Chapter 91

Chapter 91:

“You’re disgusting,” Eliza spat. She clutched the pharmacy bag to her chest.

“I saw a car,” Anson said, glancing down the street where the Maybach had just disappeared. A smirk spread across his face. “Maybach. Tinted windows. Looked like Koch’s p>

Eliza turned quickly. The street was empty, rain slicking the dark asphalt.

“He was watching you,” Anson laughed — a cruel, grating sound. “And then he left. He saw us. He saw me holding you, and he ran p>

“He didn’t run,” Eliza said. But a cold knot of doubt tightened in her stomach. Why had he left?

“He abandoned you, Eliza.” Anson stepped closer, his voice dropping to a murmur. “He saw you with me and decided you were damaged goods. He doesn’t want to fight for you. He just wants the easy win p>

“He trusts me,” Eliza said. Her voice lacked the steel it had carried earlier.

“Does he? Or does he just not care enough to get his hands dirty?” Anson let the seed fall.

𝗙o𝗅𝗅𝗈𝗐 𝗎𝘀 𝘰n

“Let’s go inside.” He reached for her elbow.

Eliza sidestepped him. “I’ll walk. It’s two blocks p>

She turned and walked away as the rain began falling harder.

Anson didn’t follow on foot. He got into his car and drove slowly behind her, the headlights casting a long, distorted shadow of her across the wet pavement. He was stalking her, herding her like cattle.

Eliza felt the heat of the lights on her back. She felt trapped. She pulled out her phone. No messages from Dallas.

Did he see? Is he angry?

She reached Hyde Manor. The iron gates loomed overhead, gothic and imposing, like the entrance to a mausoleum.

Inside, Victoria was waiting in the parlor, wrapped in a cashmere shawl. She looked pale, but not dying.

“Eliza! You came!” Victoria exclaimed, extending a frail hand.

Eliza walked over and took it. “I’m here, Victoria p>

Anson entered behind them, shaking the rain from his umbrella. “Family reunion,” he said smoothly. “Just like old times p>

Eliza felt a chill that had nothing to do with the rain. She was in the wolf’s den.

Later that night, in her old guest room — redecorated with unsettling accuracy to how it had looked when she was sixteen — Eliza sat on the edge of the bed.

She texted Dallas.

Safe. Goodnight.

She waited. One minute. Ten minutes. An hour.

Finally, a message came through.

Sleep well.

Two words. No I love you. No Miss you. No Goodnight, wife.

Eliza stared at the screen until it went dark. He was angry. He had seen something, or he hadn’t seen enough. The silence from the penthouse felt louder than the storm outside.

The Koch penthouse was quiet, but it wasn’t peaceful. It was the silence of a held breath.

Azalea sat on the kitchen counter, kicking her heels against the cabinet doors. Mrs. Higgins chopped vegetables with aggressive force.

“Where is everyone? It’s like a morgue in here,” Azalea complained.