Chapter 32
Chapter 32:
The word hung in the air. Wife. Not a legal formality — something heavier. Possessive. Vibrating with a dark intensity that made Eliza’s toes curl inside her shoes.
He turned his gaze back to Azalea. “No trust fund access for a week. Your cards are frozen. Learn discretion p>
Azalea’s mouth fell open. “You’re joking. I have a ski trip next week p>
“Then you’d better start packing a lunch,” Dallas said coldly. “Dismissed p>
“You’re a tyrant!” Azalea shouted. She spun on her heel and stormed down the hallway. Her bedroom door slammed with a force that echoed through the penthouse like a gunshot.
Silence flooded back into the living room, heavy and suffocating.
ո𝗼𝘷elѕ і𝘯 𝘵𝗿e𝗻𝖽 o𝘯.с𝗼𝘮
Eliza stood where she was, feeling small and out of place. She looked at Dallas. He was pinching the bridge of his nose, the anger slowly draining from his face to reveal a stark, grey exhaustion beneath.
“You were harsh,” Eliza said softly.
Dallas lowered his hand and looked at her. For a moment, she saw the cracks in the armor.
“This world eats people who are loud, Eliza,” he said, his voice rough. “It chews them up and spits them out. I need you safe. Not famous p>
He walked past her toward his study. As he passed, his arm brushed against her shoulder — a fleeting contact, but it sent a shiver racing down her spine. It wasn’t cold. It was searing.
Was he controlling? Or was he terrified?
Eliza stood alone in the empty living room for a long moment, trying to understand the man she had married. He was a fortress with no visible doors.
Twenty minutes later, Eliza knocked on Azalea’s door. She was carrying a tray with two glasses of milk and a plate of Mrs. Higgins’s chocolate chip cookies.
“Go away,” came the muffled reply.
“I have bribes,” Eliza said.
The door cracked open. Azalea peered out, eyes red-rimmed. She saw the cookies and opened the door wider.
Eliza stepped inside. The room was a chaotic explosion of clothes and textbooks — a stark contrast to the sterile perfection of the rest of the penthouse.
Azalea flopped back onto her bed and grabbed a cookie. “He’s such a mood swing king,” she muttered, chewing with feeling.
Eliza sat on the edge of the mattress. “He was worried. In his own intense way p>
“One minute he’s cool, buying you a rose garden,” Azalea grumbled. “The next he’s Mr. Freeze. It’s exhausting p>
Eliza studied the teenager’s face. “Is he always like this p>
Azalea stopped chewing. She glanced at the door, then leaned in, dropping her voice.
“Since the war? Yeah,” she whispered. “He came back different. He gets intense. Especially about control and safety. He thinks the only way to keep people safe is to lock everything down. He’s not crazy — he’s just terrified of losing things. If he feels like he’s losing control of a situation, he snaps p>
It made a terrible kind of sense to Eliza. The coldness. The sudden flares of anger. The rigidity.
“Terrified,” Eliza repeated slowly.