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Chapter 593
Chapter 593:
The lab was a sanctuary — sterile steel surfaces, absolute quiet, and the kind of ordered, predictable logic that the natural world outside refused to offer. June stood at the black countertop in her white lab coat, eye pressed against the lens of a high-powered electron microscope, using the rigid, reliable laws of biology to quiet the noise in her head.
The intercom buzzed.
“Dr. Erickson,” Abbie’s voice came through, carrying a note of unease. “There’s a man here. Julian Thorne. He’s insisting on seeing you. He says it’s a matter of life and death p>
June lifted her head from the microscope.
Julian Thorne. Cole’s oldest ally. The ultimate Wall Street fixer. A spike of cold annoyance moved through her.
“Buzz him in,” she said.
уо𝘶𝗿 𝗱a𝗶𝘭𝗒 𝘥𝗼𝘴𝗲 𝘰𝗳 𝗇𝗈𝘷e𝗅s 𝗈𝘯
The heavy glass door swung open.
Julian walked in looking wrecked. His usually impeccable tan had gone a sickly, grayish pale. He moved with a stiff, unnatural gait, one arm pressed firmly against his ribcage, each step measured and careful.
June didn’t offer him a seat. She picked up a glass dropper and regarded him with flat, absolute indifference.
“What do you want, Julian p>
He let out a dry, pained chuckle and lowered himself onto a metal stool with a sharp hiss as his ribs registered the movement.
“I just left the emergency room,” he said, his breathing shallow. “Two cracked ribs p>
June made a short, dismissive sound. “I have no interest in the sports injuries of trust-fund boys p>
“This wasn’t a polo match.” Julian’s voice dropped, losing every trace of his usual easy polish. “This happened last night at The Century Club. I got between Cole and Crawford. They had completely lost control of themselves p>
June’s hand stopped moving. The dropper hovered in midair.
Julian leaned forward, the motion drawing another wince. “This market crash isn’t business strategy, June. It’s personal. It’s entirely centered around you. And if no one stops them, they are going to burn this city to the ground p>
The words landed like a physical blow.
Her vision blurred for a fraction of a second. A wave of intense, visceral nausea rolled through her stomach.
She set the dropper down on the counter with a sharp click. She turned and gripped the stainless steel edge of the lab table with both hands, knuckles draining white.
She had believed she was free of it. She had told herself the war was financial — distant, impersonal, happening in a world she no longer inhabited.
“They are behaving like animals,” Julian continued, his voice relentless. “And they are dragging the entire economy into the cage with them. Board members are panicking. Thousands of jobs are at risk. I am not here for either of them — I am here for the market p>
The nausea burned away and left something cleaner and far more dangerous in its place.
Her chest tightened. The air in the lab felt contaminated.
She had fought her way out of Cole’s suffocating control. She had believed Crawford was different — a respectful ally, a man who understood boundaries. The realization that both of them had reduced her to a pawn in their destruction was not just infuriating. It was a profound violation. The most complete form of objectification she had ever experienced.