Chapter 522
Chapter 521:
Jocelyn stepped out of the vehicle and felt the cold arrive like a physical force — not the damp chill of a New York winter, but something dry and sharp and entirely present. The mountains rose around them, white and massive and magnificently indifferent to human concerns.
“Beautiful,” she breathed.
“Deadly,” Gaston corrected, but he was smiling. “Like everything worth having p>
Inside, the lodge was warm wood and firelight, floor-to-ceiling windows framing views that belonged on postcards. Staff appeared with hot drinks, with offers to unpack, with schedules for the week ahead.
Aaden was already demanding to ski. Carmen was negotiating for a later start — tomorrow, perhaps, after she’d settled in. Justin was on his phone again, his expression distant and professional.
And Jocelyn stood at the window, watching snow fall on mountains that had stood for millennia, and felt something loosen in her chest. The past year — the violence, the revelations, the long and painful transformation from victim to something formidable — was behind her now. Ahead was only this: fire and snow and the man who stood beside her, his hand finding hers with quiet, unhesitating certainty.
“Welcome to the rest of our lives,” Gaston murmured.
𝗥𝖾аd 𝗈ո 𝗮ոу 𝗱𝘦𝘃𝘪се 𝘰𝘯
Jocelyn squeezed his fingers. “Show me p>
The pool was a mistake.
Carmen realized it the moment she stepped onto the deck — felt the wood shift slightly beneath her foot, saw the thin sheen of ice that had formed where the heated water met the freezing air. But the view was spectacular: the mountains rising on every side, the sky a depthless blue, steam lifting from the infinity edge like something from a dream.
She had come out to think. To escape the forced cheerfulness of the lodge, the constant performance of family happiness. To process the memory that had surfaced two nights ago — Conrad Sterling’s cold eyes — and try to understand why it had triggered such absolute terror.
She took a step toward the edge. Then another. The wood was slick and treacherous, but she was careful. She was always careful.
Her foot found the patch of black ice she hadn’t seen.
The world tilted. Her arms swept out, seeking balance, finding nothing. She heard herself cry out — a sound cut short by the impact of her body hitting the deck, the sharp crack of something giving way, the explosion of pain that radiated from her ankle through her entire leg.
She lay there gasping, staring up at the impossible blue of the sky, and thought: of course. The universe’s way of reminding her that she was never truly safe, that every moment of peace was simply the precursor to another fall.
“Carmen p>
Justin appeared above her, his face blocking the sun. She hadn’t heard him come out. He must have been watching from the window, she realized. Always watching.
“Don’t move.” His voice was calm and authoritative — the tone he used in crisis. “Tell me where it hurts p>
“Ankle.” The word came out through gritted teeth. “I think it’s broken p>
His hands were already moving over her, gentle but efficient, checking for other injuries. When he touched her ankle, she screamed — couldn’t help it, the pain white-hot and absolute.