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Chapter 569
Chapter 569:
Crawford let himself be held against the marble and made no effort to fight free. Instead, the corners of his mouth curved slowly upward into a cold, deliberate smile. He leaned his head forward, closing the distance between their faces.
“The nights in Carmel are very cold, Cole,” Crawford said, his voice low and smooth and soaked with intentional intimacy. “But June — she is incredibly warm. You really don’t need to worry about her anymore p>
The words detonated somewhere behind Cole’s sternum.
His pupils dilated fully. A sound of raw, animal anguish tore from his throat. He pulled his arm back and drove his fist into Crawford’s cheekbone with full force.
Crack.
Crawford’s head snapped to the side. Blood welled immediately from his lip and spilled over his chin.
R𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘰ո аոy 𝖽𝘦𝘃𝗶c𝖾 𝗈𝗇
The pain reached something beneath Crawford’s controlled exterior and ignited it. He spat blood onto the floor, planted his feet, wound his hip, and buried a hook punch deep into Cole’s stomach.
Every cubic inch of air evacuated Cole’s lungs at once. He doubled over, gasping.
And then both men abandoned everything — their education, their standing, the hundreds of billions of dollars they collectively commanded. They became something much older and simpler.
Cole tackled Crawford around the waist. Julian lunged in again, wrapping both arms around Cole’s torso and screaming for security. Cole, blind to everything but the target in front of him, threw his body weight sideways.
Julian left the ground.
His ribs connected with the sharp edge of the glass coffee table with a sickening impact. The crystal ashtray vibrated off the surface and exploded on the floor. Julian crumpled onto the carpet, clutching his side, unable to breathe, unable to rise.
Cole drove Crawford down onto the Persian rug and straddled his hips, fists falling in rapid, furious succession.
“You thief!” Cole screamed, tears of rage streaming down his face. “She is my wife! You stole her p>
Crawford brought his knee up hard into Cole’s chest, knocking him sideways, then immediately rolled and reversed their positions, pinning Cole’s shoulders to the floor. He wiped blood from his eye and landed a heavy punch to Cole’s jaw.
“I didn’t steal anything,” Crawford said through labored breath. “You treated a pearl like refuse. You threw her away yourself p>
They rolled across the rug in a tangle of torn fabric and blind fury. Silk ties were ripped from their necks. Shirt buttons scattered across the floor. Blood smeared across collars and stained the intricate patterns of the rug beneath them. There was no technique left — only the raw, primitive violence of two men consumed by jealousy and absolute hatred.
Outside the oak doors, the security teams heard the crashes and the sound of breaking glass and made a collective decision to ignore their orders.
The door burst open.
A dozen men in dark suits flooded the room. It took four of them to get Cole by the arms and haul him upright, slamming his back against the wall. He thrashed against their grip, chest heaving, blood pouring from his nose, still trying to kick his way back across the room.