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Chapter 387
Chapter 387:
June did not stop. She twisted the knife.
“At least the men I associate with are actually men,” June sneered, her lip curling in absolute disdain. “They are not pathetic losers so blinded by their own jealousy that they cannot control their basic impulses p>
Pathetic loser.
The insult hit Cole’s ego like a wrecking ball.
He let out a raw, furious roar. His fingers tightened around her wrist even harder, completely ignoring the pain he was inflicting.
June’s face turned pale, but she did not break eye contact. Her eyes held nothing but pure, unadulterated contempt.
Their voices had echoed across the entire lobby.
The chief of security — a massive, broad-shouldered man who had served in the Marine Corps — had already been alerted by the manager. He walked quickly across the marble floor, flanked by two tall security guards.
𝗗𝗼𝗐n𝘭oa𝗱а𝗯𝗹e р𝖣𝘍𝗌 on
He recognized Cole Compton immediately. But when he saw the dark red marks forming on June’s pale wrist, his military training overrode his corporate hesitation.
“Mr. Compton,” the security chief said, his voice carrying the heavy, absolute weight of authority. “I need you to release the resident immediately p>
Cole whipped his head around. His eyes were wild.
“Back off!” Cole roared. “This is my wife! This is family business p>
The security chief did not flinch. He stepped closer, planting his feet firmly.
“Sir, you are standing in a private residential lobby,” the chief stated coldly. “Your behavior constitutes physical harassment. If you do not release her wrist in the next three seconds, my men will physically remove you, and I will call the NYPD p>
He had stripped Cole of his “husband” excuse, reducing him to a common trespasser.
The two security guards stepped forward simultaneously, forming a tight, intimidating wall around Cole.
Cole looked at the guards. Then he looked past them.
Several wealthy residents had stopped in the lobby, smartphones raised, camera lenses pointed directly at him.
A tiny, freezing drop of rational thought finally pierced through the rage.
If he threw a punch, the CEO of the Compton Group would be on the front page of every tabloid by noon, arrested for assaulting an injured woman.
Cole’s chest heaved.
He stared at June. Then, slowly and forcefully, he opened his fingers.
He shoved her hand away with a violent, disgusted motion.
The explosive confrontation had been forcibly choked out, leaving the lobby thick with a suffocating, unresolved tension that pressed against the walls like a held breath.
Cole’s arm hung frozen in the air. His chest heaved with rapid, violent breaths. His face was a terrifying mask of dark, bruised purple.
June stumbled back half a step, catching her balance on her crutch.
She raised her right hand and deliberately, slowly rubbed her bruised wrist — brushing her fingers over her skin exactly as though she were wiping away a layer of toxic slime.
She did not look at Cole.
She turned her head and looked directly at the security chief.