Chapter 537

Chapter 536:

The flight attendants rushed to offer her warm milk and a plush blanket the moment she sank into the wide leather seat. Jocelyn accepted them mechanically.

As the jet accelerated down the runway and punched through the clouds over the Atlantic, she stared out the small window into the black night.

She replayed Chloe’s words over and over. She pictured Gaston in the ICU. She pictured him buying off her staff just to ensure no one could hurt her. For years, she had read his actions as the cold, calculated moves of a king on a chessboard. Now she saw them as the desperate barricades of a soldier trapped in a foxhole, protecting his last remaining hope. She was going to walk into his hotel room, strip away every piece of his armor, and show him that his darkness didn’t scare her.

Seven hours later, the Gulfstream touched down smoothly in Geneva. The biting alpine air hit her face as she stepped off the plane.

𝗧h𝘦 𝗆oѕt 𝗽o𝘱u𝗹𝖺r 𝘯o𝘃𝘦𝗹𝘴 𝗼n 𝗀а𝗅ո𝗈𝘷𝘦𝗅s.соm

A waiting motorcade whisked her straight to the edge of Lake Geneva. Jocelyn stepped out in front of the ultra-luxury hotel, not waiting for the security detail. She strode through the gilded lobby with her eyes locked dead ahead and stepped into the private elevator.

She pressed the button for the penthouse suite. She was coming for him.

Jocelyn stood in front of the heavy mahogany double doors of the presidential suite.

She took a deep, shuddering breath, her lungs filling with the perfumed air of the hotel hallway. She pulled the master keycard from her pocket — the one Gaston’s security chief had handed her at the airport — and pressed it against the sensor.

A soft green light blinked. The lock clicked open.

Jocelyn pushed through the doors and stepped inside. The suite was cavernous and draped in shadows, the lights off. The only illumination came from the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, casting the shimmering reflection of Lake Geneva and the distant, snow-capped Mont Blanc across the dark hardwood floors.

Gaston stood by the glass.

He wore a sharply tailored black suit, jacket removed, his white dress shirt clinging to the broad expanse of his back. He held a crystal tumbler of amber whiskey in his right hand. His posture was rigid, radiating the cold, terrifying aura of a corporate warlord plotting the destruction of a rival empire.

Jocelyn felt a hot tear prick her eye. She didn’t say a word.

She crossed the room, her footsteps completely silent on the thick Persian rug. She stepped up right behind him, wrapped her arms around his solid waist, and pressed her cheek flat against the center of his back.

Gaston’s entire body flinched violently.

The crystal tumbler jerked in his hand. Whiskey sloshed over the rim and splashed onto the floor. He spun around with lethal speed, his free hand dropping instinctively into a defensive posture.

When his dark eyes landed on Jocelyn, the aggression vanished instantly — replaced by a shock so profound it looked as though he had been struck by lightning.