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Chapter 604
Chapter 604:
Vera couldn’t take it anymore. The suffocating tension in the room — equal parts danger and something darker — convinced her that June was about to do something catastrophically self-destructive to punish Cole.
“I… need to use the restroom,” Vera stammered. She grabbed her phone and practically sprinted out of the suite.
She locked herself in the quiet, marble-lined bathroom down the hall. Her hands were shaking as she scrolled through her contacts, found Easton’s private number, and hit dial.
It rang twice before he answered. “Vera? It’s late p>
“Easton, you need to get to The Underworld right now!” Vera whispered, her voice fracturing with panic. “June has completely lost her mind p>
A sharp intake of breath on the other end. “What do you mean? Where is she p>
“She dropped millions in Bitcoin on the most dangerous male escort in the club,” Vera babbled, tears of stress stinging her eyes. “She’s locked in a VIP room with him. She’s acting completely dead inside. I think she’s going to hurt herself by letting this man p>
CRASH.
A violent, deafening sound erupted through the phone — something heavy, like a wooden desk chair, kicked across a room and smashed into a wall.
“Keep her in that room.” Easton’s voice came back on the line. It bore no resemblance to the calm, measured tone of a corporate lawyer. It was a low, guttural snarl of pure, homicidal rage. “I’m five blocks away. Don’t let her leave p>
The heavy bass from the club’s main floor vibrated through the floorboards, a distant rhythmic thrum that felt more like a heartbeat than music.
оrg𝖺𝘯𝗶𝗓𝗲 yo𝘶𝗋 𝘭ibr𝘢𝘳y о𝗻 g𝖺lո𝗼𝘃еl𝘴.𝘤𝗈m
June leaned back against the plush velvet sofa in the VIP suite, her eyes fixed on the man kneeling before her.
Archer.
His emerald green eyes held hers with a predator’s calm assessment. He hadn’t moved since sinking to one knee, his posture perfect, his black dress shirt unbuttoned just enough to reveal the sharp line of his collarbone.
June reached into her trench coat pocket and withdrew a matte-black hardware wallet connected to a slim encrypted tablet by a coiled cable. She set the tablet on the crystal coffee table between them. The screen glowed to life, displaying a detailed dossier.
Susan Beasley.
Psychological profile. Behavioral patterns. A complete map of her vulnerabilities, her habits, her desperate need for validation. And her regular Tuesday and Thursday appointments at the Wellington Equestrian Club in Greenwich, Connecticut.
Archer’s gaze flicked to the screen. A flicker of professional appreciation crossed his face. This was not a request for companionship. This was a contract for psychological warfare.
June unlocked the tablet. Her fingers moved across the encrypted messaging interface, typing words that would self-destruct in sixty seconds.
“Become her desire. Then become her destruction. I want her publicly humiliated in front of all of New York society for what she has done p>
She slid the tablet across the table.