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Chapter 659
Chapter 659:
Cole’s fist struck the seatback. The driver flinched but said nothing.
“Follow them,” Cole said. “Don’t lose them p>
Even as the words left his mouth, he understood their futility. A black Maybach was already merging into traffic, carrying June away from him, toward a life built with the one man who had quietly and methodically dismantled every defense Cole had ever constructed.
Cole sat back. He pressed his hands flat against his thighs and forced air into his lungs.
He would find her. He always found her. It was the only fixed truth remaining in his existence, the single point around which everything else revolved.
June Erickson. His wife. His obsession. His destruction.
B𝘦 pаr𝘁 𝘰f 𝗼𝘶r 𝖼о𝗺m𝗎𝗻і𝗍y о𝗇.с𝘰𝗆
And he could not — he was constitutionally incapable of accepting — that she might belong to someone else.
The VIP suite at Madison Square Garden occupied the entire west corner of the arena’s upper level. Its floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of the stage below while maintaining complete acoustic separation from the roaring crowd.
June had been here before, years ago, in another life — when she had still believed that expensive seats said something about the quality of a person’s soul. She no longer believed that. But she appreciated the comfort: the deep leather sofas, the private bar, the way Brogan had arranged everything without fuss or ceremony.
“Drink?” He held up a bottle of Dom Pérignon, its label catching the dim light.
“Please.” June settled onto the sofa, draping her coat over the arm. The music from the arena below was audible but muted, a bass vibration felt through the floor rather than heard through the ears.
Brogan poured with practiced ease and handed her a flute before settling beside her. Not too close — he had learned that much — but close enough that she could smell his cologne, something clean and citrus-based.
“Thank you for this,” she said, and meant it. “I needed — ” she searched for the word ” — air p>
Brogan’s smile was gentle, understanding without sliding into pity. “You’ve been carrying the weight of the world, June. Let someone else hold it for one night p>
The words landed precisely. She felt something loosen in her chest, a knot she hadn’t known was there.
She raised her glass. “To air p>
“To air,” he echoed, and they drank.
The champagne was perfect — velvet bubbles, stone fruit and toasted brioche. June let it settle on her tongue and allowed herself to be present in the moment, in this rare pocket of calm.
Brogan set down his glass. His hand found hers on the sofa between them, his fingers warm and steady.
“June,” he began, and she heard the shift in his voice — the careful preparation of a man who had been waiting for the right moment. “I know this isn’t the time. I know you’re still navigating things. But I need you to know how I feel p>
She didn’t pull her hand away. That was something. That was its own kind of answer.
“Brogan p>