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Chapter 712:
“Last night,” he continued, his voice dropping to a whisper, “you tore up a piece of paper. But what you were really doing was offering me a way out. A clean break. And I need you to understand—” his hand slid to her jaw, cupping her face, his palm warm against her cheek, “—I’m not taking it. I’m not going anywhere. Not because you need me. Because I choose to be here. With you. In this p>
June closed her eyes. She felt the pressure of his fingers, the steadiness of his presence, the absolute, terrifying safety of being seen.
“Show me,” she whispered.
Easton’s hand dropped. He stepped back, just enough to let her breathe, and gestured toward the hallway.
“Your laptop p>
“In the study p>
She led him there, the drive clutched in her palm, her bare feet silent on the hardwood. The study was small, dominated by a desk she had barely used, a chair still wrapped in plastic.
Easton pulled out the chair for her. Waited while she sat. Plugged the drive into her laptop himself, his fingers brushing hers as he withdrew.
The screen lit up. Files. Diagrams. The intricate architecture of corporate warfare, rendered in lines and boxes and legal citations.
𝗙𝗂ո𝘥 𝗻о𝗏𝖾l рD𝖥𝘴 on 𝗀𝗮ln𝗼𝘃е𝗹ѕ.𝖼𝘰𝘮
June leaned forward, her mind engaging, the familiar pleasure of complexity, of strategy, of absolute intellectual mastery.
Behind her, she heard Easton move to the window. Heard the soft tap of his phone, the muted vibration of a message sent.
She didn’t look up. Didn’t need to.
She knew what he was doing. Knew that somewhere in the city, in offices she would never see, wheels were already turning, accounts being opened, the first moves of a game that would end with Richard Beasley destroyed and Apex Bio hers.
And she knew, with a certainty that settled deep in her chest, that Easton Hahn was not her lawyer anymore.
He was her weapon. Her shield. Her co-conspirator in the dark.
June smiled, and began to read.
The study’s blue light had faded to gray. June pulled the USB drive from her laptop—the plastic warm from hours of use—and set it on the desk with a soft click.
Two hours. Maybe three. She had lost track of time, lost herself in the architecture of shell companies and trust structures, the elegant mathematics of regulatory arbitrage.
She rolled her shoulders. Felt the tension there, the familiar ache of concentration, of absolute focus.
“Finished p>
Easton’s voice came from the doorway. She turned and found him watching her, his posture relaxed against the frame, his jacket draped over one arm, his shirt sleeves still rolled to the elbow.
“For now.” She stood, stretched, and felt something in her stomach twist. A hollow, insistent pressure.
The antique clock on the mantel chimed. Two o’clock. The sound was delicate, almost apologetic in the silence.
June’s stomach growled.
She froze. Felt heat rise to her cheeks, the particular embarrassment of bodily betrayal at the worst possible moment.
Easton’s eyebrow lifted. “Hungry p>
“I—” she started, stopped, forced herself to meet his eyes. “I haven’t eaten since breakfast p>
“And that was p>
“Seven hours ago. At least p>
Easton pushed off from the doorframe. Crossed to her in three strides, close enough that she could see the smile playing at the corner of his mouth, the warmth in his eyes that hadn’t been there when he arrived.