Chapter 125
Chapter 125:
June’s expression shifted almost imperceptibly. She understood immediately — Cole had been tracking her, or someone had fed him a warped version of what happened in Brooklyn. A wave of profound exhaustion moved through her. She had no desire whatsoever to explain the trauma of that alleyway to a man whose mind was already poisoned by his own jealousy.
She lifted her chin and met his eyes with pure, arrogant defiance.
“So what if it is?” she said, each word aimed with surgical precision. “Mr. Hayes actually understands the concept of respect. You, on the other hand, belong in the mud with your little angel p>
The words struck Cole’s chest like a sledgehammer. His eyes flooded red. He stared at the gift box with a look that wanted to tear it from her hands and grind it under his heel.
Alycia seized the opening. “June, you are still legally married,” she gasped, arranging her face into an expression of wounded shock. “How can you be so shameless, buying expensive gifts for another man with Cole’s money p>
June did not turn her head. She kept her eyes on Cole.
“Control your dog,” she said, her voice completely flat. “Before it bites someone and gets put down p>
Alycia’s face went crimson.
June turned on her heel. Her heels clicked a clean, unhurried rhythm against the marble floor as she walked out of the boutique without a backward glance.
с𝗁𝗂nе𝘀𝗲 𝘯о𝘷𝘦𝗅s 𝘁𝗿а𝘯ѕl𝖺t𝗲𝘥 𝗼𝗻.с𝗼𝗺
Cole stood motionless in the aisle, staring at the space she had just left. His fists hung at his sides, knuckles cracking under the pressure.
Alycia tugged lightly at his sleeve. “Cole,” she murmured, “let’s go look at the Cartier necklaces p>
Cole tore his arm away.
He turned and looked at her. The expression on his face was so flat, so utterly vacant and cold, that Alycia physically recoiled.
“Get back in the car,” he said. The words came out like something dredged up from the bottom of a grave.
Alycia did not speak. She turned and walked out of the store as quickly as she could without running.
Cole stood alone in the middle of the boutique. The image of June defending Declan Hayes — calm, deliberate, without an ounce of hesitation — burned in his mind like a brand. Something territorial and savage was rising in him, and the effort required to keep it contained was becoming impossible to sustain.
Eight o’clock that evening.
Inside a private dining room at an exclusive French restaurant on Wall Street, the lighting was low and the air carried the faint scent of aged wine. June sat at the round table in a sharp, tailored black blazer as the legal teams for Apex Bio and Hayes Pharmaceuticals finished initialing the final pages of the patent licensing agreement.
Declan sat directly across from her, watching her sign the last page with an expression of dark, unhurried admiration.
June capped her pen. She reached into her leather tote and withdrew the heavy, beautifully wrapped Montblanc box. She slid it across the polished mahogany table.
“Mr. Hayes,” she said, her voice carrying the measured tone of a CEO closing a deal. “This is a token of my personal gratitude for your assistance the other night. I hope you will accept it, so we can consider all personal debts settled p>