Chapter 349
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Chapter 349:
“Because that same boy stopped me,” he said. “He walked right up to me, pulled ten thousand dollars in cash out of his backpack, and shoved it into my hands. He told me that if I ever touched that specific brick, he would buy the school and have me fired p>
Jocelyn stopped breathing. The cold wind suddenly felt piercing.
She pulled her phone from her pocket, opened a hidden folder, and held up a photo of Gaston from his high school years.
The janitor put on his reading glasses and nodded without hesitation.
“That is him,” the old man confirmed.
A violent tremor moved through Jocelyn’s entire body.
She stepped over the yellow caution tape and walked to the wall. Thick, dead ivy clung to the stone beside the word “Wolfe.” Her fingers were trembling so badly she could barely grip the vines. She tore them away. The dry leaves crumbled to dust.
Right there, carved so deeply into the brick that it must have taken hours of bleeding fingers, were two letters.
G.C.
Jocelyn’s knees gave out. She dropped to the wet grass.
She pressed her fingertips into the deep grooves of the letters.
𝗝o𝗂𝗇 𝘁𝗁𝘦 c𝘰𝘮𝘮u𝗇іt𝘺 𝗮t.с𝗼𝘮
Ten years.
He had not simply noticed her three years ago. He had been watching her, protecting her, and holding her in the center of his world since they were teenagers. She had always been the only thing this apex predator had ever truly wanted.
The sheer, terrifying depth of his love crashed over her like a tidal wave — so heavy and so absolute that it made her physically ache. She wasn’t running anymore. She was finally, with her whole heart, running toward him.
Hot tears spilled from her lashes and fell onto the cold brick.
Jocelyn pulled out her phone without a moment’s hesitation and dialed her executive assistant.
“Book me the earliest possible first-class ticket to Frankfurt,” Jocelyn ordered, her voice breaking with the weight of everything she felt. “I am not waiting three days p>
After a sleepless night of restless anticipation, Jocelyn arrived at John F. Kennedy International Airport at dawn. The exclusive Air France La Première terminal was a sanctuary of absolute silence and luxury.
She walked briskly across the plush carpeting, dragging a small black Hermès carry-on behind her. Her heart was beating a frantic, erratic rhythm against her ribs. She had just cleared the private security checkpoint, and the departure information on her phone showed her flight to Frankfurt boarding in exactly forty minutes.
She could not sit still. The physical need to see Gaston — to touch his face and tell him she knew everything — was burning a hole in her chest.
At that exact moment, on the opposite side of the VIP terminal, a sleek Gulfstream G650 taxied into its designated parking spot. Two hours ahead of schedule.
Gaston Collins stepped off the plane.