Chapter 132
Chapter 132:
He dialed Aspen before he’d even reached the curb. “Your mother hit Jocelyn p>
Aspen’s voice was carefully surprised. “She provoked her p>
“Collins knows. And he is punishing all of us for it. You need to fix this,” Kieran snapped.
“How?” Aspen asked.
“Destroy her reputation. Make Collins regret marrying her,” Kieran said. “Find dirt. Real dirt. Something he can’t ignore p>
Later that week, on the eve of their departure, Jocelyn was folding clothes into a suitcase in her bedroom when Gaston appeared in the doorway.
𝖬𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗄 𝗈𝗇
“Pack a swimsuit,” he said.
“For a wedding photoshoot?” She held up a blouse, studying it.
“The theme is nautical,” he said smoothly.
He produced a ticket and held it up. “Private yacht. Three days p>
Jocelyn looked at the ticket, then at him.
Three days on a boat. No escape routes. Just the two of them and the open ocean.
She swallowed and turned back to her suitcase.
The morning news was playing on the kitchen television.
Vance stood at a podium with microphones thrust toward his face. Gaston himself was nowhere in sight.
“Collins Corp is proud to announce the Wolfe Community Garden project,” Vance said, his voice crisp and unhurried.
The name Wolfe was a deliberate slap to the Schneiders.
Reporters fired questions across each other. “What about the Schneider commercial complex p>
“We felt the neighborhood needed more air,” Vance replied, the faintest smile crossing his face. “Less greed p>
Social media ignited immediately. TeamCollins was trending within the hour. Robert Schneider’s stock dipped five percent in real time.
Jocelyn watched from her office, motionless. He had named it after her family. He had erased the Schneider name from that land and replaced it with hers.
A swell of emotion rose in her chest — something too large and formless to call gratitude, too unwieldy to examine closely. She let it sit there, unnamed.
That night, with the yacht departure set for morning, Jocelyn fell asleep on the sofa waiting for Gaston to come home. The television was still on, replaying the press conference on a loop.
Gaston came in quietly. He saw the news clip, crossed to the television, and turned it off.
Then he turned and looked at Jocelyn.
She was peaceful in sleep, one hand tucked beneath her cheek. The bruise had faded to a pale, dull yellow. He stood there for a moment, just looking at her.
Then he knelt beside the sofa.
“You have no idea, do you?” he whispered.
He reached out and brushed a loose strand of hair from her forehead. His hand lingered against her cheek — just for a moment, just long enough.
He leaned in. He hesitated.
Then he kissed her. Softly. Briefly. His lips barely grazed hers.
It was not a friend’s kiss. It was the quiet, private kind — a lover’s vow made to someone who couldn’t hear it. A promise with no witness.
Jocelyn stirred. “Mmm? Gaston p>
He pulled back instantly and straightened up. “Wake up. Go to bed properly p>