Chapter 397
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Chapter 397:
Gaston stood behind Jocelyn, watching the screen. A deep, profound pride swelled in his chest.
Jocelyn closed the laptop and turned to face him. Her eyes were slightly red, but they were clear.
“I really don’t have a family anymore,” Jocelyn whispered.
Gaston stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her tightly against his chest. He rested his chin on the top of her head.
“You do not need them,” Gaston said, his voice a deep, resonant vibration against her body.
He pulled back slightly and framed her face with his hands, looking into her eyes with absolute, terrifying devotion.
“I am your husband. I am your family. I am your fortress,” Gaston vowed.
𝘋іѕс𝗼𝘃𝖾𝘳 𝗵і𝘥𝘥е𝗇 𝗀emѕ 𝗼𝗇
Jocelyn let out a shaky breath. The last walls around her heart crumbled. She melted into his embrace, drawing something unshakeable and absolute from the warmth of his strength.
Back at the courthouse.
The reporters outside received the notification of Jocelyn’s post. They instantly turned on Elouise, shoving their phones in her face and playing the audio recording of Edward’s attempted bribe.
Elouise panicked. She tried to push the microphones away, stumbling backward in her heels, looking like a cornered animal as security guards finally dragged her away from the mob.
Inside the courtroom.
The judge sat behind the high wooden bench. He had already listened to the audio recording in his chambers.
He looked down at Victoria, who sat in a bright orange jumpsuit, her hands cuffed to the defense table.
“The attempt by the defendant’s family to obstruct justice and bribe the victim is abhorrent,” the judge stated, his voice ringing through the silent courtroom.
He struck his gavel.
“Bail is denied. The defendant is remanded into custody pending trial p>
Victoria let out a blood-curdling scream. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she collapsed onto the courtroom floor in a dead faint.
Hours earlier, inside the quiet, dimly lit room of Dr. Foster’s psychiatric clinic.
Carmen Golden lay on the leather recliner with her eyes closed. Beneath her eyelids, her pupils darted rapidly back and forth, following the invisible rhythm of the EMDR therapy.
Her breathing grew shallow and erratic. A thin layer of cold sweat broke out across her forehead.
Her consciousness was falling through a dark, empty void.
Suddenly, a deafening metallic screech ripped through her brain — the sound of tires skidding violently on wet asphalt, followed by the horrific crunch of steel collapsing inward.
Carmen’s body jerked on the chair.
The darkness shattered into blinding, sterile white light.
She was lying flat on her back. A massive surgical lamp glared down at her. The air was thick with the sharp, metallic smell of fresh blood and industrial antiseptic. She felt a sudden, agonizing tearing sensation in her lower abdomen. A primal, suffocating terror gripped her throat.
And then, cutting through the chaos of shouting doctors and beeping monitors, she heard it.
A thin, reedy, desperate wail.
A baby crying.
Tears leaked from the corners of Carmen’s tightly shut eyes. Her trembling hands moved down to rest over her flat stomach.