Chapter 356

“I’m saying,” Damon smiled, “that you don’t need Dallas. Or S&D. I can fund the restoration. We make it a Luna-Solomon joint venture. You run the project, I write the checks.”

“And what’s the price?” Eliza asked. “Marriage? A public announcement?”

“Just a chance,” Damon said smoothly. “Let me take care of you, Eliza. You’re drowning. I’m offering you a raft.”

“I don’t need a raft,” Eliza said, grabbing her purse. “I need answers. I’m going to S&D.”

𝘈𝖽𝗱𝗂𝘤𝘁𝗂𝘷е 𝘀𝗍o𝗋𝘪е𝘴 on g𝖺lոо𝘃𝘦𝘭𝗌.cо𝘮

Damon’s smile faltered. “He won’t see you. I heard he’s indisposed.”

“Indisposed?” Eliza paused.

“Sick leave,” Damon said, examining his cuticles. “Or maybe just exhausted from his new extracurricular activities. Yvonne has a lot of energy.”

The name hit Eliza like a physical blow.

“I don’t care who he’s with,” Eliza lied. “I care about my project.”

“You’re wasting your time,” Damon called after her as she brushed past him. “You’re walking into a wall, Eliza!”

Eliza didn’t stop. She walked out of the Luna manor, the grand foyer cold and hollow around her. She felt like a ghost haunting a life she used to own.

She had no car. She pulled out her phone to call a ride-share.

Payment Declined.

She stared at the screen. Her personal account. The money she had saved from her own salary. Of course, she thought, a bitter laugh catching in her throat. She had anticipated this, but the sheer ruthlessness still stole her breath. He wouldn’t just freeze the joint accounts — he’d gone after everything, tying up every dollar she’d earned in litigation until she starved or crawled back. The ultimate power play.

Frozen.

She looked back at the house. Damon was watching from the window, waving the fruit bowl.

Rage — hot and purifying — flooded her veins. She would not ask him for help. She would walk to the highway if she had to.

She turned and started down the long gravel driveway. She was homeless, penniless, and alone.

But she was still Eliza Solomon. And she wasn’t done fighting.

The glass doors of the S&D Tower were familiar. Eliza had walked through them a hundred times, usually with a security detail, usually with the staff nodding respectfully.

Today, the automatic doors didn’t open.

Eliza stood there, waving her hand in front of the sensor. Nothing. The red light on the card reader blinked mockingly. Access Denied.

She pressed her face to the glass. The receptionist — a young woman named Sarah, whom Eliza had once brought coffee — looked up. She saw Eliza. Her eyes widened, and then she immediately looked back down at her computer, typing furiously.

Eliza knocked on the glass. “Sarah! Let me in!”

A large man in a gray uniform walked toward the door. It wasn’t the usual lobby guard. He was a private contractor, heavily muscled, his face like a slab of granite.

He opened the door just enough to block the gap with his body.

“Ms. Solomon,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “You are not permitted on the premises.”

“I work here,” Eliza said, her voice tight. “I am the lead on the Greenwood Project. I need to speak to Jeannine Koch.”

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