Chapter 565

Chapter 564:

“Your death means absolutely nothing to the Collins family,” he said softly. The cruelty was deliberate and absolute. “The only way you can make anything right is by disappearing permanently p>

He turned to the security chief standing nearby.

“I thought my instructions were clear,” he said, his voice dropping with cold contempt. “How did she bypass the blacklist alerts and reach my lobby? Fix your perimeter protocols immediately.” His gaze cut back to the glass. “If she steps within fifty feet of this building again, have her arrested for criminal harassment p>

Elouise let out a shattered wail. She stumbled backward, and her weak fingers lost their grip.

The silver thermos hit the marble floor with a loud crash. The lid popped off, and warm, golden broth spilled across the pristine tiles, sending a rich, savory smell — layered with the sharp, spicy bite of ginger — into the cold lobby air.

Gaston did not glance at the mess. He turned his back on her and walked straight into the elevator.

When the doors opened to the penthouse, Gaston paused in the foyer. He stripped off his suit jacket, feeling as though it had been contaminated by the cold, toxic air of Jocelyn’s past, and tossed it onto a chair. He pulled on a soft, clean cashmere sweater.

Then he walked quietly back into the bedroom.

𝘞𝗵𝖺𝘵 е𝘷ery𝗈n𝗲 i𝗌 re𝖺𝖽𝗶𝗻𝗴 o𝗇 𝗴а𝗹𝗇о𝗏е𝘭𝗌.сo𝗆

Jocelyn shifted against the pillows, her eyes fluttering open. She looked at him, her sharp instincts catching the lingering tension still coiled in his broad shoulders.

“Where did you go?” she asked, her voice soft.

Gaston sat on the edge of the bed and pulled her into his chest. He buried his face in her hair, breathing in the clean scent of her shampoo.

“Nowhere,” he said smoothly, his voice a comforting rumble against her ear. “Just a hostile takeover attempt on one of our smaller European subsidiaries. I was liquidating their board. It’s handled p>

Jocelyn relaxed against him, wrapping her arms around his waist. She felt a profound, absolute sense of safety in his grip that she had stopped trying to explain.

Gaston closed his eyes and tightened his hold. He would build a fortress of titanium around her if it came to that. Nothing from her past would ever touch her again.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. A text from his executive assistant.

I found a retired housekeeper. Very discreet. An expert in prenatal care. She is on her way up.

The private elevator chimed softly. Mrs. Higgins, the head housekeeper, escorted a woman in her late fifties into the penthouse foyer. The woman — Martha — wore a spotless dark grey uniform. Her grey hair was pulled back into a neat bun, and her face held a warm, maternal softness.

“Mr. Collins,” Mrs. Higgins said, a note of desperate hope in her voice. “This is Martha. She came highly recommended through a private agency I’ve used for years. Her résumé is impeccable. She specializes in convalescent and prenatal care p>