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Chapter 476
Chapter 476:
She had blocked him. She had completely, permanently cut off his access to her. He was the CEO of a billion-dollar empire — a man who could acquire entire city blocks with a single phone call — and he had been reduced to a blocked number.
A wave of catastrophic, volcanic rage detonated in his chest.
He let out a feral, agonizing roar, seized the heavy crystal whiskey tumbler from the table, and hurled it with everything he had at the floor-to-ceiling window. The glass shattered against the bulletproof pane and exploded into a thousand glittering shards that rained down across the hardwood floor.
“June!” Cole screamed into the empty darkness.
He shot to his feet and drove his foot into the coffee table. The heavy furniture flipped over, sending the empty bottles smashing into the walls. He was a wild animal tearing apart its own cage.
But as he stood panting in the center of the wreckage, the adrenaline collapsed without warning.
Through the haze of his rage, a single image surfaced behind his eyes. A medical document. A piece of paper he had stolen from the hospital archives.
Ectopic pregnancy rupture. Massive hemorrhaging. Premature ovarian failure.
The rage evaporated instantly, replaced by a crushing, suffocating weight of guilt.
𝘋o𝘄ո𝗅o𝘢𝘥a𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘗𝘋𝖥𝗌 o𝘯
His stomach cramped violently. He doubled over, gasping.
What right did he have to be angry? What right did he have to demand she answer his calls?
He was the monster who had ignored her desperate calls to attend a gala with his mistress. He was the monster who had forced himself on her while she was still recovering — tearing her stitches, destroying her body. He had murdered their child and permanently stolen her ability to ever be a mother.
His knees buckled.
Cole Compton — the ruthless tyrant of Wall Street — collapsed to the floor, kneeling in the middle of broken glass and spilled whiskey.
He wrapped his arms around his own chest, as though trying to hold his shattered ribs together. He buried his face in his hands.
A low, broken sob tore out of his throat. He wept in the dark — for the child he had destroyed, for the woman he had broken, and for the absolute, terrifying certainty that he was going to spend the rest of his life burning in a hell entirely of his own making.
At eight o’clock the next morning, bright Manhattan sunlight poured across the busy streets below.
June walked through the sliding glass doors of the Manhattan Veterinary Emergency Center, carrying a custom-made, temperature-controlled pet carrier. Despite the exhaustion settled deep in her bones, a soft, genuine smile played on her lips. The nightmare was over. She was going to take Snowball home, lock the doors, and spend the entire weekend holding her only true companion.
She bypassed the reception desk with a polite wave to the morning staff and walked straight to the VIP recovery ward.
She pushed open the door to Snowball’s private room.
“Hey, sweet girl, time to go p>
The words died in her throat.
The glass incubator in the center of the room was completely empty. The IV lines were disconnected, dangling from the side of the metal cart. The small fleece blanket was gone.