Chapter 312
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Chapter 312:
The penthouse was quiet. Gaston was on the living room sofa, long legs crossed, reading the Wall Street Journal. He heard the door and looked up.
His eyes landed on the bouquet.
In a fraction of a second, the temperature in the room dropped to absolute zero. Gaston’s expression turned to stone.
His gaze locked onto the silver crest on the envelope. Vanguardia Concierge. His head of security’s morning report flashed through his mind: Subject Douglas placed a custom floral order via Vanguardia at 08:00 hours. The pieces clicked into place with sickening certainty.
Jocelyn noticed none of it. She walked happily into the living room and set the heavy bouquet down on the glass coffee table.
“I didn’t know the great Gaston Collins was capable of such a cliché apology,” Jocelyn teased, smiling brightly at him. “But they are beautiful. Thank you p>
Gaston’s hands tightened on the newspaper until the paper tore. His knuckles turned bone white.
His mind processed the situation in an instant. She thought the flowers were from him. She was happy. If he told her the truth — that her psychotic ex-boyfriend was still stalking her and sending her gifts — it would shatter that smile immediately. It would drag Kieran’s toxic presence right into their home.
Gaston forced his jaw to unclench. He swallowed the burning, homicidal jealousy rising in his throat and arranged a perfect, easy smile on his face.
𝘋о𝗐𝗻𝗹оa𝖽 𝘗𝘋𝖥𝘀 f𝗿е𝖾 𝗼𝗇.с𝘰m
He stood, tossed the torn newspaper aside, and walked over to her. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close.
“If it makes my wife smile,” Gaston said, his voice smooth and utterly devoid of the rage boiling beneath it, “I will use every cliché in the book p>
Jocelyn beamed. She rose onto her tiptoes and pressed a soft, affectionate kiss to his cheek.
The kiss felt like a brand against his skin. She was rewarding him for another man’s flowers. The jealousy clawed at his insides like a caged animal.
“I am going to find a vase for these,” Jocelyn said happily, pulling away and heading toward the kitchen.
The moment she turned her back, the smile disappeared from Gaston’s face.
His eyes became pits of absolute, terrifying darkness. He stared at the red roses and felt a powerful urge to hurl them into the fireplace and watch them burn to ash.
Instead, he turned and walked out onto the balcony, sliding the heavy glass door shut behind him. The cold night wind struck his face.
Gaston pulled out his phone and dialed his head of security. His voice was flat and mechanical.
“Find Kieran Douglas,” Gaston ordered. “I don’t care where he is hiding. Find him tonight. He just crossed the final line p>
He hung up and stood motionless, staring out at the city lights spread below him. Tonight, he was going to make sure Kieran Douglas never looked at another flower again.
The freezing Thursday night wind whipped across the penthouse balcony.