Chapter 389
In the penthouse medical suite of S&D Tower, Dallas sat in the dark, an oxygen mask pressed to his face. He listened to the report.
“Injured?” Dallas rasped.
“Looks like a domestic dispute,” Simmons said. “Cathey Norton was seen leaving the premises in a rage.”
Dallas closed his eyes. “He’s staging it. He’s using her empathy against her.”
“Should I intercept?”
“No,” Dallas said, his hand clenching into a fist. “Let her play nurse. If I intervene now, she’ll only see me as the villain keeping her from saving a victim. Let him dig his own grave.”
The VIP wing of the private clinic was quiet, smelling of antiseptic and lilies.
The doctor had stitched Damon up — twelve stitches in total. He was now lying in a hospital bed, looking pale and tragically handsome against the white sheets.
Eliza stood by the window, washing dried blood from her hands at the sink. The water ran pink.
R𝘦a𝘥 𝘁𝗵𝗲 la𝘁𝗲𝘴𝘁 𝘁𝗋е𝗻𝖽s o𝗻 𝘨al𝘯𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗅s.𝖼о𝗆
The door burst open. Marilyn Luna, Damon’s mother, rushed in wearing a fur coat, her eyes swollen from hours of crying.
“My baby!” Marilyn wailed, throwing herself onto Damon’s chest.
“Mom — careful,” Damon winced.
Marilyn pulled back and peppered his face with kisses. Then she turned to Eliza, seizing her wet hands and clutching them tightly.
“Eliza,” Marilyn sobbed. “Thank God for you. Thank God. If you hadn’t been there…”
“I just drove him, Mrs. Luna,” Eliza said, trying to pull her hands free. “Anyone would have done it.”
“No. Not anyone.” Marilyn shook her head. “Cathey did this — that monster. I knew she was bad news. But you — you’ve always been his guardian angel.”
“I should go,” Eliza said, growing uncomfortable. “The doctor said he’s stable.”
“Go?” Marilyn looked horrified. “You can’t go!”
“I have work tomorrow—”
“Please,” Marilyn begged, her eyes wide. “I have to deal with the police report about Cathey, and the board is calling an emergency meeting because of the rumors. I can’t stay. And Damon — you know how he gets when he’s hurt. He panics. He needs someone he trusts.”
“The nurses here are excellent,” Eliza said.
“He hates strangers!” Marilyn cried. She looked at Damon.
Damon released a perfectly timed groan. “Eliza… don’t leave me alone. Please.”
Marilyn dropped to her knees. Actually knelt on the linoleum floor.
“Mrs. Luna, get up!” Eliza was mortified.
“I won’t get up until you promise to stay the night,” Marilyn wept. “Just tonight. Until I can be back tomorrow morning. Please. For a mother’s peace of mind.”
Eliza looked at the kneeling woman, then at Damon’s pleading eyes. It was a trap. She knew it was a trap. The performance was so transparently manipulative it was almost insulting. But she also remembered Damon, years ago, being the only one to stand up for her against a bully at a debutante ball. That memory — that small, old debt of loyalty — was the real chain. A trap built of social obligation and guilt, the same two bars that had caged her for years.
“Fine,” Eliza sighed. “I’ll stay tonight. But I leave at seven.”
.
.