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Chapter 689:
“She will see what I want her to see.” Crawford’s voice was almost tender. “She will see her lawyer, Hahn, powerless to stop the financial collapse. She will see that the man she chose is incapable of protecting her from the aftershocks. And when she realizes that the only one with the power to stabilize the market—to shelter her from the storm—is me, then she will come to me. Not as a supplicant. Not as a prisoner. But as a queen, to claim her throne p>
He turned back to the window. The city lights glittered below, indifferent and magnificent.
“Until then,” he said, “we wait. We watch from a distance. And we let her believe she has escaped p>
The security chief withdrew, silent and afraid.
Crawford stood alone in his office, his gaze fixed on the cracked tablet screen, and stared at the image of June’s laughing face until the display went dark.
She would come back.
And when she did, he would be waiting.
The Aston Martin cut through the night like a blade, its engine purring, its occupants silent with the weight of unspoken knowledge.
June watched Easton’s profile in the dashboard light, cataloging the tension in his jaw, the precision of his movements, the absolute focus with which he navigated the city’s labyrinthine streets.
“They’re still following,” she said. Not a question.
ѕ𝘩а𝘳𝖾 𝘆𝘰u𝗿 𝗍𝘩𝗈𝘶g𝗁𝗍𝗌 оn
“Yes.” Easton’s voice was flat, controlled. “Two cars back. Black SUV. Professional distance. They want us to know they’re there p>
“Why p>
“Intimidation.” Easton glanced at her, his gray eyes catching the light. “Or bait. They want us to react. To make a mistake p>
June felt her hands tighten in her lap. “And are we going to p>
Easton’s smile was sudden and fierce, transforming his face from handsome to something dangerous. “No,” he said. “We’re going to give them exactly what they don’t expect p>
He accelerated, the Aston Martin surging forward with a roar that seemed to come from somewhere deep in its mechanical soul. The city blurred around them—streetlights, storefronts, the occasional pedestrian frozen in surprise as the black car shot past.
June felt her stomach drop, felt the adrenaline spike through her veins, felt something that might have been fear or might have been exhilaration.
“Easton p>
“Trust me.” His hand found hers on the center console, gripping tight. “I’ve done this before. In another life. Just—” he glanced at her, his eyes bright with something that looked almost like joy, “—just hold on p>
He turned hard, the tires screaming against asphalt, and plunged the Aston Martin into the narrow streets of the West Village, where the roads twisted back on themselves like snakes and the buildings leaned close enough to touch.
Behind them, the SUV followed—larger, slower, struggling to navigate the tight turns.
Easton drove with absolute confidence, his hands steady on the wheel, his body relaxed into the seat as though he had been born for this. He took corners at speeds that should have been impossible, squeezed through gaps that seemed too narrow, emerged onto broader avenues only to dive back into the maze before their pursuers could catch up.
June watched him, her heart pounding, her trust growing with every mile.
“Who taught you to drive like this?” she asked, when they had finally lost the SUV in the labyrinth of one-way streets.