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Chapter 352
Chapter 352:
“Madam… Madam ordered her things moved,” the housekeeper stammered, her voice barely a whisper. “She moved into the furthest guest room p>
Cole’s face turned the color of bruised iron. The muscles in his jaw locked so tight his teeth ground together audibly.
“The guest room?” Cole repeated. The words twisted in his mouth.
The sheer, absolute disrespect of the action hit him like a sledgehammer. His massive, fragile ego suffered a catastrophic fracture.
He turned and marched down the east corridor, his heavy footsteps pounding against the hardwood floor, driven by a dark, urgent need to tear down whatever barrier she had erected between them.
He reached the end of the hall. He grabbed the handle of the guest room door and twisted it violently.
It didn’t move.
The cold, final resistance of the lock pierced his chest with something far worse than anger — rejection — before the rage consumed everything else. The locked door wasn’t just a locked door. It was a judgment.
Cole grabbed the handle with both hands and yanked it backward with all his strength. The heavy wood rattled against the frame, but the lock held firm.
𝖠𝗰𝘵𝘪𝗏𝘦 𝗰о𝗺𝗆𝘶nі𝘁y 𝘰n ѕ.co𝘮
“June!” Cole roared, slamming his open palm against the thick wood. The sound echoed like a gunshot through the quiet apartment. “Open this door! What kind of psychotic game are you playing p>
He pressed his ear to the wood.
Nothing. Absolute, suffocating silence.
She was in there. He knew she was in there. But she was ignoring him completely, treating him as though he did not exist.
The silence was a million times worse than her screaming. It drove a spike of pure madness directly into his brain.
Cole stepped back and kicked the door hard beside the handle. The heavy wood groaned in protest but did not give an inch.
He looked closely at the locking mechanism. The standard brass handle was gone. In its place was a heavy, matte-black keypad with a glowing red biometric scanner.
She had installed a military-grade deadbolt. She was treating him like a violent home invader.
The alcohol in his blood ignited with his rage, burning away the last remaining shreds of his restraint. His possessive obsession curdled into something dark and dangerous.
He turned his head slowly toward Mrs. Lynch, who was cowering at the end of the hallway.
“Go to the utility closet,” Cole ordered, his voice dropping to a terrifying, deadly calm. “Bring me the master keys and the heavy toolbox. Now p>
Mrs. Lynch burst into tears. She shook her head frantically, pressing her back against the wall.
“Sir, please!” she begged. “Madam had the security team install a high-grade anti-breach lock! There is no master key! You cannot open it p>
Cole stared at the glowing red light on the scanner. His mind snapped completely.
He reached up and tore the top three buttons from his dress shirt, needing air. If she thought a piece of metal could keep him out, she was dead wrong. A low, feral sound rose from his throat, his fingers curling into tight, trembling fists.