Chapter 169
Chapter 169:
This card dismantled that assumption entirely. This was not simply having money. This was an independent empire of wealth that she had built and controlled completely on her own, without him, without his family, without a single moment of his so-called protection. The realization that she had never needed him — not even once — sent a spike of cold, genuine panic through his chest.
June signed the receipt and turned to leave.
As she moved toward the door, Abbie, who had been standing quietly behind a clothing rack, accidentally bumped a mannequin. It swayed with a loud wobble.
Alycia’s eyes snapped toward the sound. She studied Abbie’s face, and something ugly settled into her expression.
𝖸ou𝗋 n𝘦𝘅𝘵 𝖿a𝘃о𝘳𝗂𝘵𝘦 𝗿е𝘢𝘥 iѕ оո 𝗀а𝗅𝗇𝘰𝘃е𝗅ѕ.𝘤о𝘮
“Abbie Henson?” Alycia said, her voice dropping into a low, cruel drawl. “I didn’t expect to see you alive. How have you been, ‘Trash Can Girl p>
The moment that name hit the air, every trace of color left Abbie’s face. Her body began to tremble with deep, uncontrollable tremors, her breathing fracturing into rapid, shallow gasps. The severe PTSD from years of relentless high school bullying crashed over her like a wave.
June’s eyes turned to ice. She stepped immediately in front of Abbie, placing herself squarely between her assistant and Alycia.
“Do you know my assistant?” June asked, her voice quiet and lethal.
Alycia smirked. “Oh, we are very old friends p>
Cole’s frown deepened. Something about Alycia’s tone repelled him — cheap and vicious — but he stayed silent.
June didn’t waste another second. She wrapped her arm firmly around Abbie’s trembling shoulders and guided her out of the boutique without another word.
Inside the private car, Abbie collapsed against the seat, pulled her knees to her chest, and let out a raw, agonizing sob.
June handed her a bottle of water and said nothing. She didn’t press for details or offer hollow comfort. She simply sat beside her, gaze fixed steadily on the window as the city moved past.
Behind her eyes, a quiet, dangerous calculation had already begun to take shape. Alycia Beasley had a great many buried secrets. And June was going to uncover every single one of them.
The grand ballroom of the luxury hotel was a sea of glittering diamonds and expensive tuxedos — the absolute pinnacle of New York’s financial and social elite.
Alycia walked through the massive double doors with her hand resting possessively on Cole’s arm. She wore a heavy, overly elaborate Chanel gown and held her chin high, working hard to project the air of the future Mrs. Compton.
Cole moved beside her like a man sleepwalking. His face was a dark, brooding mask, his mind still entirely consumed by the image of June’s black card.
Julian Thorne, Cole’s wealthy and perennially cynical friend, materialized from the crowd with a glass of champagne. He glanced at Alycia’s stomach and smirked.
“Well, Cole,” Julian drawled, “looks like your bachelor days are permanently behind you p>
Cole didn’t answer. He took a long pull of his scotch, letting the burn travel down his throat in silence.
Then a wave of quiet rolled through the front of the ballroom. The noise tapered into a collective, stunned murmur.
Cole turned toward the entrance.
His lungs stopped working.
Crawford Love walked into the room — and beside him, her hand resting lightly on his arm, was June.