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Chapter 535
Chapter 535:
A toxic jealousy flooded his veins — corrosive and fast-moving, eating at the edges of his composure. Easton was moving in from every direction, methodically placing his hands around every part of June’s life, building walls that Cole could not breach.
Cole ground his teeth until his jaw ached. The muscles along his face twitched with the effort of containment.
He turned and walked out of the lobby, leaving a trail of water across the floor.
He dropped into the backseat of the SUV. The heavy door sealed shut, cutting off the sound of the rain. Cole ripped his silk tie loose, his breathing ragged and uneven. He looked exactly like a caged animal — powerful, furious, and with nowhere to direct it.
He pulled out his phone and dialed his head of security.
“Find him,” Cole ordered. His voice had gone terrifyingly quiet.
“Find who, sir p>
“Easton Hahn. I want a full trace on every real estate transaction he has made in Manhattan in the last thirty days. Do it now p>
He ended the call and threw the phone onto the seat. Then he raised his fist and drove it into the back of the leather headrest in front of him, hard enough to leave his knuckles white.
He had been arrogant. He had assumed June would struggle without him — that she would sink to the bottom of this city and eventually come crawling back. He had believed, without question, that she needed him.
𝘛𝗵е 𝖻𝘦ѕ𝘁 𝘳e𝘢𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗴 𝘦x𝗽𝘦𝗋ieո𝖼𝖾 𝘰𝘯
Reality had just struck him cleanly across the face.
June was not struggling. She was not sinking. She was building something — and there was another man standing beside her, holding the roof up while she did it.
An unprecedented, breathless panic crawled up Cole’s throat and settled there, cold and immovable.
The armored car pulled away from the curb and disappeared into the dark, storm-soaked city. But the hollow expanding inside Cole’s chest was something no car, no empire, and no amount of control could reach.
Miles away from the storm, high above the Manhattan streets, the atmosphere was something else entirely.
The floor-to-ceiling windows of the brand-new Tribeca penthouse offered a flawless, panoramic view of the glittering city skyline. June stood by the glass in a soft beige cashmere loungewear set, her bare feet sinking into the thick pile of an expensive Persian rug. The apartment was flooded with warm light, and the rich, comforting smell of a grilled cheese sandwich drifted from the open kitchen.
There was no oppressive silence here. No ghosts. No shadow of the Compton estate pressing down on everything. There was only open, unbothered freedom.
The doorbell chimed.
June crossed the room and pulled the heavy door open.
Sloane stood in the hallway holding two bottles of vintage champagne. Just behind her, Easton carried a large, elegant box of fresh white hydrangeas.
“Happy housewarming!” Sloane announced, her smile bright and genuine. She kept a respectful distance rather than going in for an overly familiar embrace. “Congratulations on escaping that billionaire hellhole. I heard Easton was coming over to celebrate and basically forced him to let me tag along. Honestly, I never pass up vintage champagne p>