Chapter 84
Chapter 84:
The Schneider estate was silent, but it was the silence of a pressure cooker, not a sanctuary.
Elouise sat on the brocade sofa in the drawing room, staring at her phone. She hit redial for the tenth time.
“The number you have dialed is not accepting calls at this time p>
The automated voice was polite, robotic, and infuriating.
“She blocked me!” Elouise shrieked, hurling the phone onto the cushion beside her. It bounced harmlessly, mocking her lack of impact. “That ungrateful wretch! After everything I did for her p>
Aspen walked in, holding a glass of green juice that looked like pond sludge. She wore a silk robe and looked bored. “Trouble in paradise, Mother p>
“She cut me off,” Elouise hissed, pacing the room. Her heels clicked sharply on the hardwood. “She actually blocked my number. Who does she think she is p>
“She thinks she’s rich,” Aspen said, taking a sip. “She’s just throwing a tantrum. She’ll come crawling back when the gay husband gets bored of playing house. You know how those men are. Fickle p>
Robert Schneider entered the room. He looked gray. The stress of the frozen accounts and the pending legal threats was carving deep lines into his face.
“Any luck?” he asked, his voice rough. He wasn’t asking about Jocelyn’s well-being; he was asking about their financial lifeline.
𝖲𝘢𝘃e 𝗒𝗼u𝗿 𝘧𝗮𝗏𝗼ri𝗍𝖾 ո𝗈v𝘦𝗅s 𝗈𝘯
Elouise froze. She couldn’t admit she had lost control. Robert tolerated her because she was the bridge to the Wolfe trust. If the bridge was burned, she was useless.
“She blocked me,” Elouise admitted, her voice dropping to a venomous whisper. “The little bitch actually blocked me p>
Robert grunted, pouring himself a scotch. “Then you will go to her office. You will go to her apartment. You will grovel. Collins has our entire portfolio in a stranglehold because of what you let happen to his wife. Fix it, Elouise. Or you can explain to your friends why we’re moving to a condo in Queens p>
The next morning, the air in the lobby of the Wolfe Hotel was crisp and filtered, smelling of fresh lilies and money.
Jocelyn walked in, her heels tapping a confident rhythm on the marble. She wore a charcoal pencil skirt and a cream silk blouse. On her wrist, the Patek Philippe glinted under the chandelier lights.
She felt different. Armored. The block button on her phone felt like a superpower she had just discovered.
She approached the front desk. The staff snapped to attention.
“Good morning, Mrs. Collins,” the concierge said, inclining his head slightly.
The name still sounded strange, but she nodded and accepted the deference. “Good morning, Peter. How are the occupancy rates for the weekend p>
“Fully booked, ma’am. Thanks to the Collins partnership announcement p>
Jocelyn smiled. “Excellent p>
She turned toward the elevators. The doors to Car 3 slid open.
Jocelyn stopped mid-step.
Kieran Douglas stepped out.
He looked tired. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, and his suit — usually immaculate — looked like he had slept in it. But his eyes were sharp. Predatory.