Chapter 236
Chapter 236:
“No.” Azalea shook her head. “They want us on their turf. The Estate.” Her lower lip trembled. “I’m not going. I can’t. Grandpa Ferd — he looks at me like I’m dirt. You know how he gets p>
Dallas reached out and placed a hand on top of Azalea’s head — a grounding, protective gesture. “You don’t have to go,” he said softly. “They’re coming for me. I don’t want you in the crossfire. I’ll handle them p>
“No,” Eliza said.
Her voice was quiet but firm. Both Dallas and Azalea turned to look at her. Eliza felt her heart hammering against her ribs, but she lifted her chin. She wasn’t the woman who hid in the guest room anymore. She wasn’t the victim Anson had made her.
Do𝘄ոloа𝘥 р𝗗F𝘴 𝖿𝘳𝘦𝗲 oո gal𝘯𝗈𝗏е𝘭s.с𝘰𝗆
“We go together,” Eliza said. “I’m your wife. I don’t hide p>
Dallas looked at her. Surprise flickered in his eyes, followed quickly by fierce pride. He nodded slowly. “Okay. We go to war p>
Azalea stared at Eliza with a mixture of awe and horror. “You’re brave,” she whispered. “Or stupid. Grandpa Ferd is a monster. He eats people like us for breakfast p>
“Why?” Eliza asked. “Because I’m a Solomon p>
“Because he thinks I’m the daughter of a traitor,” Azalea whispered — the words slipping out before she could stop them. She covered her mouth, her eyes darting to Dallas.
Dallas’s face darkened. “That’s what he calls a hero he couldn’t control.” He looked at Azalea. “Go get dressed. Wear something armored p>
Azalea nodded and bolted down the hall.
Dallas turned back to Eliza. He reached out and buttoned the top button of the shirt she was wearing, his knuckles grazing her throat.
“Get ready, Mrs. Koch,” he said grimly. “The honeymoon is definitely over p>
Before Eliza could respond, Dallas had already turned toward his closet. The casual, relaxed man in sweatpants was gone. In his place was a commander preparing for battle. He moved with swift, brutal efficiency — stripping off the sweatpants, pulling on perfectly tailored black trousers, selecting a crisp white shirt. His movements were precise as he fastened each button, then the platinum cufflinks at his wrists. Each click was a punctuation mark in a silent declaration of war. He slid into a dark suit jacket that fit his broad shoulders like a second skin, and the transformation was complete — the formidable CEO, a predator donning his hunting attire.
Eliza stood in the center of her walk-in closet, surrounded by rows of clothing that looked more like costumes for a life she was still learning to inhabit. The air conditioning hummed softly, but sweat pricked at her hairline.
Azalea sat on the velvet ottoman in the center of the room, chewing aggressively on her thumbnail. She had changed into a black dress that was surprisingly conservative for her — high-necked, long-sleeved. A stack of LSAT prep books rested on the floor beside her, a stark reminder that while she was only a nineteen-year-old college sophomore, Dallas was already rigorously grooming her to survive the corporate warfare of the Koch empire. She looked like she was going to a funeral.