Chapter 3
Chapter 3:
A cherry-red Porsche Cayenne slammed on its brakes, tires screeching against the asphalt right in front of the hospital entrance.
Vera Vance threw the driver’s door open and sprinted around the hood.
When she saw June standing on the curb, swaying like a ghost in the wind, Vera let out a sharp gasp. June’s face was completely devoid of color, and a fresh patch of dark red was seeping through her coat.
“Oh my God, June!” Vera cried, catching her just as her knees buckled. “What happened? Where the hell is Cole p>
June leaned her head against Vera’s shoulder. A weak, bitter smile touched her lips.
“Even hell is better than being in there,” June whispered.
“You’re bleeding through your coat!” Vera snapped, abandoning any pretense of letting June walk on her own. She scooped her arm around June’s waist and practically carried her to the passenger seat of the Porsche.
Vera did not take her to the Compton estate. She did not take her to her own apartment. She slammed the car into gear and sped toward Mount Sinai, a private hospital where she had connections.
Inside the car, the heater blasted warm air. Vera gripped the steering wheel, her knuckles white, tears of pure rage burning in her eyes.
“I’m going to kill him,” Vera muttered, weaving aggressively through Manhattan traffic. “I’m going to rip his heart out with my bare hands p>
𝗗𝘪ѕ𝘤o𝘃e𝘳 𝗻𝗲𝘸 s𝘵o𝘳𝗶𝖾s 𝗼𝗇 ѕ.сo𝗆
June rested her head against the cool leather seat. Her vision was swimming.
As the car jolted over a bump, a fresh wave of pain rolled through her, and her mind slipped backward.
“I thought he was my savior,” June mumbled into the silence of the car. “I was wrong. I was in love with a ghost p>
Vera glanced at her — confused, but too focused on the road to ask.
They arrived at the private hospital, and Vera’s connections bypassed the waiting room entirely. June was rushed straight into a VIP suite.
The attending physician examined the torn stitches. His face darkened with anger.
“This is severe secondary trauma,” the doctor said sharply, turning to Vera. “Who did this to her? This requires a police report p>
Vera stood by the window, arms crossed so tightly that her nails dug into her own skin. “I’ll handle the police. Just fix her p>
They hung a blood transfusion bag and re-sutured the wound. The pain medication finally took hold, pulling June down into a deep, dreamless sleep.
When she woke, the room was quiet. Vera sat in the chair beside the bed, her eyes red and swollen from crying. The moment she saw June stir, she poured a glass of warm water and held it to her lips.
“Did you sign the divorce papers?” Vera asked, her voice raspy.
June swallowed and nodded. “Signed. I’m walking away with nothing p>
Vera shot up from the chair, her eyes going wide. “What? Are you insane? That’s Compton money! You gave him four years of your life and you’re leaving empty-handed p>
June looked at her best friend. Her eyes were completely calm, stripped of the panic and sorrow that had haunted them for years.
“I don’t need his money, Vera,” June said quietly. “I just want to erase his name from my life p>
Vera stared at her. She had known June since college — she knew June was brilliant — but she had watched her play the role of a submissive housewife for so long that she had almost forgotten who June really was.
June reached out and took Vera’s wrist. “Do me a favor. Go to my old storage unit. Bring me my old laptop. The thick black one p>
Vera frowned. “Your college laptop? Why p>
“Just bring it p>
Two hours later, Vera returned carrying a heavy, outdated black laptop. June set it on her lap and pressed the power button. The screen flickered to life. Her fingers flew across the keyboard, entering a complex string of code into a black terminal window. A heavily encrypted login screen materialized on the display.
Vera leaned over and squinted at the screen. She could not understand a single line of it, but the sheer speed at which June was typing sent a quiet shiver down her spine.
Just then, the television mounted on the wall of the VIP suite switched to the evening news. A reporter thrust a microphone toward Cole as he exited a corporate building.
“Mr. Compton! Your wife was notably absent from the gala last night. Is everything alright with your marriage p>
On screen, Cole paused. He adjusted his suit jacket, his face arranging itself into a mask of polished, practiced concern.
“My wife is feeling a bit under the weather,” Cole said smoothly. “She is resting at home. Thank you for your concern p>
Vera snatched the remote from the bedside table and hurled it at the screen. The plastic casing shattered against the glass, leaving a spiderweb crack across Cole’s smiling face.
“Hypocritical bastard!” Vera snapped.
June did not flinch. She looked at the cracked screen for a long moment, her fingers resting lightly on the enter key of her laptop.
“Let him smile,” June said, her voice dropping to a quiet, lethal calm. “He won’t be smiling for much longer p>