Chapter 355
“`
– For each row, replace every instance of “Chapter 355” with “Chapter N” (where N is that row’s chapter number). Do not alter any other text, HTML attributes, or formatting.
Chapter 355:
Carmen sat rigidly in the back seat, her palms so damp she had to wipe them on her navy-blue dress.
Justin noticed. He reached across the leather seat and wrapped his large, warm hand over her cold fingers.
“I am right here,” Justin murmured, his thumb stroking her knuckles.
Carmen tried to pull her hand back. His grip was iron.
The car stopped. Justin stepped out first, buttoned his jacket, then reached in and helped Carmen out, keeping his hand firmly at the small of her back.
Mrs. Higgins, the elderly head housekeeper who had served the Collins family for forty years, stood waiting on the grand stone steps. As Carmen walked into the light of the porch lamps, Mrs. Higgins’s movements froze for a fraction of a second. The silver tray she was holding tilted precariously, a single crystal glass trembling before she steadied it. She quickly lowered her gaze — but not before Justin caught the flicker of shock and profound sadness in her eyes.
His own eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. He shot her a lethal warning glare.
Mrs. Higgins bowed her head immediately, hiding her face. “Welcome home, Senator. Welcome, Miss Golden p>
Carmen felt a strange chill run down her spine.
Justin guided her into the cavernous, dimly lit foyer. Elbert Collins sat in a high-backed leather chair beside the massive fireplace, reading the Wall Street Journal. He lowered the paper as they approached.
𝗥е𝖺𝖽 𝗳𝗿om yоur 𝗽𝘩one o𝘯 ѕ.𝗰𝘰m
“Father,” Justin said, his voice carrying through the quiet room. “This is Carmen Golden. My partner p>
He used the word deliberately — not girlfriend. It was a heavy, political declaration of permanence.
Elbert’s sharp, predatory eyes locked onto Carmen’s face. He did not look shocked the way the housekeeper had. He looked like a man calculating the blast radius of a bomb.
“Miss Golden,” Elbert said, smiling thinly. “Welcome to our home p>
Before Carmen could reply, rapid footsteps thundered down the grand staircase.
Six-year-old Aaden Collins came sprinting across the foyer like a tiny missile. He stopped dead halfway across the room. The little boy stared at Carmen, his large dark eyes widening in sheer disbelief. He tilted his head, an expression of intense, wordless concentration on his face. Then he took one hesitant step forward, then another, and without a single word, launched himself at her — wrapping his small arms tightly around her legs and burying his face in the fabric of her dress. He clung to her with a desperate, instinctual force.
Carmen’s heart skipped a beat. A massive wave of maternal instinct crashed through her chest, so overwhelming it made her dizzy.
She dropped immediately to her knees on the hard marble floor, expensive dress forgotten, and wrapped her arms around the boy, pressing her nose into his hair. It felt terrifyingly, inexplicably right. He smelled of lavender soap and something else — something deeply familiar that made her soul ache with a grief she couldn’t name.
Justin stood above them, hands clenched into tight fists at his sides, his eyes burning with a dark storm of repressed emotion.
Dinner was served in the formal dining room.