Chapter 372
“Unless what?” Eliza asked, her voice cold.
“Unless we come to an arrangement. Let’s go to The Lighthouse. Remember? Our spot. Freshman year.”
Eliza looked at him. She hated him. She hated the way he used her history as a weapon. But she couldn’t let her father’s legacy be chopped up and sold for parts.
“Fine,” Eliza said. “One hour. And I’m paying for my own.”
The Lighthouse was a seafood restaurant perched on the edge of the East River. It used to be romantic. Now the smell of brine only reminded Eliza of the ocean where Dallas had almost died saving her.
J𝗈𝘪𝘯 𝘵h𝖾 с𝘰𝘮𝗆𝗎n𝗶𝘵у 𝗮𝘁 g𝖺𝗹𝗻𝗈𝗏𝖾l𝘴.𝘤𝘰𝗺
They sat at a window table. Damon ordered champagne. Eliza ordered ice water.
“To new beginnings,” Damon said, raising his glass.
Eliza didn’t touch hers. “The terms, Damon.”
“Direct. I like it.” He set his glass down and pulled a folder from his jacket. “It’s simple. Luna Enterprises buys the debt and restructures it. We inject capital to restart the production lines. In exchange, we merge.”
“A merger?” Eliza raised an eyebrow. “Solomon has no assets. What exactly are you merging with?”
“Families,” Damon said, leaning forward. “You marry me. We unite the names. It stabilizes my board, and it gives you your company back.”
“I am still legally married to Dallas,” Eliza said.
“The divorce decree is signed,” Damon waved a hand. “It’s just a waiting period. We can announce the engagement now.”
“No,” Eliza said. “I am not trading one husband for another. I am not a piece of property.”
“Everyone is property, Eliza,” Damon sneered. “Dallas bought you. Now I’m buying you. The difference is, I’ll actually treat you like a wife — not a doll.”
“Dallas never treated me like a doll,” Eliza defended him instinctively, then bit her tongue.
“Really?” Damon laughed. “Is that why he replaced you with a soldier? Face it, Eliza. You need a protector. And I’m the only one left.”
Eliza stood. “If that’s the deal, then let the company burn. I’d rather be poor and free than rich and shackled to you.”
She turned to leave.
“Wait.” Damon slammed his hand on the table. Heads turned across the restaurant. He lowered his voice. “Okay. Plan B. You don’t want to marry me? Fine. But I need a wife. My father is pressuring me to settle down to secure the CEO position.”
“What does that have to do with me?”
“You know the social scene,” Damon said, his eyes gleaming with a new scheme. “You know the families, the politics. Be my consultant. Help me find a wife who brings the best dowry and connections. Find me the perfect match, and I’ll forgive the Solomon debt.”
Eliza stared at him. It was absurd. It was insulting.
.
.