Chapter 362
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Chapter 362:
Gaston did not speak. He simply slid the black metal card and his driver’s license through the crack in the window.
The cop shone his flashlight on the ID. He read the name. Then he angled the beam through the gap, catching a glimpse of Gaston’s terrifying, furious face.
The color drained instantly from the cop’s face.
He recognized the billionaire who practically owned the mayor.
He shoved the cards back through the window as if they were on fire, took three rapid steps backward, and came dangerously close to saluting.
𝖣𝗈𝘯’𝘁 𝘮𝘪𝘴s n𝗲𝘄 𝗿𝖾leа𝘀𝗲𝗌 𝗈𝗻 𝘨а𝘭ոo𝗏𝘦𝗹𝗌.сo𝗆
“S-so sorry to disturb you, Mr. Collins!” the cop stuttered in absolute panic. “Have a wonderful evening, sir p>
The two officers turned and literally sprinted back to their cruiser, peeling out of the street within seconds.
Gaston rolled the window up. He sat back heavily against the leather seat, running a frustrated hand through his disheveled hair. A long, agonizing groan of pure sexual frustration escaped him.
Jocelyn looked at his miserable, defeated expression.
She pressed her hand firmly against her mouth, trying desperately to hold it in.
She couldn’t.
She burst into a fit of uncontrollable, ringing laughter — laughing until tears streamed down her face, the bright, helpless sound filling the dark, expensive car with pure, unbridled joy.
Monday morning. The Manhattan sun poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Collins penthouse.
Jocelyn sat at the massive marble dining table, wearing a silk robe, lazily cutting into a piece of French toast. Her lower back was incredibly sore; Gaston had made sure to exact his full “revenge” for the police interruption the moment they got home the night before.
Gaston sat beside her in a perfectly tailored charcoal suit, sipping black coffee and scrolling through financial reports on his iPad.
Grandma Wolfe sat at the head of the table, spreading jam on a piece of toast. She looked at the two of them — at the dark, possessive way Gaston hovered near Jocelyn, and at the relaxed, glowing aura around her granddaughter.
Grandma Wolfe set her knife down and cleared her throat.
“Gaston, dear,” she said, her tone deceptively casual. “Has the Collins Group updated the terms of the family trust fund recently p>
Gaston’s finger paused on his iPad screen. He looked up, his sharp eyes instantly catching the trap.
“No, Grandma,” he replied smoothly. “The terms remain exactly the same p>
Grandma Wolfe sighed dramatically, placing a hand over her heart.
“Well,” she lamented, “I am an old woman. My days are numbered. I just pray I live long enough to see the Wolfe and Collins bloodlines combined into a beautiful great-grandchild p>
Jocelyn choked on her orange juice.
She coughed violently, grabbing a napkin to cover her mouth. Her face turned the color of a tomato.
Gaston did not miss a beat. He reached over and gently patted her back, his other hand sliding under the table to rest heavily on her bare thigh.
He looked directly at Grandma Wolfe. His smile was polite, but his eyes were absolute.