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Chapter 331
Chapter 331:
The suffocating silence inside the cabin had stretched for another two hours. Julian’s neck muscles were screaming from the tension. He desperately needed a shot of espresso to reset his brain.
June shifted slightly in the passenger seat, wincing as a dull ache radiated from her immobilized collarbone. She needed to stretch her legs.
Julian spotted the massive blue sign for a highway service plaza. He flicked the turn signal and guided the low-slung sports car up the exit ramp, parking near the edge of the sprawling lot, well away from the heavy semi-trucks.
“I am going inside to get coffee,” Julian announced, unbuckling his seatbelt. “Do you want anything p>
“Just water, thank you,” June replied, pushing her door open.
She stepped out into the crisp evening air and leaned her good shoulder against the sleek silver roof of the car, taking a slow breath to clear her lungs of the lingering tension.
As she exhaled, a sharp, carrying voice cut through the ambient noise of the highway traffic.
𝘛𝗵е 𝖻𝘦ѕ𝘁 𝘳e𝘢𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗴 𝘦x𝗽𝘦𝗋ieո𝖼𝖾 𝘰𝘯
“Are you completely useless?! I pay you a retainer to be available twenty-four seven p>
June turned her head toward the sound.
About fifty yards away, parked awkwardly across two maintenance spaces, was a blindingly bright, cherry-blossom pink Porsche 911 Targa with its rear engine cover popped open, exposing the complex machinery beneath.
Standing beside the disabled sports car was a figure that looked entirely alien against the grime of a highway rest stop.
The woman wore a flawless, custom-tailored Chanel tweed suit and balanced on a pair of lethal, five-inch Christian Louboutin stilettos. She was screaming into a gold-plated smartphone, her free hand waving frantically in the air.
June narrowed her eyes. The silhouette, the aggressive posture, the ridiculous car — it was instantly recognizable.
The woman violently ended the call, let out a scream of pure frustration, and stomped her foot hard against the ground.
It was a catastrophic miscalculation.
The force of the stomp drove the needle-thin heel of her Louboutin directly into a deep, sticky crack in the asphalt. The woman gasped, arms flailing wildly as she lost her balance. She managed to catch herself against the fender, but her foot was completely trapped, forcing her to stand like a flamingo, her face twisted in equal parts agony and rage.
June let out a soft, tired sigh. She pushed herself off the Aston Martin and walked slowly across the parking lot.
“Vera,” June called out.
The woman froze. She snapped her head around, her perfectly manicured hair whipping across her face.
When Vera saw June walking toward her, the homicidal fury on her face instantly melted into an expression of theatrical ecstasy.
“June!” Vera shrieked, her voice echoing across the pavement.
Vera abandoned her trapped shoe entirely. She pulled her foot free of the heel, stepped onto the dirty asphalt in her sheer stockings, and hopped on one leg toward June. She threw her arms around June’s neck, pulling her into a crushing, suffocating hug that smelled heavily of Tom Ford perfume.
June stumbled backward, her injured shoulder throbbing, but she raised her good arm and patted Vera’s back.