Chapter 391
The connection was tenuous, patched through a secure line to the Koch Estate’s medical wing. Dallas lay back against the pillows, the oxygen mask fogging with each ragged breath. The room was dark, the monitors casting a sterile green glow across his pale face. He had just fought his way back from the brink, his body screaming in protest.
“Boss, you’re stable.” Simmons’ voice had been tight with relief. “But… Eliza. She’s not coming. She’s at the clinic on 5th. Damon Luna was admitted with an injury. She’s with him.”
Dallas had stared at the ceiling. The words didn’t just hurt — they confirmed his deepest, darkest fear. She had chosen. While he was dying, she was at another man’s bedside. The image of her tending to Damon’s wound, her touch careful and gentle, flashed through his mind like a vision of betrayal more painful than any physical wound.
He had reached for the secure phone, his hand trembling — not with weakness, but with a cold, terrifying rage.
“Don’t,” Azalea said now, her voice pulling Eliza back to the present. “He ordered the gates locked. No visitors. Especially not you.”
“He can’t keep me out!”
“He can,” Azalea said. “Eliza, he’s really mad. Scary mad. He was too weak to yell, but he just looked at Simmons and whispered to call the finance department.”
“Finance?”
“He’s activating a contingency plan,” Azalea said, her voice trembling. “For the Solomon project. He told Simmons to enact Protocol Scorch. He said Damon is using the Solomon debt to trap you, and he won’t allow it. He’s pulling the plug before it’s too late.”
𝗗o𝗐𝗇𝗹𝗼а𝘥 PD𝗙𝘀 𝗳𝘳𝖾𝖾 о𝗇 𝗀а𝗅n𝘰𝘷е𝗅𝗌.𝗰о𝘮
Eliza stopped in the middle of the parking lot. Her car keys dangled from her hand.
He cut the funding. It wasn’t punishment — it was a tactical retreat. He was taking her last chess piece off the board so Damon couldn’t capture it. But in doing so, he was leaving her defenseless.
“I’m sorry,” Azalea was crying again. “He’s so weak, Eliza. The doctor said the episode took a lot out of him. He just lay there and whispered it. He said, ‘Tell her… if she won’t come back to safety, I’ll burn the bridge she’s trying to cross.’”
The line went dead.
Eliza stood under the harsh glare of the streetlamp.
He hadn’t died. He had woken up. And his first act, from his sickbed, was to destroy the one thing she was trying to build.
Her phone buzzed. It was Wayne from the lab.
Eliza. Bad news. The anonymous donor just pulled the grant. Effective immediately. The restoration stops tomorrow. We can’t pay the crew.
Eliza stared at the screen.
He did it. He actually did it. He wasn’t punishing her — he was caging her. He called it protection. It felt like control.
The concern she had felt for him moments ago curdled into a hard, cold lump in her stomach.
.
.