Chapter 335
“It doesn’t matter, Azalea,” Eliza said. Her voice was flat, devoid of inflection. “Let them handle it.”
“But — that’s the portrait,” Azalea stammered, turning to look at Eliza. Her hands were trembling. “The charcoal sketch you did of him. The one from the lake house.”
Eliza looked at the box. She remembered drawing it. She remembered the way the sunlight had hit Dallas’s face, softening the hard lines of his jaw. She remembered thinking she had captured something true.
She walked over to the mover. “Excuse me.”
The man stepped back. Eliza reached into the open crate and pulled out the framed sketch.
She looked at it. The Dallas in the picture looked back at her with eyes full of a tenderness that felt like a hallucination now.
𝘉𝖾 𝗍𝘩e 𝖿i𝗿ѕ𝘁 𝗍𝗈 𝘳e𝘢𝖽 𝗼ո 𝗀𝖺𝘭𝘯𝗼𝗏𝘦𝗅ѕ.𝗰o𝗺
“He doesn’t look like that,” Eliza said. “Not anymore.”
She didn’t hesitate. She didn’t flinch. She simply opened her hands.
The frame hit the marble floor with a sickening crack. Glass shattered, spraying across the polished stone like diamonds. The charcoal drawing tore down the middle — a jagged rip right through his heart.
The room went dead silent. The movers froze, tape guns hanging from their hands.
“Eliza,” Azalea whispered, her hand flying to her mouth.
“Throw it out,” Eliza told the movers. She didn’t look down at the wreckage. “All of it. If it has his face, his name, or his money attached to it, I don’t want to see it.”
She turned on her heel and walked toward the walk-in closet.
This space had been her sanctuary. Dallas had filled it with racks of designer clothes — Chanel, Dior, custom pieces that fit her like a second skin. A wardrobe built for Mrs. Dallas Koch.
Eliza grabbed a silk gown — the navy blue one she had worn to the gala where he first publicly claimed her. The fabric felt cool and slippery against her fingers.
“Trash bags,” Eliza ordered.
Azalea followed her in, looking terrified. “Eliza, stop. Please. That dress — he bought that for your birthday. It cost more than a car.”
“It’s a costume,” Eliza said, yanking the dress off the hanger and shoving it into a black garbage bag. “Mrs. Koch doesn’t exist. She was a character I played. And the show is cancelled.”
She moved down the line, her movements jerky and violent. Cashmere sweaters. Silk blouses. The leather jacket he had draped over her shoulders when she was cold. She stripped the hangers bare.
“You can’t just erase him,” Azalea said, tears finally spilling over. She looked as though she wanted to grab Eliza’s hands — to stop the purge — but she held back.
Eliza knew why. Dallas had threatened her. Switzerland. Exile. The girl was terrified, trapped between protecting Eliza and losing her own life.
“Watch me,” Eliza said.
She walked to the built-in safe at the back of the closet and punched in the code — her birthday. It beeped and swung open.
Inside lay a thick manila envelope.
.
.