If you are looking for While I Was Bleeding Out He Lit Lanterns For Her Chapter 1 read online…
Chapter 580
Chapter 580:
But admitting that her golden ticket was disintegrating, in front of her parents who had staked everything on her performance, was something she was constitutionally incapable of doing. She forced her face into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes and didn’t quite look like a real one.
“He’s just under enormous pressure with a new deal,” she said. The lie tasted like ash. “He’s fine. He said he’s too busy tonight, but told us to go ahead and enjoy Le Bernardin on him p>
The evening lights of Manhattan flickered on one by one, painting the city in layered shades of gold and neon.
June sat alone in the expansive living room of her penthouse, the chaos of Easton’s office finally behind her. She looked out at the unbroken stream of headlights moving far below and let the rare, absolute quiet settle around her.
The apartment intercom buzzed.
“Ms. Erickson,” the head of building security said through the speaker. “We have a priority delivery requiring your physical signature p>
“Send them up p>
A minute later, a uniformed guard wheeled a heavy, reinforced wooden aviation crate into the foyer. June checked the shipping label. The origin address was a P.O. Box in Carmel-by-the-Sea, California.
𝗙о𝗹𝗅о𝘄 𝗎𝘴 𝗈𝗇
She signed the delivery pad, and the guard left.
She retrieved a pair of heavy scissors from the kitchen, cut through the nylon straps, pried the wooden lid free, and pulled away successive layers of dense shockproof foam.
Nestled in a bed of black velvet was a glass object.
June’s breath caught.
It was the deformed, ugly lump of glass she had ruined in the hot shop — the piece she had abandoned on the scrap table without a second thought.
But it was no longer ugly.
A master craftsman had taken that pitted, twisted failure and transformed it. The deep cracks and surface flaws had been filled and fused with veins of pure liquid gold using the ancient Japanese art of Kintsugi. The result was a breathtaking, singular piece of postmodern art — something that could only have come from that specific act of ruin. Whoever had arranged this must have moved the moment she walked out of the studio, mobilizing artisans and a private jet overnight to make it happen.
Tucked beneath the base was a thick cream-colored card.
No signature. Just one line, written in sharp, aggressive, unmistakably masculine handwriting:
Even broken, it is priceless.
June recognized the hand immediately. Crawford.
A complicated wave moved through her — a slight unease at the reach it implied, at the invisible surveillance it confirmed, followed by something she was less prepared for. The obsessive, painstaking care he had put into rescuing her discarded failure loosened something tight and angry in her chest that she hadn’t realized was still there.
She set the card down.
Her phone rang.
The caller ID read: Brogan Clements, CEO, Apex Bio.
“June, are you free tonight?” His voice was alive with barely contained excitement. “I just pulled a major string. I got you a meeting p>
June walked to the kitchen island and poured a glass of cold water. “With whom p>