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Chapter 446
Chapter 446:
He had skipped a crucial board meeting with Julian three blocks down Fifth Avenue, unable to concentrate. The sleeplessness and the constant, gnawing hollow where June used to be were eating through him like rot. He flipped a page aggressively, the sound cracking through the quiet interior.
He looked up and scanned the traffic through the windshield.
His gaze snagged on the low, wide rear end of a silver Aston Martin.
Cole’s eyes narrowed. He knew that car. There were only three of that specific model registered in Manhattan, and that plate belonged exclusively to Crawford Love.
He leaned forward, his chest pressing against the seatbelt. The Aston Martin’s rear glass was not tinted.
Through the sloping window, Cole saw the driver’s silhouette. The familiar, elegant curve of her neck. The particular way she tilted her head.
June. His wife.
Cole’s pupils contracted violently. The air in his lungs turned to smoke.
He watched Crawford lean toward her from the passenger seat — the intimate angle of his head, the relaxed, utterly confident posture of a man who had made himself entirely at home in her space.
A wave of catastrophic, unadulterated jealousy detonated in Cole’s chest, as though someone had poured acid directly over his heart. She looked at him with eyes made of absolute ice. She treated him like a rotting corpse. And yet here she was, driving another man’s car down Fifth Avenue in the middle of the morning as though they were a perfectly domestic couple.
ոo𝘷е𝘭𝗌 𝘪𝗇 𝗍𝗋е𝘯𝘥 on
The last fraying thread of sanity holding Cole together snapped.
He raised his hand and hurled the acquisition contract onto the floorboards. The heavy stack of paper slapped against the mat.
“Accelerate,” Cole growled. The sound that came out of him barely resembled a human voice. “Get right behind them p>
The driver checked his mirror, eyes wide. “Mr. Compton, it is rush hour. There is no room to pass safely p>
“I did not tell you to pass,” Cole snarled, his eyes boring through the Aston Martin’s bumper. “Ram the car. Now p>
The driver’s blood ran cold. He knew better than to disobey the man behind him.
He pressed his foot down hard on the accelerator.
The three-ton bulletproof Maybach surged forward like a charging rhinoceros, its engine roaring over the noise of the city. The tires shrieked against the asphalt.
With a sickening crack of metal, the heavy steel grille of the Maybach drove into the rear of the silver Aston Martin.
The violent impact threw the Aston Martin forward by a full two feet.
The sound of crushing fiberglass and shattering taillights cracked through Fifth Avenue like a gunshot. The sports car’s safety systems triggered instantly — airbags exploding from the dashboard and steering wheel with a deafening pop, filling the small cabin with white smoke and the sharp smell of burnt powder.
June was thrown violently against her seatbelt. The nylon strap dug into her collarbone and forced all the air from her lungs in a sharp gasp. Her vision blurred. The blare of surrounding horns flooded her ears.
Before she could process what had happened, Crawford moved.