[CONTENT TEMPLATE HERE]
Chapter 837:
Crawford let out a dark, amused chuckle from the sidelines. June turned a look on him so lethal it wiped the expression from his face instantly.
“I am not a piece of territory,” she said, her voice carrying clearly through the large room. “I am not a prize for either of you to win. Take your weapons and your men and get out of my sight p>
Cole stepped forward again, closing the distance. He raised his wrist and tapped his screen, desperation bleeding into his eyes alongside something rawer and more pathetic. “I had a security detail on your building,” he said, his voice cracking. “The second they reported you were taken, I tore this city apart. I came for you, June. I am here to protect you p>
June stared at him. The words sank in slowly.
He had been watching her building. Even after she had signed the papers and walked away with nothing, he had kept her under surveillance.
A wave of pure, unfiltered disgust moved across her face.
Cole watched her expression change, and his faltered with it.
“I was fighting for my life in the back of a car,” June said, her voice steady and pitiless. “Monitoring my every movement like a prisoner has nothing to do with protection, Cole. It is sickness p>
ѕa𝘃𝗲 у𝗈𝘶𝗋 f𝖺vо𝗿𝗶𝘁𝘦 ո𝘰𝘃e𝗅𝗌 𝘰ո.сo𝗆
Cole swayed. The color drained from his face completely. He opened his mouth. No sound came out. The pain in his chest was so severe he thought his heart had stopped.
Crawford watched Cole’s collapse with the quiet satisfaction of a victor. He snapped his fingers. “You heard the lady. Show Mr. Compton the door p>
June turned her back on both of them. She walked to the entryway, ignored the fresh clothes Crawford’s staff had laid out on a chair, and picked up her own ruined coat from the console table. She draped it over her shoulders.
Cole lunged forward, his hand reaching for the hem of her coat.
June looked back over her shoulder. The absolute finality in her eyes stopped his hand mid-reach, as though he had touched a live wire.
A sharp ding cut through the silence.
The elevator doors slid open. Easton Hahn stepped out in a perfectly tailored dark charcoal overcoat. Behind him stood an NYPD SWAT commander and three tactical officers, their assault rifles raised, laser sights sweeping the room.
Easton had witnessed the kidnapping from his idling car outside the building. He had immediately mobilized his legal network, traced the traffic cameras and Crawford’s Escalade to this address, and upon hearing the breach from street level had coordinated with the SWAT unit to override the building’s elevator system entirely.
He walked past the armed mercenaries and both billionaires without acknowledging either. He went straight to June, removed his overcoat — the fabric still holding his warmth — and wrapped it around her shivering shoulders.
The moment his familiar, clean scent surrounded her, the rigid set of June’s spine eased, almost imperceptibly. Her shoulders dropped a fraction of an inch. The hard guard in her eyes softened.