Chapter 74
Chapter 74:
Gaston. He was in London, thousands of miles away. Even if she could call him, what could he do?
Upstairs, the Schneiders were likely eating dessert.
“Think she’s cried enough?” Cory’s voice drifted faintly through the ductwork, distorted and thin.
“Give her an hour,” Robert’s voice replied. “Then she’ll sign anything to get out p>
“I hope she freezes,” Aspen added.
Jocelyn slid down to the floor and curled her legs beneath her. The darkness seemed to pulse. Her breath came in short, shallow gasps — hyperventilation. Spots danced at the edges of her vision.
A scurrying sound scratched against the stone floor nearby.
Jocelyn screamed and scrambled up onto a wine crate. The wood groaned under her weight. The crate wobbled. A bottle near her foot tipped and fell.
T𝗁e m𝗼s𝗍 𝗉𝗼𝗽ulа𝗋 ոо𝗏𝗲𝘭s оn
Crash.
Red wine splattered across the floor, pooling on the stone like blood. The sharp, alcoholic scent filled the small space, overpowering the mold.
She curled into a ball on top of the crate, rocking back and forth.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered to the darkness. “I’m sorry I’m such a burden p>
The regression was swift and brutal. The confident CEO melted away, leaving behind the terrified little girl who had learned that silence was the only safety.
She checked her phone. Battery at fifteen percent.
She turned on the flashlight. The beam cut through the gloom, casting long, skeletal shadows from the wine racks — they looked like prison bars.
She pointed the camera at herself. Her face was pale, her eyes wide and glassy.
“If anything happens to me,” she whispered, her teeth chattering, “it was Robert and Cory. They locked me in p>
She stopped recording. Her fingers were numb, clumsy blocks of ice.
She turned off the light to save the battery. The darkness rushed back in, colder and heavier than before.
Her eyes closed. The shivering began to slow, replaced by a dangerous lethargy.
Gaston, she thought, her mind drifting. He looked so good in that towel.
Thirty thousand feet above the Atlantic, the cabin of the Gulfstream G650 was quiet. Gaston sat in his leather recliner, a stack of merger contracts on the table before him.
He couldn’t focus. The words blurred.
He kept touching his chest, right over the tattoo. A physical sensation of wrongness — like a discordant note in a song — hummed under his skin.
He looked at his watch. It was 8:00 PM in New York.
“Leo,” Gaston called out.
Leo looked up from his laptop. “Sir p>
“Check Jocelyn’s location p>
Leo didn’t ask why. He tapped his tablet. “She’s… at the Schneider Estate in Long Island p>
Gaston frowned. “Why? She hates them. She said she was going home p>
“She arrived there almost four hours ago,” Leo noted, zooming in on the map. “But her phone’s signal just went dead. The last ping was from inside the main house p>
Gaston picked up the satellite phone and dialed her number.
Straight to voicemail.
His frown deepened. He dialed the Schneider landline. It rang three times before Elouise picked up.
“Hello?” Her voice was slurred.
“Elouise. It’s Gaston p>