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Chapter 570
Chapter 570:
Crawford shoved away the bodyguards attempting to assist him and stood on his own. He wiped his chin with the back of his hand and straightened, his chest rising and falling heavily, his eyes gone entirely cold.
He reached down and adjusted what remained of his torn lapels.
He looked at Cole pinned against the wall, still fighting the guards like something feral.
“You lost her, Cole,” Crawford said, his voice flat and merciless. “And you will never get her back p>
𝖩𝗈𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗌𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝖿𝖺𝗇𝗌 𝗈𝗇
He turned and walked out through the destroyed room, shoes crunching over broken glass, without looking back.
Cole stopped struggling. He sagged against the wall and watched Crawford’s back disappear through the doorway. The manic fire in his eyes guttered and died, replaced by something vast and hollow and suffocating that swallowed him from the inside out.
Thirty minutes later, Julian sat on an examination table in the club’s private medical room, teeth clenched against the pain as a doctor wound a thick bandage around his bruised ribs. Every breath came with a stabbing reminder of the glass table’s edge.
His encrypted phone vibrated on the counter beside him.
He pressed it to his ear, wincing.
“Julian.” Crawford’s voice came through the line. Every trace of the violence from twenty minutes ago was gone, replaced by the familiar sound of absolute, chilling calculation. “I’m telling you this off the record. I never touched June in California. Not once. I didn’t lay a single finger on her p>
Julian went completely still. “Then why in God’s name did you say that to him? You nearly killed each other p>
“Because I wanted him to feel exactly what it’s like to have his heart ripped out,” Crawford replied, without a trace of hesitation or apology.
Julian closed his eyes. The headache building behind his temples sharpened considerably.
“Listen carefully,” Crawford continued, his voice dropping to something quiet and final. “You will not breathe a word of this to Cole. If you tell him the truth, I will make certain your firm does not survive the week p>
The line went dead.
Julian lowered the phone and stared at the blank screen.
A vast, deliberate gap of false information had just been constructed around Cole Compton — and Julian was trapped squarely in the middle of it, with broken ribs and no good options.
The sharp electronic ring of the Nasdaq opening bell sounded, that morning, like a funeral dirge.
A late-night visit to a private clinic had confirmed two severely cracked ribs. Fueled by prescription painkillers and the terrifying prospect of a total market collapse, Julian had ignored the doctor’s orders to stay in bed entirely. He sat rigid in the back of his black Maybach, face pale and slick with cold sweat, one hand pressed firmly against his bandaged side, each bump in the road sending a nauseating jolt through his torso. The heavy wrapping restricted his breathing. The physical pain, however, was nothing compared to what was happening on the iPad in his other hand.
The financial charts were bleeding red, every line plunging straight down.
Message from Noa: Have a pretty good Friday dear readers, God loves you and Noa wishes you all the best. (ɔO‿=)ɔ ♥