Chapter 255
Chapter 255:
“Is this your revenge?” Cole roared, pacing the wet pavement like a caged animal. “Is this how you punish me — by throwing yourself at Crawford Love p>
The sheer audacity of his words didn’t make June angry. It made her feel profoundly, physically sick.
She understood in that exact moment that Cole was beyond repair — a man trapped permanently inside his own arrogant delusions, incapable of seeing anything beyond them.
She held the phone away from her ear for a moment, looked at it with quiet disgust, then brought it back to her lips.
“Cole,” she said, her voice dropping to a freezing, surgical whisper. “You sound exactly like a pathetic, dying animal. Do not ever call this number again p>
She pressed the red button. The call disconnected. She opened her settings and blocked the number without a second thought, consigning him to the digital void.
In New York, Cole stood listening to the dead silence on the line. The absolute finality of it snapped the last thread holding him together.
With a roar of pure fury, he drove his boot into a heavy steel trash can on the sidewalk. The metal buckled inward with a loud crash. He dialed his executive assistant.
“Find out exactly which hotel Crawford Love is staying at in Boston,” Cole barked, his voice echoing down the empty street. “Right now p>
Two minutes later, his assistant called back, his voice trembling. “Sir, Mr. Love is registered at the Presidential Suite in the Back Bay. But sir, with the weather p>
“I don’t care about the FAA grounding at Teterboro,” Cole interrupted, his eyes burning. “Find me a private strip in Jersey that answers to money rather than federal mandates, or call our contact at the Mayor’s office and declare a medical emergency. I want wheels up in thirty minutes p>
No𝗏e𝗅𝘴 i𝗇 𝘵rеn𝘥 oո
“Sir, that’s a federal crime,” his assistant pleaded. “The pilots will lose their licenses. It’s suicide in this weather p>
“Then find a pilot who values his family’s financial future more than his own life,” Cole snarled, “or you are fired p>
Forty-five minutes later, at a small private airfield in New Jersey, Cole’s black Bombardier Global 7500 roared down the tarmac, defying every safety protocol, and tore through the heavy rain, ascending directly into the heart of the thunderstorm.
Inside the cabin, Cole sat strapped into a leather seat as the aircraft shook violently through severe turbulence. He didn’t flinch. He stared into the pitch-black night outside the window, his mind locked onto a single, consuming image — June in Crawford’s arms.
He was going to kick the door of that suite off its hinges. He would drag her out of that room if he had to.
Meanwhile, in Boston, June pulled the heavy duvet over her shoulders, closed her eyes, and drifted into a deep, peaceful sleep.
She had no idea that a man in the grip of complete madness was hurtling through a deadly storm, on a direct collision course with her door.
At two-thirty in the morning, the sprawling halls of Beasley Manor were dead quiet.