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Chapter 351
Chapter 351:
He had no idea that the silent, dark apartment he had just walked into was a primed bomb, waiting to detonate the moment he opened his bedroom door.
Cole yanked the silk tie from his neck and threw it carelessly onto the marble console table in the foyer. He dropped his damp suit jacket onto the sofa.
The hostile takeover attempt at Wall Street headquarters had been a brutal, grueling bloodbath. He had spent the last four hours screaming at corporate lawyers and liquidating assets to crush the attack. His brain throbbed with a migraine that showed no sign of relenting.
Right now, more than anything else in the world, he needed to open his bedroom door and breathe in the faint, calming scent of cedar and vanilla that always lingered on June’s skin.
ѕ𝘩а𝘳𝖾 𝘆𝘰u𝗿 𝗍𝘩𝗈𝘶g𝗁𝗍𝗌 оn
He dragged his heavy legs across the dark living room, reached the double oak doors of the master suite, and pushed them open.
He stepped inside.
There was no soft glow from the bedside lamp. There was no warmth. The air that met his face was completely sterile, smelling only of industrial cleaning supplies.
Cole frowned. He slammed his hand against the wall panel and hit the main light switch.
The heavy crystal chandelier blazed to life, flooding the massive room with harsh, blinding light.
Cole froze. His pupils contracted sharply.
The king-sized bed was made with terrifying precision, the silk sheets pulled tight and completely devoid of a single wrinkle or indentation. He shifted his gaze to the vanity. The glass top was completely bare — it looked like a sterile showroom in a furniture store.
A violent spike of panic gripped his chest, squeezing his heart so hard he couldn’t breathe.
He lunged forward, sprinted across the thick carpet, and ripped open the doors of the massive walk-in closet.
The entire left side was empty. The wooden hangers were gone. The shoe racks were bare.
He spun around and charged into the en-suite bathroom. He stared at the marble double vanity. There was only one toothbrush in the silver cup. Only his razor. Only his cologne.
June was gone.
Her existence had been completely, systematically erased from the room. There was not a single strand of hair, not a single drop of perfume left behind.
The realization hit Cole like a blow to the stomach. He staggered backward, his shoulders striking the doorframe. His lungs seized.
“Mrs. Lynch!” Cole roared.
The sound tore from his throat like the cry of a wounded animal and shook the glass in the windows.
He stormed out of the master bedroom, his eyes wide and bloodshot. “Mrs. Lynch! Get out here right now p>
The door to the staff quarters flew open. Mrs. Lynch stumbled into the hallway, clutching her bathrobe tightly around her chest, her face pale with terror.
Cole marched toward her and pointed a shaking finger back toward the empty master suite.
“Where is she?!” Cole bellowed, the veins in his neck bulging against his skin.
Mrs. Lynch swallowed hard. She raised a trembling hand and pointed down the long, dark corridor toward the east wing.