Chapter 275

Chapter 275:

And to Dallas, standing in the dark and the rain, it was the truth.

He felt something break inside him — not a crack, but a complete structural failure. The desperate hope he had clung to on the drive over, the last fragile belief that there was a misunderstanding, evaporated entirely.

She was a liar. A beautiful, perfect liar.

He couldn’t watch anymore.

Dallas turned away from the window. He stumbled, his foot sliding in the mud, and went down on one knee. The rain beat against his back, mixing with the earth beneath him. He pushed himself up, swaying, and walked back to the car.

The winding coastal road was treacherous even in good weather. In a storm, at night, with a drunk and heartbroken man behind the wheel, it was a death trap.

𝘛𝗋𝗲𝘯𝘥іn 𝘰ո

The speedometer on the Maybach climbed. 90… 100… 110 mph.

Dallas didn’t care. He wanted to outrun the image burned into his retinas. Eliza on the counter. Eliza kissing Anson.

“Why?” he screamed, slamming his hand against the steering wheel. The leather groaned under the impact. “I gave you everything p>

He had built a world for her. He had destroyed her enemies. He had opened his veins and bled for her.

And she had gone back to the man who caged her.

His phone buzzed on the passenger seat. Zane was calling.

Dallas ignored it.

He came around a sharp bend. The headlights cut through the dark, illuminating the wet asphalt.

Suddenly, a pair of high beams blinded him.

A black, unmarked semi-trailer truck — its lights off until the last second — deliberately swerved from the opposite lane and rammed his rear quarter panel.

Dallas reacted on instinct. He yanked the wheel to the right, but it was already too late. The chassis groaned, the electronics shorted for a split second — long enough for the steering to lock.

Sabotage.

The tires lost traction on the slick road. The heavy car hydroplaned, spinning, the world dissolving into a blur of motion and fragmented light.

The car slammed through the guardrail. Metal screamed as it tore apart. The Maybach tumbled down the embankment, rolling once, twice.

Glass exploded inward. The airbags deployed with a violent, blunt force.

The car came to rest against a massive oak tree at the bottom of the ravine.

Silence.

Steam hissed from the crushed radiator. The rain drummed a soft, indifferent rhythm against the twisted metal roof.

Dallas was pinned in the driver’s seat. Blood ran down his forehead, blinding one eye. His leg was trapped beneath the collapsed dash.

He tried to move. His body refused. Pain — white-hot and searing — tore through his lower half.

His phone, miraculously intact, had landed on the floor mat. The screen lit up.

Incoming Call: Eliza.

Dallas turned his head. It took every ounce of strength he had. He looked at her name.

She was calling. Probably to tell him she was coming home. Probably to lie to him again.

His finger twitched toward it. He could reach it. He could answer.