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Chapter 163
Chapter 163:
“Go back to your room,” he ordered. The tone left no room for negotiation.
Alycia’s face flushed a deep, ugly red. “Are you disgusted by me p>
Cole closed his eyes. His chest heaved. He was genuinely unsettled by his own body’s violent reaction. Why did the mere thought of touching her make him feel sick?
He opened his eyes. “I am not. But tonight, we sleep in separate rooms. It is for your own good p>
He didn’t wait for her to argue. He grabbed a random file folder from the desk, walked past her, and headed straight for the master bedroom. He stepped inside and slammed the door.
Out in the hallway, Alycia heard the sharp, metallic click of the deadbolt turning from the inside.
The sound felt like a physical blow. Her body began to tremble with humiliation and barely contained rage. She looked down at her expensive nightgown. Why would he rather be alone than touch her? Was something broken in him?
The rejection tore through her fragile vanity like a blade.
𝗡𝘦w 𝘸𝘦е𝗸𝗹𝘆 𝗰𝘩а𝗉t𝗲𝗿ѕ 𝗈𝗇
Inside the master bedroom, Cole stood at the floor-to-ceiling window and stared out at the glittering sprawl of the Manhattan skyline. His chest felt completely hollow.
His mind, against his will, flashed to June — to her empty, lifeless eyes staring at him in the study.
He walked into the master bathroom, turned on the cold tap, and splashed water hard across his face. He gripped the edges of the marble sink, breathing unevenly.
Then it came — a jolt of terrible clarity. He was not repulsed by women. He was repulsed by anyone who was not June.
His body had completely overruled his logic. His every instinct craved the wife he had spent months pushing away.
Cole pressed his forehead against the cold mirror. His so-called love and duty toward Alycia were nothing but a prison of the mind — and he was the one who had locked himself inside it.
The sun rose over Manhattan, but the atmosphere inside the Beasley household was poisonous.
Alycia had taken a private car back to her parents’ home at dawn. She sat on the velvet sofa, crying hysterically as she recounted the humiliation of the night before.
Susan Beasley’s face was a mask of cold fury. Richard Beasley rubbed his chin, his eyes dark with calculation.
“He definitely has a problem,” Richard muttered. “Either psychological trauma from his brother’s death, or he is physically incapable p>
Susan turned a hard look on her daughter. “You will not breathe a single word of this to anyone. If the Compton family decides you are useless, they will throw you out on the street. You are carrying the ‘heir.’ That is your only shield p>
Meanwhile, across the city, Cole sat in his penthouse office with a punishing migraine.
