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Chapter 483
Chapter 483:
“You do not get to touch her,” Easton said. His voice was a brutal, freezing whip. “Her phone’s emergency tracker alerted my security team the moment her vitals spiked. You should be grateful I arrived in time.” He held Cole’s gaze for one devastating beat. “You did this p>
The words struck Cole like a bullet to the chest. He stopped. His arms dropped to his sides. The full, horrifying truth of what Easton had said paralyzed him where he stood.
Easton turned his gaze down to Richard and Susan Beasley.
“Enjoy your home while you still can,” he said, his tone laced with quiet, lethal promise. “Because by tomorrow morning, I am going to burn your entire lives to the ground p>
𝘑𝗈𝗂𝘯 𝘵𝗁𝗲 𝖼𝘰𝗺𝗺𝘶𝗻𝗶𝘵𝘺 a𝘵
He gathered June up into his arms, carrying her effortlessly, and turned his back on Cole. He walked out of the dining room without looking back.
Cole stood frozen in the ruins. He watched Easton carry June through the front doors. His legs gave out. He sank to his knees in the broken glass and spilled blood, his chest heaving with dry, silent sobs.
Thirty minutes later, Easton’s Porsche slammed to a halt in the VIP ambulance bay of Mt. Sinai Hospital.
A team of doctors rushed out and took June from his arms, transferring her onto a gurney with swift, practiced hands.
An hour later, the head of the psychiatric department walked out of the emergency room. He found Easton standing in the hallway, allowing a nurse to bandage his bleeding hand.
The doctor’s expression was grave. “The physical cut on her neck is superficial,” he said. “But her mental state is critical. She has suffered a total collapse — a severe relapse of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder p>
The VIP hospital room was completely silent. The only sound was the slow, rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor beside the bed. The heavy blackout curtains were drawn, casting the room in a soft, dim light.
June lay in the center of the crisp white sheets. A thick bandage was wrapped tightly around the side of her neck. An IV line was taped to the back of her pale hand, dripping a steady stream of fluids and sedatives into her veins.
Slowly, her eyelashes fluttered open.
She stared blankly at the ceiling tiles. Her eyes were completely empty. The sedatives had dulled the physical pain, but the crushing, suffocating weight of despair still pressed down on her chest like a stone.
She turned her head slightly.
Easton was sitting in a leather armchair right beside her bed. His trench coat was gone. His white dress shirt was wrinkled, and the sleeve of his right arm was rolled up, revealing a thick white gauze bandage wrapped around his palm. He was leaning forward, elbows on his knees, watching her with absolute, unwavering focus.
When he saw her eyes open, he immediately rose and stepped closer to the bed.
“How do you feel?” he asked. His voice was incredibly soft, pitched low to avoid startling her.
June looked at his bandaged hand. A single tear escaped the corner of her eye and slid down her temple, soaking into the pillow.