Chapter 315

Dallas stood there, staring at the wood. He punched the wall, hard. The pain in his knuckles was a relief compared to the pain in his chest.

The next morning, the headlines were everywhere.

SABOTAGE AT THE SPEED CLUB: WAS DALLAS KOCH THE TARGET?

Internal War at Koch Industries Leaves Hyde Heir Crippled.

Eliza read the news on her phone in the guest room. The articles speculated that a faction within S&D had tried to kill Dallas, and Anson had been caught in the crossfire.

She frowned.

She knew Anson had orchestrated this narrative, but seeing it in print made her skin crawl. It was a lie designed to make her fear for Dallas — to make her see him as a source of danger rather than safety.

She opened the door.

Dallas was on the balcony, smoking a cigarette — something he hadn’t done in months. He was leaning on the railing, staring out at the gray city. He looked lonely.

Eliza’s anger melted.

She walked out. The wind whipped her hair across her face. She wrapped her arms around his waist from behind and felt him stiffen.

“Don’t read the news,” Dallas said.

“I don’t believe it,” Eliza said. “I know Anson is lying. And I know you’re not the target.”

Dallas turned around in her arms. He dropped the cigarette and crushed it under his boot.

“I’m going to the hospital,” Eliza said.

Dallas’s face hardened.

“To tell him that the debt is paid,” Eliza continued, her voice firm and clear. “I’m hiring a full-time care team for him, and I will pay for it. But I will not be his nurse. His emotional support. His prize. His sacrifice saved my life, but it doesn’t own it.”

Dallas looked at her. He let out a long breath and rested his forehead against hers.

“Okay,” he said.

Dallas walked into Anson’s hospital room. Eliza was in the cafeteria getting coffee.

Anson was watching CNBC.

“Here to finish the job?” Anson asked without looking away from the screen.

Dallas threw a blue folder onto the bed.

“Transfer deeds. The West Side Development Project. It’s worth a billion dollars.”

Anson looked at the folder. He raised an eyebrow. “Hush money?”

“A severance package,” Dallas said. “For saving my wife. Sign it, and the debt is paid. We are even. Her obligation to you is fulfilled.”

Anson picked up the folder. He looked at the papers. Then, slowly and deliberately, he tore them in half and threw the pieces on the floor.

“I don’t want your money, Dallas. I want her.”

“She isn’t for sale,” Dallas said.

“She isn’t happy with you,” Anson said. “You’re a cripple. You’re emotionally stunted. You can’t give her what she needs.”

“I can protect her,” Dallas said.

“I almost died for her!” Anson shouted. “Can you say that?”

“I live for her,” Dallas said quietly. “Every day. Even when it hurts.”

Eliza walked in. She saw the torn papers on the floor.

“What is going on?”

“He tried to buy me off, Eliza,” Anson said, pointing to the debris. “He thinks a billion dollars equals your life.”