Chapter 143
Chapter 143:
She meant it as acceptance. She was trying to tell him she understood, that she held no judgment.
But Gaston heard something entirely different. He heard: You are a liar. You are a cold businessman. You are not the kind of man I could love.
His jaw tightened. His hand gripped the sheet.
“Right,” he said, his voice dropping to something flat and distant. “Nature p>
He turned his back to her.
The pillow wall between them suddenly felt like it was built from something far heavier than pillows.
Sа𝘷𝖾 у𝘰𝘂𝘳 f𝖺𝘃o𝗋𝘪𝘵𝗲 n𝗼𝘃𝖾𝘭ѕ o𝗻
3:00 AM
The dream was always the same.
The smell of dust and old wood. The darkness pressing in like something solid and suffocating. The sound of a lock clicking from the outside.
Click.
Little Jocelyn pounded on the heavy oak door. “Aspen! Let me out! It’s dark! Please p>
Aspen’s laughter floated through from the other side. “Stay there, rat. Maybe the spiders will eat you p>
The walls were closing in. The air was running out.
“No… open the door… please,” Jocelyn whimpered.
She thrashed against the sheets, her hands clawing at the duvet. “Don’t lock me in p>
Gaston woke instantly.
He heard the distress in her breathing — short, ragged, panicked. He sat up. In the moonlight, he could see her tangled in the duvet, sweat glistening on her forehead, her whole body trembling.
“Jocelyn,” he said.
He reached across the pillow wall and gripped her shoulder. “Jocelyn. Wake up p>
She gasped, her eyes flying open — wide and unseeing. She seized his wrist, her nails digging into his skin.
“Don’t lock it! Open the door p>
“Look at the moon, Jocelyn.” He kept his voice calm and steady, pointing toward the balcony. The curtains were open and moonlight lay across the room in broad silver bands. “You aren’t in the attic. You’re safe. The door is unlocked. Look p>
He pulled her upright and wrapped his arms around her, holding her firmly against his chest.
Jocelyn blinked. Reality filtered back in slowly — the gentle motion of the yacht, the smell of sandalwood replacing the smell of dust, the warmth of Gaston’s skin replacing the cold of old wood.
She slumped against him and buried her face in his neck, her body shaking with dry, heaving sobs.
“It was dark,” she whispered. “I couldn’t breathe p>
“I’ve got you,” Gaston murmured, his hand moving slowly through her hair. “I’ve got you p>
Her breathing began to slow. Gradually, her heartbeat found his.
She pulled back slightly — and became aware, all at once, of her position. She was straddling his lap. Her hands were pressed against his bare chest. Her face was inches from his.
The atmosphere shifted. The fear dissolved, replaced by a sudden, consuming heat.
Gaston looked at her. Her lips were soft from sleep. Her eyes were wide and stripped of every defense.
He couldn’t stop himself.
He cupped her cheek. His thumb brushed her lower lip.
“Jocelyn,” he breathed.
He leaned in.