Chapter 89
Chapter 89:
“Until the ink is dry on those divorce papers,” June said, her voice dropping to a lethal whisper, “I am legally Mrs. Compton. You are nothing but a dirty secret p>
She took one step closer, her shadow falling across Alycia’s trembling body.
“If you ever mention my child again,” June hissed, “I will personally tear the Beasley family apart piece by piece. I will make sure your father dies in federal prison. Do you understand me p>
The sheer, suffocating pressure radiating from June closed Alycia’s throat. She couldn’t breathe. She could only nod frantically as real tears of pain spilled down her face.
June let out a disgusted breath. She stepped over Alycia’s legs and walked down the hall without looking back.
Just around the corner, Declan stood perfectly still in the shadow of the VIP elevator alcove. He had been bored by the fireworks and retired early to his suite on the same floor. He had heard the sharp echo of the confrontation and stopped. He had watched the entire thing.
He watched June’s retreating back, his heart hammering against his ribs.
𝘙𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴
“Cole,” Declan whispered to himself, a manic grin spreading slowly across his face. “You absolute idiot. You have no idea what kind of woman you just threw away p>
Alycia sat on the hallway floor, hand pressed against her burning cheek. Tears of pure hatred blurred her vision. She wanted to run up to the Presidential Suite, throw herself into Cole’s arms, show him the red handprint, and demand that he destroy June.
But she stopped herself.
Alycia was manipulative, but she wasn’t stupid. If she showed Cole her face, he would ask what she had said to provoke June. She couldn’t let him know she had used the dead baby as a weapon.
She gritted her teeth, pulled herself off the floor, and ran to the nearest public restroom. She dug into her designer purse, pulled out a heavy concealer stick, and began frantically covering the mark on her cheek.
Upstairs in the Presidential Suite, Cole was pouring his third glass of whiskey when his phone vibrated violently on the marble counter.
He glanced at the screen. Grandmother Eleanor.
His stomach dropped. He set the glass down and answered.
“Grandmother,” he said, his voice tight.
“Bring your wife back to the estate. Right now.” Eleanor’s voice came through the speaker like a whip crack — cold, authoritative, and completely out of patience.
“We’re in the middle of a corporate retreat,” Cole tried. “I can bring her back on Monday p>
“Do not test me, Cole,” Eleanor interrupted, her tone dropping to something dangerous. “I heard about your little firework display. If you and June are not standing in my living room in exactly one hour, I will freeze your access to the primary family trust. Am I clear p>
The line went dead.
Cole stared at the phone, cursed loudly, and threw it onto the sofa.
Fifteen minutes later, June walked into the resort lobby pulling her small suitcase. She had already planned to leave tonight — anything to escape the circus. She crossed the lobby, pushed through the glass doors, and stepped into the cool night air.