Chapter 177
He snatched it back. The movement was rough, driven by a surge of adrenaline and something close to horror.
“Where did you find this?” His voice shook. It was not anger. It was terror. “You are not supposed to be in here.”
“It’s Mommy!” Aaden cried, reaching for the picture. Tears welled in his brown eyes. “I saw her! She bought me hot chocolate!”
“That is not —” Justin choked on the words. He looked at the woman in the photograph. Carmen. His Carmen. The love of his life. The woman who had died in a twisted wreck of metal and glass in Italy. “She is gone, Aaden. Stop this. Stop saying that.”
“You’re a liar!” Aaden screamed. The betrayal in his voice was absolute. “You hid her! You said she was in heaven, but she’s at the mall! You’re mean!”
He seized a heavy die-cast model car from the desk and threw it.
𝖣ow𝗻𝘭𝗈𝗮𝖽 𝗣DF𝘴 𝘧𝗿𝘦е 𝗈𝘯 𝗀𝘢𝗅n𝗼𝘷𝗲l𝗌.с𝗈m
It struck Justin in the shin. A sharp burst of pain shot up his leg.
Justin reached out and grabbed Aaden’s arm without thinking. His grip was too tight. He was shaking.
“Enough!” he roared.
Aaden dissolved into tears — a heartbroken, wailing sound that echoed off the high ceilings. “I hate you! I want Uncle G! I want Jocelyn!”
Justin released him instantly, as if scorched. He stepped back, chest heaving, and looked down at his own hand, then at his son’s tear-streaked face. Guilt, heavy and suffocating, broke over him.
He had frightened his own child. He was a monster.
“Go to your room,” Justin whispered, his voice cracking. He turned away, unable to hold the boy’s gaze. He opened the drawer and shoved the photograph back into the darkness, locking it with a trembling hand.
Aaden did not argue. He turned and ran, and the heavy door slammed shut behind him.
Justin sank into his chair and put his head in his hands. His heart hammered against his ribs like something caged.
She’s dead, he told himself. She’s dead, and I am losing my mind.
Thirty blocks north, the atmosphere in the Collins penthouse was entirely different — calculated and precise.
Elbert Collins stood in the center of the hallway, tapping his cane against the marble floor. Beside him, a contractor in dusty overalls wore an expression of genuine bewilderment.
“I don’t understand, Mr. Collins,” the contractor said, wiping his forehead. “The plumbing in the guest wing was replaced last year. It’s pristine copper.”
Elbert ignored him. He pushed open the door to the guest bedroom — the room Gaston had been sleeping in for weeks. The bed was made, but there were books on the nightstand and a phone charger plugged into the wall. Signs of life.
Elbert’s eyes narrowed. “Why are there two lived-in bedrooms?” he muttered. “They are newlyweds. This is unacceptable.”
Mrs. Higgins, the housekeeper, stood by the linen closet, wringing her hands. “Mr. Gaston prefers the space due to his work hours, sir. He doesn’t want to disturb Mrs. Collins.”
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