Chapter 329
“`
– For each row, replace every instance of “Chapter 329” with “Chapter N” (where N is that row’s chapter number). Do not alter any other text, HTML attributes, or formatting.
Chapter 329:
Jocelyn was huddled in the far corner, the cold ocean wind whipping her hair across her face, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. She was shivering.
Gaston stopped in the doorway, chest heaving, his tie ripped loose, his hair disheveled. He walked toward her slowly, both hands raised in a desperate, placating gesture.
“Jocelyn,” Gaston said, his voice cracking with raw panic. “Darling, please. Let me explain p>
Jocelyn looked up.
Her eyes were red, filled with a devastating, hollow agony. She rose from where she had been huddled and pressed her back against the stone railing, putting as much distance between them as the balcony would allow.
The freezing ocean wind whipped across the stone balcony of the Newport estate.
Jocelyn pressed her spine hard against the cold railing, her teeth chattering, a violent and uncontrollable tremor shaking her entire frame. Her eyes were locked onto Gaston. He looked like a man standing on the edge of a cliff — composure shattered, face stripped bare with raw panic.
His chest heaved violently. He took another step toward her, hands still raised, approaching her the way one might approach a terrified animal.
Jocelyn shook her head. A sharp, physical pain twisted in her stomach. She thought about the tattoo. She thought about the hushed, violent threats she had overheard in the smoking room. She thought about Jovanni Waller. She thought about the elaborate, beautiful lie she had been living inside.
Gaston did not stop. He closed the distance between them in two strides and reached out, seizing her right wrist. His grip was too tight, the pressure of his fingers almost bruising.
𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗺𝗼𝘀𝘁 𝗽𝗼𝗽𝘂𝗹𝗮𝗿 𝗻𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗹𝘀 𝗼𝗻
Jocelyn gasped and pulled at her arm.
He did not let go. With his free hand, he gripped the collar of his dress shirt. He didn’t bother with the buttons. With a savage grunt, he tore the placket apart. The sound of high-thread-count cotton shredding and pearl buttons scattering across the stone floor echoed in the cold air.
He pressed Jocelyn’s palm flat against his bare chest, directly over his heart.
Beneath her trembling fingers, black Gothic letters were permanently scarred into his skin.
J.W.
The skin there burned hot. His heart hammered against her palm like a caged animal trying to break free.
Jocelyn’s mind short-circuited. She stared at the black ink, lips parted, no sound coming out.
“No,” Gaston said. The word tore from his throat — raw and desperate. He pushed her hand harder against the tattoo, as if trying to fuse her flesh with his.
“Jocelyn Wolfe,” Gaston said, his voice dropping into a harsh, vibrating rasp. “It is Jocelyn Wolfe p>
The shockwave hit her nervous system all at once. Her knees buckled.
Gaston caught her instantly by the waist, holding her upright.
“What are you talking about?” Jocelyn stammered, her lungs unable to pull in enough air.
His eyes were completely red. He looked down at her with a terrifying, naked intensity.
“I got this three years ago,” Gaston confessed, his voice shaking with suppressed emotion. “I knew even then that Kieran didn’t deserve you p>