Chapter 345
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Chapter 345:
Jocelyn lay exhausted on her stomach, her cheek resting against Gaston’s bare chest. Her index finger traced the outline of the J.W. tattoo over his heart in slow, lazy circles.
Gaston’s arm was wrapped securely around her waist, his eyes half-closed, filled with a deep, territorial satisfaction. He had finally claimed her — completely, with no lies and no contracts between them. He pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head.
“I am having my lawyers draft the paperwork tomorrow,” Gaston murmured. “I am transferring fifty percent of my personal shares in the Collins Group into your name. Consider it my real dowry p>
Jocelyn laughed softly. It was a beautiful, unhurried sound. She tilted her head and rested her chin on his chest.
“No, thank you,” she smiled. “I already own the Wolfe Hotel. And I own the most terrifying man on Wall Street. I think I am rich enough p>
Gaston’s eyes darkened with fresh heat. He rolled over and pinned her beneath him again.
Down in the opulent marble-floored lobby of the Four Seasons, Kieran Douglas sat on a velvet sofa, his face a mask of bitter exhaustion.
His last-ditch effort to secure funding had brought him here — but a darker motive simmered beneath the surface. His private investigator had flagged this hotel, this specific suite, as Gaston Collins’s private fortress, a place reserved for meetings too sensitive for any office. He was here to fish for sharks and hunt for ghosts.
Dі𝘴𝖼o𝘃е𝗋 n𝖾𝗐 ѕt𝗈𝘳𝗂e𝗌 𝗼n
Ten minutes ago, he had seen something that made his blood run cold.
Gaston Collins stepping out of a Maybach, soaking wet, carrying a woman completely concealed beneath a suit jacket, rushing into the VIP elevator like a man possessed.
Kieran’s mind leaped to the obvious conclusion. Gaston was cheating. A mistress. An afternoon in a hotel suite.
A sick, twisted thrill of victory exploded in Kieran’s chest. He finally had the weapon to destroy Gaston’s perfect marriage. He could expose the hypocrite, show Jocelyn the evidence, and she would come running back to him in tears.
He didn’t dare approach the front desk. Instead, he cornered a junior IT technician in a service hallway — a man whose gambling debts his PI had conveniently uncovered. The threat of total financial ruin proved more reliable than any bribe. A few keystrokes on a maintenance terminal, and Kieran had the room number. The top-floor Presidential Suite.
Kieran rode the elevator up, his heart pounding with malicious excitement, phone open on the video camera.
He marched to the double doors and hammered his fist against the wood.
Inside, Gaston heard the knocking and frowned. He assumed it was room service. He climbed out of bed, pulled on a thick white hotel bathrobe, and walked through the living room to the entryway.
He opened the door.
Kieran stood in the hallway, phone camera aimed directly at Gaston’s face. His eyes immediately locked onto the dark red scratch marks on Gaston’s neck and chest. A smug, ugly sneer twisted his face.