Chapter 273
Chapter 273:
“Book my jet,” she screamed into the receiver, her face a mask of ugly, naked desperation. “The earliest possible flight to Boston. Right now p>
Back in the quiet hotel corridor, Cole and Crawford stood locked in a freezing silence. Crawford looked at Cole’s furious face and let out a low, satisfied scoff.
“It sounds like your little parasite is about to become a very significant problem,” Crawford said, his eyes gleaming with dark amusement.
The war for June Erickson was about to become infinitely more violent.
Inside the master bathroom of the Presidential Suite, June leaned her back against the cold marble door. Her entire body was trembling, and she slid slowly down the smooth stone until she hit the floor.
She wrapped her arms around her knees, breathing in short, shallow gasps. The lingering heat of Cole’s body still felt like a physical weight pressing down on her chest. This was no longer simply a toxic marriage or a battle of egos. He had crossed a line that could not be uncrossed.
The raw, physical reality of it — the way he had caged her, ignored her struggles, tried to force his mouth onto hers — ignited a primal, traumatic fear deep within her nervous system. He was a genuine threat to her safety. A man who would use brute force to break her will if his money and power failed. The disgust she had always felt for him had now mutated into something colder and more vigilant — a survival instinct.
She closed her eyes and listened as the muffled, angry voices of Cole and Crawford faded into the hallway. The silence that followed was heavy and exhausting.
𝗜𝗻𝗌𝘵а𝗇t 𝖺𝘤сess o𝗇
June opened her eyes and looked down at herself. Her trench coat was torn violently down the lapel. The white silk blouse beneath was missing three buttons, the delicate fabric ripped open to expose the pale skin of her collarbone and the lace edge of her bra. She looked like a victim at a crime scene.
She let out a long, tired sigh. She could not wear these clothes again. And because she had packed for a rapid overnight operation, her luggage held nothing else.
She waited a full five minutes to confirm the suite was empty. Then she unlocked the bathroom door, slipped silently across the living room, and retreated into her private bedroom, locking that door behind her as well.
She picked up the hotel phone and dialed the concierge.
“I need to purchase a complete set of women’s clothing immediately,” she said, keeping her voice low and steady.
The concierge was polite but deeply apologetic.
“Ma’am, it is currently four-thirty in the morning. Every boutique and department store in Boston is closed. We cannot source custom-sized garments before nine o’clock at the earliest p>
June closed her eyes. “Thank you,” she said quietly, and set the phone down.
She was stranded in her bathrobe.
Out in the living room, Crawford had re-entered the suite and sat on the leather sofa, his face a mask of cold, calculating thought. Cole paced the far side of the room, his energy erratic and dangerous.