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Chapter 478
Chapter 478:
She got into her car and slammed the door. She gripped the leather steering wheel until her knuckles turned white, pressed her thumb against the ignition, and drove her foot down onto the accelerator.
The engine roared. The car surged away from the curb, weaving through the morning traffic.
She was heading straight for the Upper East Side — every instinct in her body screaming at her to drive directly to the Beasley mansion and tear the doors from their hinges.
But as the speedometer climbed, the cold, hyper-rational part of her scientist’s mind engaged with brutal force. A reckless, emotional assault was exactly what Cole would do. It was precisely what the Beasleys wanted — to paint her as a hysterical, unhinged woman. She slammed the brakes, the tires shrieking as she cut aggressively into the right lane. She snatched her phone from the passenger seat and dialed.
“Easton,” June said, her voice dropping to a lethal, measured calm. “I have the security footage. They took her. It’s time to destroy them — legally. I want them in handcuffs by midnight p>
The carved wooden door of the Beasley mansion stood ajar. June pushed it open with such force that it slammed against the wall, sending a sharp echo through the grand foyer. Her high heels struck the polished marble floor in hard, rhythmic blows as she marched straight toward the dining room, where the soft clink of silverware cut through the morning silence.
Richard and Martha sat at opposite ends of the long mahogany table, dressed in elegant silk robes, savoring a lavish breakfast. Richard frowned and set down his Wall Street Journal the moment he saw her. Martha’s lips curled into a malicious, expectant sneer — she had been waiting for this.
June slammed both palms onto the table. Her eyes were bloodshot, her voice raw with rage.
“Where is Snowball?” she demanded.
Martha dabbed the corner of her mouth with a linen napkin, composing her face into an expression of perfect, theatrical confusion. “Snowball? I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about, dear p>
𝗟a𝗍𝖾𝘀𝘵 𝗰hа𝗽𝗍е𝘳𝘀 𝘰ո
June picked up her phone and hurled it onto Richard’s plate, the surveillance screenshot glowing on the screen — clear, damning proof that Martha had orchestrated the theft of her rabbit. Richard’s face drained of color, his gaze sliding away from the image. Martha, however, burst into sharp, pealing laughter that rang off the high walls of the empty room.
She rose from her chair and glided to the center of the table, where a large silver cloche sat over a dish.
“Since you miss that little beast so much,” Martha purred, her voice thick with cruelty, “why not have a taste p>
She lifted the cloche. A rich, fragrant aroma of stewed meat and warm spices filled the air — a pot of French rabbit stew, its broth still gently bubbling. Then, as though the dish alone were not enough, Martha reached into her pocket and drew out a handful of bloodstained white fur. She let it fall onto the tablecloth.
June’s eyes fixed on the fur.