Chapter 234
Chapter 234:
“Exactly,” Dallas said. “You are a liability. A risk. A danger to my stability.” He stepped close and cupped her face in his hands.
“And yet,” he whispered.
“I am hopeless. I am absolute. I would burn this tower down to keep you.” His voice broke. “This isn’t gratitude. This isn’t a scheme. This is obsession. Love. Whatever you want to call it.” He held her gaze. “I don’t want you because I owe you. I want you because I am empty without you p>
The raw confession hit Eliza like a wave, washing away Anson’s poison, dissolving the doubt entirely.
“You really love me,” she whispered.
“More than I should,” Dallas said. “More than is safe p>
𝖱𝗈m𝘢𝗻ce 𝗇о𝘃е𝗹s 𝘰ո
Eliza threw her arms around his neck. “Then keep me.” She kissed him. “Risk and all p>
Dallas kissed her back. It was a seal. A vow.
The cold war was over. The walls were down.
“My parents are coming back,” Dallas murmured against her lips. “Next week p>
“Let them come,” Eliza said, feeling brave in his arms. “We’ll face them p>
“They will try to separate us,” Dallas warned.
“They can try,” Eliza smiled.
Dallas held her tight. He knew the storm that was coming with Ferd and Jeannine. But here, high above the city, holding her in the quiet of his office, he had everything he needed.
The morning light filtered through the sheer curtains of the master bedroom, casting long, pale strips of illumination across the tangled sheets. It was a quiet, grey sort of light — the kind that usually promised rain — but right now it felt peaceful. The air was still, heavy with the scent of sleep and the warmth of the night before.
Eliza stirred, her body feeling heavy and loose all at once. The movement made her aware of the weight draped across her waist — a solid, warm arm. Dallas.
She turned her head on the pillow. He was already watching her. His eyes were open, clear, focused entirely on her face. There was no sleep in them, only a deep, possessive calm that made her breath catch. His hair was messy, falling over his forehead in a way that made him look younger — less like the CEO of Koch Industries and more like the man who had held her while she fell apart.
“Good morning, Mrs. Koch.” His voice was a low rumble, vibrating against her chest where they lay pressed together.
A flush of heat rose up her neck. The title still felt new — heavy and thrilling at once. The memories of the previous night flooded back: the confession in his office, the truth about the debt and her mother, the desperate, consuming need they had finally stopped fighting.
“Good morning,” she whispered.
She reached out and traced the faint, jagged white line of the scar on his shoulder — a physical map of his pain, a reminder of the violence he had survived and the violence he was capable of unleashing to protect her.