Chapter 348
Eliza stirred the soup. She knew exactly what this was. The Lunas had been trying to acquire the Solomon shipping routes for decades. Now that Eliza was free, they saw an opening.
“Thank you, Marilyn,” Eliza said politely. “But I’m not staying long. I have work.”
Victor Luna, Damon’s father, walked past the open door and paused to sneer. “Work? At S&D? You think Dallas is going to keep his ex-wife on the payroll? You’re a laughingstock, Eliza. The discard pile.”
“Victor!” Marilyn chided, though she didn’t look particularly upset.
Eliza’s grip on the spoon tightened. “I have a contract,” she said, her voice steady. “And I am the lead restorer on the Greenwood project. Dallas cares about profit. He won’t fire his best asset.”
“Asset,” Victor laughed. “Honey, you were a trophy. And now you’re pawned.”
He walked away.
Eliza stared at the soup. A fire kindled in her chest. Discard pile. Pawn.
𝗝𝗼iո 𝘵𝗁𝘦 c𝗼𝘮mun𝗂𝘵𝘺 at g𝗮𝗹𝗇𝗈𝘃е𝗹𝘀.𝖼о𝘮
“I’ll show you,” she whispered.
The TV in the corner was on low volume. A breaking news banner flashed red.
GRISLY DISCOVERY IN UPPER EAST SIDE. Man found beaten on private lawn. Police suspect gang violence.
The camera showed a blurred image of a body being loaded into an ambulance. Eliza glanced at it, a strange shiver running through her, but she didn’t recognize the twisted figure of Estevan.
Damon walked in, smelling of expensive scotch. He turned off the TV.
“Depressing stuff,” he said. “Listen, Eliza. There’s a charity gala this Saturday. The Met. I want you to be my plus one.”
“I’m not going to a party, Damon,” Eliza said. “I’m mourning my marriage.”
“Dallas will be there,” Damon dropped the bait. “With Yvonne. It’s their first public appearance as a couple.”
Eliza froze.
He’s taking her?
“Front row,” Damon smirked. “Showing her off. If you stay here hiding, everyone will say you’re broken. But if you walk in there on my arm — looking like a billion dollars — you win.”
Eliza looked at Damon. She knew he was using her. She knew he wanted to parade her around like a prize he had stolen from Dallas.
But the thought of Dallas and Yvonne laughing, drinking champagne, while she rotted in this gilded room —
This wasn’t about hiding anymore. This was about fighting back. Showing him, and the entire world, that she was not a victim.
“Get me a dress,” Eliza said. “Red. The color of war.”
The room was stark, its concrete walls lined with maps. General Higgins sat behind a metal desk, turning a small bronze medal over in his fingers.
Dallas sat opposite him. He had cleaned up and changed into a fresh suit, but he still looked like death warmed over.
“This is for Operation Aleppo,” Higgins said, sliding the medal across the desk. “Intelligence confirmed your intel saved two covert ops teams. You’re a hero, Ghost.”
Dallas didn’t touch the medal. “I didn’t do it for the flag, General. I did it to kill the men who murdered my friends.”
“Motives don’t matter in the history books,” Higgins said. “Now, about this request. Ghost Protocol protection for a civilian? Eliza Solomon?”
.
.