Chapter 128

Chapter 128:

“Five years,” he laughed — a bitter, broken sound. “Five years of waiting. Of planning. And she still chooses him p>

He collapsed onto the leather sofa, shivering violently. The adrenaline had worn off and the hypothermia was creeping back in. He didn’t care. Let the cold take him.

Hours passed. The sun began to rise, painting the city in cruel shades of pink and gold.

The elevator doors opened. Augustina Koch rushed in.

“Dallas! The hospital called — they said you signed out against medical advice! Are you out of your mind p>

She stopped. She took in the wreckage — the shattered glass, the reek of expensive scotch saturating the air — and then Dallas himself, curled on the sofa, pale as death.

“Dallas?” She crossed to him and pressed her hand to his forehead. “My God, you’re burning up p>

ѕ𝗵𝖺𝘳𝗲 𝘆𝘰𝗎𝗿 f𝘢𝘃o𝘳𝗶𝘁𝘦s 𝖿𝗿𝗼𝗆 ѕ.𝖼𝘰𝗺

Dallas opened his eyes. They were red-rimmed and empty.

“She loves him, Auggie,” he slurred.

“Who? Eliza?” Augustina frowned.

“She looked at him. She held his hand. She said it.” Dallas closed his eyes again, turning his face into the leather cushion. “I heard her p>

“You misunderstood,” Augustina said sharply. “She was concussed. She was traumatized p>

“I was there! I heard it!” he shouted, his voice cracking. He coughed — a wet, hacking sound that rattled his chest.

Augustina pulled out her phone and dialed Dr. Liam Sumner.

“Get over here,” she ordered. “He has acute hypothermia and what looks like developing pneumonia. And he’s heartbroken.” She hung up and reached for a cashmere blanket, draping it over him.

“You idiot,” she whispered, brushing the damp hair from his forehead. “You saved her life. You jumped into the Hudson in November. And you’re going to let Anson Hyde take the credit p>

Dallas caught her wrist. His grip was weak.

“Let her go,” he whispered. “If she wants him — let her go p>

He passed out.

Augustina looked at her nephew — the strongest man she knew, the man who made Wall Street tremble, undone by a girl.

Her eyes narrowed.

I’m going to find out the truth.

She left Liam to tend to him when he arrived and headed straight for the elevator. She needed to look Eliza Solomon in the eye.

Meanwhile, at the hospital, Eliza stared at the door. Waiting.

Anson played the attentive companion, feeding her ice chips.

“Here,” he said softly.

Eliza turned her head away. She felt hollow. The hero was gone, and the silence from Dallas was louder than any rejection she had ever known.

Sunday morning light filtered through the hospital blinds, harsh and unforgiving. Eliza sat up in bed, her head pounding. Every breath sent a jolt of fire through her ribs.

Anson was asleep in the visitor’s chair, his head lolling back. He looked exhausted — or maybe he was simply playing the part.

The door flew open.

Azalea burst in, her eyes red and her face blotchy from crying.

“Eliza!” She rushed to the bed and hugged her carefully, mindful of the ribs.

“Azalea,” Eliza breathed, hugging the girl back. It felt grounding.