Chapter 528
Chapter 527:
Jocelyn’s hand gripped his, her palm damp with nervous sweat. Her eyes were fixed on the heavy oak door, waiting for the verdict that would either break her heart or set her free.
The heavy oak door of the VIP lounge clicked open.
The lead doctor walked in carrying two thick medical files, wearing a wide, genuine smile that instantly drew the tension out of the room.
Jocelyn sat bolt upright on the leather sofa. Her lungs seized. She stopped breathing entirely, her eyes burning into the manila folders in the doctor’s hands.
“I have excellent news,” the doctor said smoothly. “Mr. and Mrs. Collins, both of your reproductive panels are absolutely flawless. You are both in perfect, optimal health p>
The rigid tension in Jocelyn’s shoulders released all at once. She slumped back against the sofa and let out a long, shaky exhale. The rush of relief made her dizzy, the edges of her vision blurring with unshed tears.
Gaston did not smile. He fixed the doctor with a hard stare, his jaw locked. “If she is in perfect health,” he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous register, “then why is my wife being subjected to this kind of psychological torture p>
The doctor wiped his brow. “Conception is a complex intersection of biology and psychology, sir. Excessive stress — particularly the kind generated by external pressures — can severely inhibit the body’s natural processes p>
Jocelyn flinched at the word pressure.
She looked down at her lap. The vicious whispers of the New York elite echoed in her head — society wives murmuring over champagne that Jocelyn Wolfe was barren, that she was failing her only real obligation to the Collins empire.
T𝘩e 𝗆𝘰𝗌t 𝗉o𝘱𝗎l𝖺𝗿 ո𝗼vе𝗹𝘴 𝗼n
Gaston saw the light go out of her eyes. He saw the slight droop of her head.
He stood abruptly, grabbed Jocelyn’s coat, and wrapped it around her shoulders with aggressive possession. “We are done here,” he told the doctor, not waiting for a response. He pulled Jocelyn against his side and walked her out of the clinic.
The ride back to the Manhattan penthouse was suffocatingly quiet.
Jocelyn stared at the privacy partition separating them from the driver, her expression blank, a toxic seed of self-doubt already taking root in her chest. If her body was fine, then the failure was in her mind. She was the problem.
Gaston watched her. The muscle in his jaw ticked steadily. He pulled his phone from his jacket pocket and fired off a rapid, cold text to Carter: Silence the gossip rags. Buy them out or sue them into bankruptcy. Any mention of my wife’s fertility ends their careers.
The moment they stepped out of the private elevator and into the penthouse, Jocelyn dropped her coat onto a chair. She dragged herself toward the master bedroom, desperate to crawl beneath the heavy duvet and sleep until the weight in her chest finally lifted.
Gaston followed her inside.
He pushed the bedroom door shut behind him and reached out to twist the deadbolt. The click echoed in the quiet room.
Jocelyn turned around, startled.