Chapter 409
“`
– For each row, replace every instance of “Chapter 409” with “Chapter N” (where N is that row’s chapter number). Do not alter any other text, HTML attributes, or formatting.
Chapter 409:
Carmen’s hollow eyes instantly sharpened. A mixture of intense rage, confusion, and desperate hope flooded her face.
“It’s my cousin,” Carmen said, her voice dropping to a deadly whisper. “He is the only one in the Golden family who might know what my parents did with the baby. I have to make him talk p>
Jocelyn stood immediately, smoothing her skirt.
“I will leave you to it,” Jocelyn said, walking toward the door. “Keep your phone on. Call me the second you need me p>
A𝖽𝖽𝗶c𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾 nо𝗏𝘦𝗹𝘴 𝘰n
She stepped out into the hallway. The heavy door clicked shut behind her.
She stood alone in the quiet corridor, a cold sense of dread creeping up her spine. She knew the Golden family was hiding something toxic, and she feared that whatever truth lay buried would finish destroying whatever remained of Carmen’s sanity.
It was eleven o’clock on the night before the wedding.
Deep inside a highly exclusive, subterranean private club on Wall Street, Gaston’s bachelor party was in full swing. The VIP room was thick with the smell of imported Cuban cigars and spilled Dom Pérignon. The heavy bass of the music vibrated through the floorboards. Dozens of Wall Street titans, hedge fund managers, and Gaston’s old Ivy League alumni laughed loudly, tossing back shots of rare whiskey.
Gaston sat in the darkest corner of the room, sinking into a tufted leather sofa.
He wore a bespoke black dress shirt, the top two buttons undone, the sleeves rolled up to expose his forearms. He held a crystal glass of scotch, staring blankly at the amber liquid.
He was bored out of his mind.
A high-end escort in a tight red dress tried to slide onto the cushion beside him, trailing a manicured finger across his shoulder. Gaston shot her a look so cold and dead that she instantly froze, apologized, and scrambled away.
Carter, his best man, stumbled over with a loose tie and a face flushed with alcohol.
“Come on, man!” Carter shouted over the music, slapping Gaston on the shoulder. “You are walking into the graveyard of marriage tomorrow! Why do you look like you’re at a funeral right now p>
Gaston slowly turned his head and regarded Carter’s sloppy grin with absolute disdain.
He lifted his glass, downed the burning scotch in one swallow, and set the crystal down firmly on the table. He stood up, his massive frame towering over Carter.
He reached into his pocket, pulled out the keys to the Maybach, and tossed them to his lead bodyguard by the door. Without a single word to Carter, he shoved past the confused alumni, pushed open the heavy soundproof doors, and walked out into the cold, quiet Manhattan night. The air in the club had been suffocating him. He needed to breathe. He needed her.
Thirty minutes later, the black armored Maybach rolled silently to a stop in the dark alleyway behind Jocelyn’s penthouse building.
Gaston leaned against the car door and tilted his head back, looking up at the towering skyscraper. The lights in the top-floor penthouse glowed with a warm, golden hue.