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Chapter 433
Chapter 433:
He drove through the dark streets of Manhattan like a machine running on a broken battery, his hands steering the heavy SUV on instinct until he pulled over to the curb and put the car in park.
He looked out through the windshield.
He was parked across the street from the Apex Bio headquarters.
Only a few windows on the upper floors were still lit. He knew June was likely already home, locked safely inside her apartment. But he had nowhere else to go. He was drawn to the building like a moth to a dying flame.
𝘛𝗵𝗼𝘶sа𝗻𝖽ѕ 𝗈𝘧 𝘳𝘦а𝖽𝖾𝗋s o𝗇
He pushed the door open and stepped out into the freezing wind.
He leaned his back against the cold metal of the SUV, pulled a silver lighter and a cigarette from his pocket, and lit it. He took a long, burning drag. The nicotine flooded his lungs and did absolutely nothing to touch the agony in his mind.
He reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulled out the crumpled medical report. He unfolded it slowly and stared at the words again beneath the dim orange glow of the streetlamp.
Every letter was a razor blade drawn across the inside of his skull.
He finished the cigarette and flicked the butt onto the pavement. He lit another immediately.
The flashbacks came without mercy.
He remembered June’s pale, translucent skin after she came home from the hospital. He remembered the way she would sit on the edge of the bed and stare at the wall, tears tracking silently down her face. He remembered how thin she had grown — her collarbones sharp enough to cut glass.
He had looked at all of that pain and called it manipulation. He had called her weak. He had demanded she fulfill her duties as his wife.
He hadn’t merely ignored her grief. He had actively punished her for mourning the child he had killed and the future he had stolen.
A wave of self-loathing so violent it made him dizzy crashed over him. He bent forward, hands braced on his knees, gasping for air.
He was a monster.
He stood there for another twenty minutes. A small pile of cigarette butts gathered near his expensive shoes. The cold wind finally cut through his numbness and he shivered violently.
He needed to leave. He needed to hide.
He straightened up, eyes falling to the crumpled report in his hand. A sudden impulse seized him — he wanted it gone, wanted to burn it and erase the physical proof of his sin from the world. He flicked his lighter, held the corner of the paper to the small flame. Then a car horn blared from down the street and he flinched, his head snapping up with paranoid guilt.
In a surge of pure frustration, he crushed the paper in his fist and wrenched the passenger door open, shoving the report into a thick stack of corporate acquisition files on the seat. He threw the entire stack down with a guttural growl.