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Chapter 721:
“Normal,” he repeated. “You want me to be normal. To court you with dinners and theater tickets and the appropriate number of days between phone calls.” He shook his head. “I’ve tried normal, June. With women who wanted normal, who expected it, who would have been satisfied with my money and my name and the occasional appearance at their side. It bored me. It bored them. We parted ways, mutually relieved, and I thought—” he paused, navigated a particularly rocky section, his arm flexing against her back, “—I thought that was all there was. That I was built for transaction, not connection. That the thing other people felt—that hunger for another person’s presence, their thoughts, their—” he stopped, swallowed, “—their joy, was simply missing from my makeup p>
They reached a flatter section. Crawford didn’t set her down, didn’t loosen his grip, but his pace slowed, became almost conversational.
“And then I saw you. At that ridiculous gala, standing in the corner like you were waiting for someone to give you permission to leave. And you looked at Cole—your husband, the man you were supposed to love—and I saw it. The emptiness. The resignation. The absolute certainty that you were alone even in a room full of people p>
June’s throat tightened. She remembered that night. The dress that had cost too much, the smile that had hurt her face, the particular despair of performing a role she had never wanted.
“I recognized it,” Crawford continued. “Because I had seen it in the mirror every day of my life. And I thought—” he turned his head, met her eyes, and she saw something there that terrified her, something raw and unguarded and absolutely real, “—I thought, she’s like me. She’s built the same way. And if I could just get close enough, if I could just make her see p>
“See what p>
“That we could be alone together. That I could give her the one thing she actually needs. Not protection, though I can provide that. Not money, though I have more than enough. But understanding. Recognition. The absolute certainty that she will never have to explain herself to me. Because I already know p>
June looked away. The fog was thinning here, the first gray light of dawn filtering through the trees, turning the world into watercolor, into possibility.
“You’re wrong,” she said. “About what I need. About what I want. About p>
“Easton?” The name came out soft, almost gentle, absolutely deadly. “Your lawyer? The man who tore up your check and told you he wanted to be your accomplice p>
June’s head snapped up. “How do you p>
𝖲𝗵𝘢𝗋𝖾 𝘆𝘰u𝘳 f𝗮𝗏o𝗋𝗶𝘵𝗲𝘴 f𝗋𝗼𝘮
“I know everything, June. I have to. It’s the only way I can keep you safe.” He started walking again, the trail rising toward the ridge, the promise of shelter. “I know about the mac and cheese. I know about the USB drive. I know about the shell companies and the Delaware trusts and the plan to take Apex Bio back from Richard without him ever seeing you coming.” He smiled down at her, fond, patient, absolutely terrifying. “I know that you kissed him goodbye at the elevator, that you watched him leave, that you stood at the window for seventeen minutes before you went to bed p>
June felt the air leave her lungs. A wave of nausea washed over her, so intense she had to grip his arm to keep from doubling over. The mac and cheese, the quiet conversation, the safety she had felt—all of it had been a performance for an unseen audience. The violation was absolute.
“You’re p>