Chapter 568
Chapter 567:
She walked to the sink. She dropped the burner phone directly into the drain, reached out, and slammed her palm onto the garbage disposal switch.
The machine roared to life. The violent, grinding shriek of metal crushing plastic and glass filled the kitchen — a brutal, deafening sound that gave full, physical form to Jocelyn’s absolute rejection of her past.
Martha flinched, covering her ears. “Mrs. Collins, please! She is a dying woman! She is so pitiful p>
Jocelyn snapped the disposal off. The sudden silence hit harder than the noise.
“Taking a double salary to violate my privacy and report to my abusers,” Jocelyn said, her voice dangerously low, “is a career death sentence in this city p>
She pointed a steady finger at the service elevator.
𝗦a𝘃𝗲 уo𝘶r 𝗳a𝘃𝘰𝗿𝗂𝗍𝗲 𝗇𝘰v𝖾l𝗌 оո 𝗴а𝗅𝗇о𝗏еlѕ.𝖼𝘰m
“You are fired. Pack your bags. Security will escort you out in exactly ten minutes p>
The office door down the hall flew open. Gaston strode into the kitchen, his face dark with alarm. He took one look at the crushed phone in the sink, Martha’s terrified expression, and Jocelyn’s rigid, furious posture.
His eyes flared with a cold, lethal fury. He understood immediately — his intricate security net had been expertly bypassed by a ghost from the past, playing a very long game.
Jocelyn turned to him. Her chest heaved. Her gaze moved to the pot of broth still simmering quietly on the stove, and her stomach turned with revulsion.
“I do not need her fake kindness,” she said, her voice shaking with adrenaline. “I would rather starve than eat a single bite of food tainted by her betrayal p>
In a bleak, underfunded hospice facility in Queens, Elouise Stein lay flat on a narrow, stiff mattress.
She stared at the cracked ceiling tiles. The dial tone from her dropped call echoed in her mind. Her chest heaved, and she broke into a violent, agonizing coughing fit. She pressed a wad of tissues to her mouth. When she pulled it away, the white paper was soaked in bright, wet blood.
The door to the small room creaked open. A nurse walked in holding a clipboard, her face entirely devoid of sympathy.
“Mrs. Stein,” she said flatly. “Your bed fee for next week has not cleared. If the payment is not made by Friday, we will have to move you to the communal ward p>
Elouise closed her eyes. A hot tear slipped down her hollow cheek and soaked into the thin pillowcase. She had tried to buy her way back into her daughter’s life with a bowl of soup, and Jocelyn had crushed her last lifeline. The bridge was not just burned — it was pulverized.
Miles away, in the sun-drenched Manhattan penthouse, the atmosphere was thick with tension.
Gaston’s executive assistant stood nervously by the kitchen island, holding a thick leather binder filled with résumés. Sweat beaded on his forehead.
“Sir, I have vetted five new private chefs,” he said quickly. “I personally guaranteed their NDAs and ran deep-level surveillance checks on their immediate families p>