Chapter 541

Chapter 540:

Below the headline was a high-definition paparazzi photograph of Gaston and Jocelyn at a recent gala. Gaston’s hand was wrapped possessively around Jocelyn’s waist, his body shielding hers from the cameras. They looked untouchable.

Inside a dark, trashed penthouse in Tribeca, the air smelled of stale alcohol and despair.

Kieran Douglas sat on the floor of his living room. The expensive modern furniture was overturned. Smashed glass littered the rug. He hadn’t showered or slept since Jocelyn had verbally eviscerated him in the upstate woods. He was a hollowed-out shell of a man.

The front door clicked open. His executive assistant stepped inside, looking terrified, holding a rolled-up copy of the New York Post.

“Sir,” the assistant whispered, stepping carefully over a broken whiskey bottle. “You need to see this. The board is asking for a statement p>

𝘔𝗼rе 𝘯𝘰𝘷e𝗹𝘀 𝗼𝘯

He set the paper on the glass coffee table and immediately backed away.

Kieran’s bloodshot eyes tracked the movement. He sluggishly leaned forward. His gaze locked onto the Page Six headline.

HEIR. PREGNANCY.

The words didn’t just register in his brain — they physically attacked his nervous system.

Kieran snatched the paper off the table and brought it inches from his face, his eyes darting frantically across the text, searching for the word “alleged” or “rumor.” But the article cited Wall Street insiders. It cited Elbert Collins. It was fact.

Jocelyn wasn’t just married to his worst enemy. She was carrying his child. She was permanently, biologically bound to the man who had destroyed him.

A violent surge of pure, toxic jealousy exploded in Kieran’s chest.

His lungs seized. He tried to suck in a breath, but his throat had closed completely. The crushing weight of his failure pressed down on his sternum like a concrete block.

“No,” Kieran wheezed, his voice a high-pitched, pathetic squeak.

His hands began to shake violently. The newspaper slipped from his fingers. A severe panic attack ripped through his body, his heart hammering at an erratic, lethal pace. Black spots swarmed his vision.

He tried to stand, but his legs were entirely numb.

Kieran collapsed forward, his face crashing into the carpet beside the shards of broken glass. His eyes rolled back as his brain, unable to process the extreme psychological agony, simply shut down. He blacked out in the wreckage of his own life.

The assistant screamed and fumbled for his phone, dialing 911.

Miles away, on the Upper East Side, the atmosphere was entirely different.

Bella sat at a wrought-iron table outside a chic French café. The morning air was crisp, but the patio heaters kept her warm. She wore a flawless Chanel tweed suit, sipping a dark espresso, scrolling through her phone to the Page Six article.

A genuine, radiant smile spread across her face. Jocelyn had won. She had beaten the monsters, claimed the king, and found the family she had always deserved.

“I’m happy for you, Jo,” Bella whispered to the screen.

Message from Noa: Hope you have a wonderful weekend dear readers. God loves you and Noa wishes you all the best. /