Chapter 483

Chapter 482:

Justin slid the ring onto her finger. It fit perfectly, of course. It settled against her skin as though it had always belonged there — a golden shackle disguised as a promise.

Aaden cheered and threw himself at both of them, his small arms straining to encircle them at once, pulling them into a fierce, triumphant embrace.

Justin rose and gathered them both against his chest. He rested his chin on Carmen’s hair, breathed in the scent of her shampoo, and felt the warmth of his son’s body pressed between them.

It was a perfect portrait of a family. A senator, his wife, their child. The photograph that would run in tomorrow’s papers, on next week’s campaign flyers, and eventually in the history books that would chronicle his inevitable presidential ascent.

Beneath his cheek, Justin smiled.

And in his arms, Carmen Golden — Carmen Collins now, legally and forever — felt the cold metal of the ring settle against her skin and shivered with the absolute certainty that she had just walked into a cage she would never escape.

Iո𝘵𝖾𝗇𝗌e 𝗿о𝘮𝘢𝗇с𝗲 𝘰𝗻 𝗴𝗮𝗅ոo𝗏е𝘭𝘴.𝗰𝗈m

The custom polar-grade expedition vehicle was less an RV than a mobile fortress of luxury — six hundred square feet of hand-stitched leather, rare wood inlays, and military-grade suspension designed to traverse terrain that would destroy lesser vehicles. It cost more than most Manhattan apartments. It was currently gliding through the frozen vastness of a remote highway in Northern Norway, the Lyngen Alps rising on either side like the spine of some great sleeping god.

Inside, the temperature held at a perfect seventy-two degrees. The diesel heating system hummed softly beneath the sound of tires on packed snow.

Jocelyn Wolfe sat curled in the corner of the custom leather sofa, her laptop balanced on her knees, typing emails with one hand and holding a mug of peppermint tea with the other. Her bare feet were tucked beneath her. She wore one of Gaston’s cashmere sweaters, the sleeves rolled to her elbows, the hem falling to mid-thigh. It smelled like him — cedar and something darker, something that made her want to bury her face in the collar and breathe until her lungs ached.

Gaston emerged from the compact kitchen area carrying two mugs. He set one on the side table beside her, then reached down and closed her laptop.

“Hey—” Jocelyn started.

“Vacation,” Gaston said. His voice was low and absolute, the boardroom tone that permitted no argument. “Ms. Wolfe. The Wolfe Hotel will survive forty-eight hours without your direct supervision p>

Jocelyn looked up at him. He wore dark jeans and a charcoal thermal that stretched across his shoulders, sleeves pushed up to reveal forearms still marked with the black ink of his tattoos. His hair was rumpled from the wind they had let in at the last fuel stop. He looked less like a billionaire and more like some frontier survivalist — a man who could build a cabin with his bare hands and defend it with his fists.

She loved him like this. Unbuttoned. Unpredictable.

“Fine,” she said, setting the laptop aside with exaggerated reluctance. “But if the Philadelphia property floods, I’m blaming you p>