted the heavy vase and carried it out into the night.
Friday morning brought a thick grey sea fog to the Hamptons.
The sprawling, multi-million-dollar estate belonging to Kieran Douglas was completely silent.
A black Cadillac Escalade rolled to a smooth stop outside the towering wrought-iron gates. Chen stepped out, his face a mask of absolute indifference. He walked to the back of the SUV and retrieved the massive bouquet of red roses, still vibrant and fresh, then carried them straight to the edge of the long driveway.
He stopped in front of a dark green municipal trash bin.
Without a moment’s hesitation, Chen dumped the flowers — the bouquet and the black card both — straight into the garbage. He treated thousands of dollars’ worth of roses like rotting food scraps. He then deliberately adjusted the angle of the stems until half the beautiful red bouquet hung pathetically over the rim of the dirty plastic bin, impossible to miss from the gate.
He pulled out his phone, snapped a high-definition photo of the display, and hit send. Then he got back into the Escalade and drove away.
At eight o’clock, Kieran walked into the master suite of his Hamptons villa.
He was wearing a custom silk morning robe, a cup of black coffee cradled in his bruised hand. He crossed to the floor-to-ceiling windows to look out at the ocean.
His gaze swept lazily across the manicured driveway — and then slammed to a dead stop.
He stared at the dark green trash bin by the gates.
Kieran’s breath hitched. His pupils dilated in absolute shock. He recognized the exact shade of those Ecuadorian roses. He had personally selected them the day before from the most exclusive florist in the Hamptons.