Chapter 486

Chapter 485:

They arrived at sunset. A private guide helped them with their minimal luggage — a single leather bag for Jocelyn, nothing for Gaston, who traveled with the quiet certainty that anything he needed could be acquired or simply done without — then retreated to the staff quarters a respectful half-mile away.

They were completely alone. No cell towers. No Wi-Fi. No possibility of interruption.

Gaston built up the fire while Jocelyn explored the space, her fingers trailing along the curved glass walls, leaving temporary prints that fogged and faded. She wore the thermal leggings and oversized sweater he had packed for her, her hair loose down her back, her face still flushed from the cold they had briefly endured during the walk from the transport.

“Come here,” Gaston said.

She came. He pulled her down onto the fur rug in front of the stove, settled her between his legs, and wrapped his arms around her waist. They watched the fire together, saying nothing, breathing in sync.

𝘈𝖽𝖽𝘪𝖼𝗍𝗂𝘷𝗲 ոо𝗏е𝗹s 𝘰n

Hours passed. They ate the meal the staff had left — reindeer stew, dense bread, some Arctic berry that tasted like concentrated summer. They finished the champagne, then moved on to hot chocolate laced with something that burned pleasantly going down.

At midnight, Jocelyn felt it first. A shift in the air, some subtle electromagnetic charge that raised the hair along her arms.

“Gaston,” she whispered.

He was already looking up.

Through the glass dome, the sky had transformed.

It began as a faint greenish glow along the northern horizon, like the first suggestion of dawn. Then it strengthened, brightened, and began to move. Ribbons of light unfurled across the darkness — green and violet and rose — dancing in waves and curtains and spirals that defied geometry, defied physics, defied everything Jocelyn had ever believed about the limits of beauty.

She was crying. She realized it only when Gaston’s thumb brushed her cheek and came away wet.

“It’s—” she started. There were no words. She had seen photographs, videos, documentaries. Nothing had prepared her for the reality of it — for the way it filled the entire sky, for the sense that she was witnessing something sacred, something that had been happening for millennia before humans existed and would continue for millennia after they were gone.

Gaston wasn’t looking at the lights.

He was looking at her. His arms tightened around her waist, his chin resting on her shoulder, his breath warm against her ear.

“In the old stories,” he said, his voice barely audible above the silence of the snow, “they say that anyone who sees the Northern Lights will be blessed with happiness p>

Jocelyn turned her head. His eyes were dark, reflecting the green glow from above, fixed on her face with an intensity that stole her breath.

“We’re already happy,” she whispered.

Gaston’s mouth curved — not his usual smirk, not the predatory smile he wore in boardrooms, but something softer. Something vulnerable.

“I want more,” he said. “I want to build something that lasts longer than us. Something that outlasts everything.” He paused, his arms tightening almost imperceptibly around her. “Jocelyn. Let’s make a baby p>