Chapter 612

Chapter 611:

The pieces clicked into place with terrifying speed.

It wasn’t over. Sterling, from behind bars, was still pulling strings. He was no longer targeting only Justin’s career.

He was going after the entire Collins family.

The peace they had fought so hard to build was nothing but an illusion.

The morning light filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse, casting long, golden stripes across the bed. The peace, however, was an illusion. Neither of them had truly slept.

The threat from the night before — a coordinated, two-pronged attack orchestrated by Conrad Sterling from his prison cell — still hung in the air like a toxic, invisible weight. Gaston had been on a series of hushed, ruthless phone calls since three in the morning, his voice a low, precise weapon dispatching orders across continents. Jocelyn had lain awake listening, her heart pounding steadily against her ribs, a primal fear for her unborn child coiling tight in her stomach.

She groaned now, her stomach churning, and rolled over with a hand pressed to her mouth. The stress had found its way into her body.

Gaston was beside her in an instant, his phone silenced. He said nothing. He simply reached for the nightstand, where a glass of ice-cold sparkling water and a sleeve of saltine crackers sat waiting, and handed them to her with a steady hand, his other palm making slow, soothing circles on her back.

Jocelyn took a small sip, letting the bubbles settle her stomach. She looked at him, her eyes soft. Despite the nausea and the looming danger, a warmth moved through her chest. The drama with Richard and her mother felt distant this morning, muted by the quiet constancy of his care.

She picked up her phone to check the time. A message from Bella flashed on the screen, marked urgent.

𝖡𝗲 𝗽𝖺r𝘁 𝗼𝘧 𝗼𝘶𝘳 𝗰𝗈mm𝘶ոi𝗍у 𝗼𝘯

“Jossie! Check Page Six on Twitter. NOW p>

Jocelyn frowned and tapped the link. The screen loaded, and her blood ran cold.

It was a photograph — grainy, taken from a distance, but unmistakably her. And Julian Croft. They were in a dimly lit gallery. Julian was leaning in close, his mouth near her ear. It looked intimate. Secretive.

The headline screamed: “Collins’ Mystery Ex? Business Partner or More? Internet Questions: Is the High-Society Marriage on the Rocks p>

Jocelyn’s hand began to shake. The cracker in her other hand crumbled to dust. The image was real, but the context was a lie. Julian had been pointing out a brushstroke technique on a painting — a moment of professional curiosity, twisted into something sordid.

Gaston felt the tremor in her hand. He took the phone from her fingers. His eyes moved across the screen, and his gaze lingered for one cold, possessive second on Julian Croft’s face before all warmth drained from his own expression, replaced by a chilling blankness. He didn’t ask questions. He didn’t rage.

He dialed a number. “Find out who leaked that photo,” he said, his voice entirely without inflection. “I want the source. Now p>