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Chapter 499
Chapter 499:
“Hold on, sweetheart,” Susan whispered, her voice like frost. “For the future of this family, a little pain is entirely worth it p>
In the distance, the aggressive roar of a high-performance engine and the screech of tires rounding a corner echoed through the Upper East Side streets, growing louder by the second.
Susan rose, smoothed the wrinkles from her designer dress, and walked toward the grand foyer — composed, prepared, ready to greet their audience.
Less than ten minutes later, the heavy front doors burst open.
Cole’s chief assistant rushed inside, followed closely by two paramedics hauling heavy medical bags and a collapsible stretcher.
The assistant stopped dead when he saw the living room — Alycia curled on the floor, the massive bloodstain spreading dark and wide across the Persian rug.
His face drained completely white.
The paramedics rushed forward and dropped to their knees beside her, their hands moving with rapid, urgent precision as they assessed her vitals.
U𝗉𝘥𝘢𝘁𝖾𝗌 𝖾𝘷e𝗋у 𝗐𝗲𝖾k 𝗼ո
The assistant pulled out his encrypted phone, his fingers trembling as he typed. He pressed send, firing a priority red-alert message directly to Cole Compton.
The moment the paramedics lifted Alycia onto the stretcher and rushed her out the front doors, Susan Beasley did not follow.
She stood in the middle of her bloodstained living room, staring at the dark stain spreading across the rug, a sharp, predatory smile curling her lips. Phase one was complete. Now it was time to detonate the bomb.
She pulled her personal cell from her pocket and dialed a number she knew by heart.
“Page Six tip line, this is Jenkins,” a sleazy, eager voice answered on the second ring.
Susan forced a heavy, dramatic sob into the receiver. “Jenkins. It’s Susan Beasley. I need you to run a story right now p>
“Mrs. Beasley? What’s going on?” The reporter’s voice sharpened with immediate, rabid interest.
“It’s my daughter. It’s Alycia,” Susan cried, her voice trembling with perfectly manufactured grief. “She’s being rushed to Mt. Sinai as we speak. She’s hemorrhaging. The baby — Cole Compton’s heir — it might not make it p>
Jenkins let out a low whistle. “Jesus. What happened p>
“It was June Erickson,” Susan said, her voice smooth and dripping with venom. “That woman has been harassing my daughter for weeks. She showed up at our house today and completely lost her mind. The stress was too much for Alycia. June literally drove her to a miscarriage p>
“I’m typing this up right now,” Jenkins said, his keyboard clattering loudly over the line. “This is front-page tabloid gold. ‘Billionaire’s Ex-Wife Drives Pregnant Mistress to Hospital.’ I’ll have it live in ten minutes p>
Susan hung up and wiped the manufactured tears from her cheeks. The public pressure was locked in. Cole would have no choice but to publicly claim Alycia and the supposed child.
Thousands of miles away, the atmosphere could not have been more different.
High above the historic streets of Zurich, inside the soundproof, glass-walled boardroom of a towering financial center, the air hummed with taut, suffocating tension.