Chapter 127
Chapter 127:
The explosion of shattering porcelain against the marble wall rang out like a gunshot. Thousands of razor-sharp fragments rained across the carpet.
Cole drove both palms onto the desk. His chest heaved. The veins in his forehead pulsed visibly.
The jealousy had long since stopped being an emotion. It was a physical fire consuming him organ by organ. He could not endure another man touching what he considered his. He could not endure June using his own money to humiliate him in front of the entire city.
He grabbed his suit jacket from the back of his chair and walked out. The aura radiating from him was so dark and so absolute that his late-night assistant physically pressed herself against the wall as he passed without a word.
Cole stepped into his private elevator and drove his fist into the button for the garage.
He was going to her apartment. He was going to make her understand the full, catastrophic price of pushing him past this point.
Back in the French restaurant, June rose from her chair, shook hands with Declan’s lawyers, and walked out of the room — posture straight, expression composed, entirely unaware of the digital detonation spreading across her city.
Declan remained at the table. He pulled out his phone, found the photo in the group chat, and read Julian’s caption.
A slow, cold smile settled across his face. He locked the screen and slipped the phone back into his pocket. He was very much looking forward to watching Cole Compton burn his own house to the ground.
You𝗋 𝖽𝖺𝗶𝘭𝗒 𝗱𝗈s𝘦 𝘰𝖿 𝘯о𝗏е𝗅𝘀 𝘰𝗇.с𝗈𝗆
It was ten-thirty at night.
June dragged herself into her Midtown apartment, kicked off her heels near the door, and rolled her shoulders against the deep ache of the day. Before she could even remove her blazer, the doorbell rang.
It was not a normal ring. It was a continuous, violent buzzing layered over the sound of a heavy fist hammering against the thick wood of the door.
BANG. BANG. BANG.
June’s stomach dropped. She crossed to the door and looked through the peephole.
Cole stood in the hallway, his face twisted into a mask of pure, barely contained fury — a man who looked entirely capable of taking the door off its hinges.
She knew he would wake the entire floor. She drew a slow breath, braced herself, and turned the deadbolt.
Cole pushed inside the moment the door opened, bringing with him a wave of cold night air and the sharp smell of tobacco. Eleanor had ordered Mrs. Lynch to prepare a restorative soup and commanded Cole to deliver a thermos to June as a peace offering. He had carried the thing all the way to the lobby. But by the time he reached the entrance, the image of the platinum pen burning through his mind had severed his last thread of control. He had hurled the thermos into a concrete trash can outside the building and walked in empty-handed, wholly consumed by his own destruction.
He slammed the door behind him. The sound cracked through the apartment like a gunshot.