Chapter 230
Chapter 230:
With a roar of pure, animalistic fury, he lunged across the table. He seized Crawford’s lapels and used his full weight to drive him backward, slamming him against the edge of the heavy table. Bottles tipped and fell, expensive liquor spreading across the floor.
Cole’s face was inches from Crawford’s. His breath reeked of whiskey and desperation.
“Did you sleep with her?” Cole screamed, spittle flying from his lips. “Did she abort my baby so she could give you a bastard heir p>
The words hung in the air — vile and unforgivable.
F𝗼l𝘭𝘰𝗐 us oո ѕ.𝗰om
Crawford didn’t struggle. He didn’t panic. Instead, a slow, terrifying smile spread across his face — the look of a man regarding something beneath contempt.
His right hand moved with blinding speed.
His fist connected squarely with the side of Cole’s jaw.
The impact was devastating. The crack of bone on bone cut clean through the jazz music. Cole’s head snapped violently sideways and the force of the blow lifted him off his feet. He stumbled backward and crashed into the adjacent coffee table, which flipped and sent him sprawling onto the floor in a wreckage of broken glass and spilled liquor. A thick line of dark blood welled up at the corner of his mouth.
Two massive security guards rushed forward from the shadows. Crawford didn’t flinch.
“Stand down,” he said, his voice quiet but carrying absolute, crushing authority. “This is a private matter. Any damages to the club will be compensated tenfold by the Love Group. Now leave p>
The guards hesitated for a fraction of a second, recognized the man standing before them, and retreated to a watchful distance.
Crawford reached into his pocket and produced a pristine silk handkerchief. He cleaned his knuckles with unhurried calm, then looked down at Cole’s bleeding face with something resembling pity.
“You are not just blind, Cole,” Crawford said, his voice cutting through the silence. “You are a catastrophic, irredeemable idiot p>
Cole groaned and pushed himself up onto his elbows. He spat a mouthful of bloody saliva onto the floor and glared upward, his eyes burning.
“You think she wants your money?” Crawford continued, taking a slow step closer. “You think she gives a damn about your bloodline? You don’t even know who she is. You never did p>
“Shut up!” Cole roared, clutching his throbbing jaw. “She is a lying, gold-digging whore who murdered my child p>
Crawford shook his head slowly and tossed the soiled handkerchief onto Cole’s chest.
“If you are so absolutely certain she had an abortion,” Crawford said, his voice dropping to a freezing, precise murmur, “then use that massive wealth of yours to pull her medical records from NewYork-Presbyterian Hospital. Look at the admission logs from exactly six months ago p>
The words hit Cole like a jolt of electricity.
Medical records. Six months ago.
His drunken mind stalled completely. He had been so consumed by his own arrogant assumptions and blinding rage that it had never once occurred to him to verify the physical facts of her hospital stay.
Crawford turned and walked away. At the edge of the velvet curtain, he paused and glanced back over his shoulder.