If you are looking for While I Was Bleeding Out He Lit Lanterns For Her Chapter 1 read online…
Chapter 415
Chapter 415:
Cole’s facial muscles twitched. The suffocating rage and powerlessness he felt toward June suddenly found a wide-open exit. He could not control June. But he could control this. He could fulfill a duty.
He tapped the screen and killed the speakerphone.
He looked directly at his grandmother. His eyes were hard.
“She is carrying my child,” Cole said coldly. “I have to go check on her p>
The temperature in the study dropped to absolute zero.
Eleanor’s face darkened. Her grip on the silver cane tightened until her knuckles turned white.
“If you walk out that door, Cole,” she said, her voice dropping to a lethal whisper, “do not expect to walk back in p>
The threat ignited a furious surge of pride in his chest.
June was trying to control him. His grandmother was trying to control him. They all looked at him like a pathetic disappointment.
𝗠𝗼𝘀𝘁 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝘄𝗲𝗲𝗸 𝗼𝗻
He snatched his heavy wool coat from the back of the leather chair. A sharp pain shot through his bruised knuckles as he gripped the fabric — a grim reminder of his last outburst — but he ignored it.
“That child is my responsibility,” Cole sneered, his voice completely devoid of warmth. “You wanted an heir, Grandmother. Well, you are getting one. And I will handle my responsibilities with or without your approval p>
He threw the words like a blade, watched them sink into her chest, then turned his back on her and marched out of the study.
Eleanor watched him go. Her entire body began to tremble.
She lifted her silver cane and brought it down hard against the hardwood floor. The crack echoed off the walls.
“Madam, please,” Mrs. Lynch rushed forward, hands hovering anxiously. “Your blood pressure p>
Eleanor closed her eyes. The profound, agonizing weight of a failing legacy settled in her chest.
“He is finished,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “For a third-rate actress, he has thrown away his last remaining boundary p>
Forty minutes later, Cole pushed his key into the lock of the Manhattan penthouse.
The apartment was dark.
Alycia was lying on the expensive Italian leather sofa, looking unbearably fragile. Her face was pale. A single tear rested perfectly on her cheek.
She heard his footsteps. She gasped softly and tried to push herself up.
Her arms gave out. She collapsed weakly back against the cushions.
Cole walked into the living room and shrugged off his coat. A deep wave of exhaustion and mild disgust washed over him, but he forced his expression to relax. He was playing his part.
He walked to the kitchen island, poured a glass of warm water, and carried it back to the sofa.
He held it out to her.
Alycia took it with shaking hands, then leaned forward and pressed her face against his stomach, wrapping her arms around his waist.
“I was so scared, Cole,” she whimpered, her tears soaking into his shirt. “I was so terrified something was wrong with the baby p>
Cole’s body went completely rigid.
He slowly raised his hand and patted her back — a stiff, mechanical motion, like a machine programmed to simulate comfort.