Chapter 127
Chapter 127:
He walked back inside, passing Kieran without breaking stride. “You should quit, Douglas. It stunts your growth p>
Kieran inhaled at precisely the wrong moment and dissolved into a violent coughing fit. Gaston didn’t look back.
Back at the penthouse, Jocelyn lay on the velvet sofa with an ice pack pressed against her cheek. The pain had settled into a dull, throbbing ache that radiated into her jaw.
Her phone pinged. She reached for it with her free hand. A video from Gaston.
She pressed play. His voice came through low and intimate, wrapping around her like something warm. The city is boring without you.
She smiled despite the pain. For one unguarded moment, she let herself believe it.
𝖲𝘵o𝗋іе𝗌 уоu 𝘄𝘰ո’t р𝘂𝗍 𝖽𝘰𝗐n 𝘰𝘯
She typed back: “Are you flirting with the skyline, or just trying to make the whole city jealous p>
She hit send. Deflecting with a joke was her safety mechanism. It kept the walls where she needed them.
The elevator chimed.
Jocelyn panicked. She flung the ice pack onto the floor and yanked the cashmere blanket over her head, pressing her face deep into the cushions.
“I’m asleep!” she called out, her voice thoroughly muffled by the wool.
Gaston walked into the living room and loosened his tie, dropping it over the back of a chair. He took in the scene: the lump on the sofa, the puddle of condensation spreading on the rug where the ice pack had landed.
He didn’t move. Something in the air had shifted — a tension he recognized, a scent he knew well.
“You’re sleeping in your work clothes?” he asked, moving toward the sofa. He stood over her, his presence filling the room.
Jocelyn pulled the blanket tighter. “Go away, Gaston. I have a migraine p>
He didn’t move. He reached down and closed his hand around the edge of the blanket.
“Jocelyn. Look at me p>
It was not a request.
Gaston pulled the blanket down — gentle, but unyielding. Jocelyn resisted for a split second before letting go.
She turned her face into the cushion, hiding the left side.
“Jocelyn.” His voice had changed. Low. Dangerous.
He sat on the edge of the sofa and cupped her chin in his fingers. His skin was cool from the night air outside. He turned her face toward him.
He saw it.
The angry red handprint spanning her cheek and jaw. The skin had already begun to swell, the edges darkening with the promise of a deep, ugly bruise.
The air went out of the room. Gaston went perfectly still — the particular stillness of a man suppressing something enormous. His pupils dilated until his eyes were nearly black.
“Who?” One word. Terrifyingly quiet.
“It was an accident. A disagreement,” Jocelyn said, her eyes sliding away from his.
“Who hit you?” He didn’t blink. He didn’t breathe.
Jocelyn felt tears press against the backs of her eyes. “My mother. She was upset about Sloane p>