Chapter 235
Chapter 235:
He had spent three years treating her like a decorative object. He had humiliated her in public. He had allowed Alycia — a woman who had stolen June’s academic work to fabricate her own credentials — to mock June’s intelligence to her face. He had waged a massive, destructive corporate war against Apex Bio, pouring his resources into crushing the company to prove his dominance, never once realizing he was trying to destroy his own wife’s empire.
“You threw away a diamond to pick up a piece of filth,” Crawford said, his voice slow and deliberate. “She endured your abuse, your neglect, and your pathetic mistress — not because she needed your money, but because she actually loved you. And you ground that love into the dirt p>
Cole’s entire worldview imploded.
He had never been a god graciously elevating a peasant. He had been a blind, arrogant fool, merely tolerated by a genius.
A broken, hysterical laugh erupted from his chest — the sound of total psychological collapse.
He raised his right hand and swung it with full force across his own face.
The crack echoed in the room. His head snapped sideways.
He raised his left hand and struck himself again. Harder. Then again. He kept going, striking himself repeatedly, needing the physical pain to drown out the suffocating enormity of his own stupidity. Blood poured from his nose and dripped down onto the financial documents scattered around him.
𝘞𝗲 𝗎p𝘥𝘢𝘁𝗲 𝖾v𝘦𝗿𝘺 𝘸𝘦𝖾𝗄 𝗼𝘯
Crawford watched for a few seconds. His expression remained utterly bored.
“Stop putting on a show, Cole,” he said, turning his back. “She doesn’t care about your pain anymore p>
He walked to the door and paused with his hand on the frame, glancing back one final time.
“Stay away from her,” Crawford said. His voice carried the quiet, absolute finality of a death sentence. “You don’t even have the right to breathe the same air as her p>
The heavy door slammed shut.
Cole sat alone in the silence, his face bruised, bleeding, and swollen. The patent documents and financial records lay scattered around him like the ruins of everything he had failed to understand.
He pushed himself slowly onto his hands and knees, his entire body shaking.
He didn’t care about Crawford’s warning. He didn’t care about his pride, his company, or what remained of his dignity. He had to see her. He had to crawl to her feet and beg for his life.
The pale gray light of early morning filtered through the massive glass windows of NewYork-Presbyterian Hospital.
The VIP intensive care corridor was completely silent, carrying the faint smell of bleach and expensive floral arrangements. June stepped out of the private elevator wearing a simple beige trench coat over a black turtleneck, her hair pulled back in a severe, professional clip. She held a sleek tablet in her hand, reviewing the adjusted dosage charts for Mr. Miller, who had been successfully stabilized overnight.
She took three steps down the polished hallway.
Her heels stopped.
Sitting on the cold metal bench outside the ICU ward was Cole.