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Chapter 779:
Her throat tightened. She thought of Mrs. Higgins in the Queens bakery that morning—her gnarled, maimed fingers wrapped around a rolling pin, her voice steady as she said, “I will never bow to vampires like the Beasleys.” In that moment, June finally understood. Revenge wasn’t only about destroying the people who had killed her parents. It was about protecting the people who couldn’t protect themselves. About making sure no one else ever had to suffer what she had suffered.
Easton returned to the sofa carrying a steaming bowl of soup. He knelt in front of her, his dark eyes soft with concern. He scooped up a spoonful, blew on it gently, and held it to her lips.
“Whatever you want to do, whatever fight you have left to fight,” he said, his voice deep and unshakable, “I will be your sharpest sword and your strongest shield. Always p>
June opened her mouth and took the spoonful. The warm broth spread heat through her chest, chasing away the cold settled deep in her bones. Her muscles slowly relaxed, and she leaned back against the cushions.
When she had finished eating, Easton filled a basin with warm water and brought a clean towel. He knelt again and gently removed her shoe and sock, ignoring her protests. He unwrapped the old bandage from her ankle, which had grown red and inflamed from the hours spent in the rain-soaked cemetery. He cleaned the wound with careful, precise movements, his touch so light it seemed he was afraid of breaking her.
When he was done, he applied a fresh bandage, sat on the edge of the sofa, and drew her gently into his arms, her head coming to rest against his chest. June closed her eyes and listened to the steady, strong beat of his heart. For the first time in seven years, her mind went still. There were no more plots to plan, no more enemies to outmaneuver, no more lies to maintain. Just the warmth of his body and the crackle of the fire.
“Will it really be over tomorrow?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.
Easton kissed the top of her head, his lips soft against her hair. “Tomorrow,” he promised, “the name Beasley will be erased from the map of New York forever p>
In the warm glow of the fireplace, June’s breathing slowed and deepened. She fell into the deepest, most peaceful sleep she had known in seven years. Easton didn’t move. He held her and stared into the flames, his gaze hardening to the cold, patient stillness of a man who has already won and is simply waiting for the dawn.
а𝖽𝗱𝗂𝗰tіv𝖾 𝗌𝘁𝗼r𝘪𝘦s 𝗈𝘯
It was two o’clock in the morning. The penthouse on Fifth Avenue was dark, the only light coming from the neon glow of the Manhattan skyline filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Cole sat alone in the armchair by the window, staring out at the sleeping city below. Several empty whiskey bottles littered the floor at his feet, and the air reeked of alcohol and despair.
He had been sitting there for six hours—not moving, not speaking, just drinking. The events of the past week played on a loop in his mind: June’s cold, unforgiving eyes, Alycia’s increasingly desperate lies, the creeping certainty that he had been played for a fool by everyone around him.