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Chapter 491
Chapter 491:
“Apologize?” Vera spat the word out like something rotten. “You think a bowl of expensive soup and a pathetic sorry is going to fix what you did p>
She raised a perfectly manicured finger and pressed it hard against his sternum.
“Easton gave me one job: keep you away from her,” she said, her voice rising. “And unlike you, I take my responsibilities seriously. Where was your apology when she was bleeding out from a ruptured pregnancy while you were playing house with that psychotic mistress of yours p>
Cole’s breath hitched. His face drained to the color of ash.
“Where was your apology when you let that same woman poison her pet?” Vera continued, systematically dismantling what remained of his dignity. “You didn’t protect her. You broke her. You drove her to hold a shard of broken glass to her own throat because death was literally preferable to spending another second in your presence p>
Cole squeezed his eyes shut. A violent tremor moved through his entire body. He gripped the handle of the food bag until his knuckles turned white.
“She is finally safe now,” Vera said, her voice dropping to an absolute zero. “Easton saved her life. He is giving her the peace you never could. So take your guilt, take your soup, and get out of this hospital. You make me sick p>
Cole opened his eyes. He looked through the small glass window set into the hospital door. He couldn’t see June, but he knew — Easton was the one who had caught her when she fell.
Vera was right. He was the monster. His presence was poison.
𝖥𝗶n𝘥 𝘯𝗈𝘃е𝗹 PD𝖥𝗌 𝗈𝗇
Cole slowly bent down. His movements were stiff and mechanical, like those of a much older man. He placed the insulated bag gently on the floor beside the wall.
“Tell her…” he began, but a thick knot of pure agony closed off his throat. He swallowed hard. “Just tell her I’m sorry p>
Vera looked at him with dead eyes. “She doesn’t care p>
Cole rose slowly. He turned his back on the door and walked down the long, sterile hallway — shoulders slumped, head bowed — like a king who had been stripped of his crown and cast out into the wasteland.
He stepped into the elevator. The metal doors slid shut, sealing him permanently out of June’s world.
The atmosphere inside the Beasley mansion was suffocating. The smell of the ruined rabbit stew still lingered in the air, mingling with the sharp, metallic scent of panic.
Susan Beasley sat on the edge of the velvet living room sofa, pressing a plastic bag full of crushed ice against her severely burned ankle. Her face was pale, and she whimpered softly with every small movement.
Richard Beasley paced frantically across the Persian rug. His silk robe was stained with his own blood from where June had slashed his arm. He was sweating profusely, his eyes darting around the room like those of a trapped animal.
The antique telephone on the mahogany side table rang. The sound was shrill and piercing in the heavy quiet.
Richard lunged for it, snatching the receiver from the cradle.