Chapter 148

Chapter 148:

As the heavy doors clicked shut — sealing out the wind, the noise, and everything behind her — Eliza caught one last glimpse of Anson through the glass. He was still standing at the curb, clutching his useless blue box: a man who had understood, too late, that he had been fighting a war he had already lost.

The heavy glass doors clicked shut, severing the cold street from the warm, golden light of the lobby. The sound was final — like a book slamming closed.

The adrenaline that had kept Eliza upright evaporated in an instant. Her knees buckled, and she swayed, the marble floor tilting toward her.

She didn’t hit the ground.

Dallas moved off the pillar he had been leaning against. He was there in two long strides, his hand shooting out to grip her elbow, steadying her before she could fall. His touch was firm and grounding — a stark contrast to the desperate, clawing grasp Anson had reached for just moments ago.

“I’ve got you,” Dallas murmured, his voice low against the quiet hum of the lobby. He didn’t ask if she was all right; he could feel the tremors running through her arm. He turned her away from the street, shielding her from Anson’s view through the glass, and wrapped a heavy arm around her shoulders, pulling her into his side as they walked toward the private elevator.

𝗜𝘯𝗌𝘁𝗮𝘯𝘁 𝘢cc𝘦ss 𝘰ո

The doorman stepped aside respectfully, averting his eyes from Eliza’s pale face.

Dallas pressed the call button. The doors slid open at once, as if waiting for them.

They stepped inside. As the metal doors sealed them into the quiet, upward-moving cocoon, Eliza finally let out a breath that sounded dangerously close to a sob.

She leaned against the cool wood paneling of the elevator car and watched the floor numbers climb. 10… 20… 30…

Dallas didn’t speak. He simply stood close enough that their arms brushed — a silent, steady wall.

When the doors opened directly into the penthouse foyer, the familiar scent of cedar and rain greeted them. Dallas led her to the living room sofa and guided her down gently. Then he walked to the kitchen and returned with a glass of water.

“Drink,” he said.

Eliza took the glass. Her hands were shaking badly enough that water sloshed over the rim. She drank it in one long swallow, the cold liquid shocking her system back into focus.

“He looked… pathetic,” she whispered. “I used to be terrified of him. Today, he just looked small p>

“He is small,” Dallas said. He stood over her like a sentinel.

Her phone, left on the coffee table, buzzed. The screen lit up.

Anson: Victoria Hyde is asking for you. She’s sick, Eliza. Really sick. If you don’t come, you’re killing her.

Eliza stared at the message. A wave of cold fury washed through her. The audacity of it — the same tired, pathetic lie, deployed again as if she were still the girl who would crumble under its weight. The fact that he believed her foolish enough to fall for it was more insulting than the lie itself.

“He says his mother is sick,” she said, her voice laced with ice. She tossed the phone onto the sofa as though it had burned her. “He’s using her. Again. Does he have no shame p>