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Chapter 573
Chapter 573:
The sprawling property, which had briefly felt like a safe harbor, transformed back into what it had always been — a gilded cage built by a different billionaire, but a cage nonetheless. June had walked through the silent rooms, the scent of cedarwood and quiet power still clinging to the air, and a cold, sharp clarity had cut through the fog of the past few days. She had been moved from one man’s orbit to another’s without fully understanding how it had happened. The realization was intolerable.
Within the hour, she had packed her suitcase, used a burner app to book a first-class ticket back to New York, and left the rental keys on the marble kitchen island without a note. By the time Julian was nursing cracked ribs in Manhattan, June’s plane was already descending into JFK. She was done being reactive. It was time to reclaim her own life on her own terms.
At exactly three o’clock in the afternoon, the rooftop restaurant of The Peninsula Hotel was bathed in soft, golden light. A gentle classical piano melody drifted through the air, softening the distant hum of Manhattan traffic far below.
June walked in wearing a precisely tailored beige trench coat over a simple white silk blouse. Her complexion was noticeably clearer than it had been in California. The dark circles were gone. And in her eyes there was something new — a profound, settled detachment, the look of a woman who had finally and completely broken whatever invisible chains had still been holding her.
Sloane was already seated at a prime window table and rose to meet her with a brief, firm hug — solidarity rather than sentiment.
They settled in. A waiter placed a three-tiered silver stand of delicate English pastries on the table and followed it with a steaming pot of Darjeeling. Sloane lifted the teapot and poured, watching June’s face with careful, unhurried attention the entire time.
Julian’s words from that morning were still screaming in the back of her skull. She needed to take the temperature of the room.
After a few minutes of easy conversation about new art exhibitions, Sloane set down her cup and adopted a tone of casual indifference.
𝖶𝖾𝖾𝗄𝗅𝗒 𝗋𝖾𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾𝗌 𝗈𝗇
“Have you looked at the financial news today?” she asked, watching June’s hands. “The Compton Group and the Love Group are absolutely tearing each other apart on Wall Street. It’s a complete bloodbath p>
June’s fingers, reaching for a small cucumber sandwich, paused for a fraction of a second.
When she looked up, her eyes were perfectly flat. Not a single ripple of emotion moved behind them.
“I heard,” she said, her voice entirely steady. “Crawford had to cut his trip short to deal with it p>
Sloane’s heart lurched.
California. Julian hadn’t been exaggerating. The two men had genuinely crossed paths out there.
She bit the inside of her cheek, using the sharp sting to push the words they are burning the city down because of you back down her throat.
“The rumors are extraordinary,” Sloane pressed, keeping her voice light. “Everyone is saying Cole has completely lost his mind — burning his own cash reserves to crash the market. If he keeps going, the Compton Group faces a serious liquidity crisis. He could actually go bankrupt p>
June picked up her teacup, brought the rim to her lips, and took a slow, deliberate sip of the hot Darjeeling. She lowered the cup.