Chapter 418
“Because I want to be Mrs. Koch,” Yvonne said, dropping the pretense. “And I need a husband who can perform. At least enough to give me an heir.”
Dallas looked at her. She was beautiful, ambitious, and completely hollow. She was exactly what he deserved.
But he couldn’t give her what she wanted. And he needed her to be the one to reject him. He needed the world to know he was discarded, so Eliza would believe it too.
“Vance,” Dallas called out.
Vance stepped back into the room, looking wary.
“Tell her,” Dallas commanded.
“Tell her what?” Vance asked.
“Tell her the diagnosis. The prognosis. Everything.”
Vance hesitated, looking at Yvonne. “Ms. Fox… the damage is permanent. It’s total nerve necrosis, a complete failure of the reproductive system. There is no blood flow. There is no sensation. And there is zero sperm production.”
Yvonne’s face fell. The calculation in her eyes shifted instantly to disgust.
“You mean…” She looked at Dallas’s crotch, then back at his face. “You’re… useless?”
Dallas smiled. It was a terrifying expression, devoid of any humor.
“I’m a monster, Yvonne,” he whispered. “A broken, empty shell. I can’t give you a child. I can’t even give you a night of pleasure.”
He pointed a trembling finger at the door.
“Now. Do you still want the ring?”
Yvonne took a step back, as if his condition were contagious. She smoothed her dress, her lip curling in a sneer.
“I don’t marry cripples,” she said coldly. “And I certainly don’t marry sterile men. Goodbye, Dallas.”
She turned and walked out, the sound of her heels fading down the hall.
Dallas listened until the silence returned.
He looked at his hand, still bleeding onto the sheets.
“Good,” he whispered to the empty room. “One down.”
Eliza sat on the edge of a vinyl chair in the hospital lobby, her body rigid, as if her spine had been replaced by a steel rod.
She had been there for three hours.
The coffee Simmons had sent down — a peace offering, or perhaps a bribe to keep her quiet — sat untouched on the low table, a cold, oily film forming on its surface.
People moved around her in a blur of scrubs and tears. A family weeping in the corner. A nurse laughing on her phone. Life, death, and the mundane, all swirling together while Eliza’s world stood frozen.
The elevator dinged.
Eliza shot to her feet, her knees knocking the table. The coffee cup wobbled but didn’t fall.
Simmons stepped out. He was alone.
“Where is he?” Eliza demanded, rushing toward him. “Is he awake? Can I see him now?”
Simmons stopped and clasped his hands in front of him. He looked like an undertaker.
“Mrs. Koch,” he said, his voice level. “Please go home.”
“No.” Eliza shook her head, her hair falling into her face. “I’m not going anywhere until I see my husband.”
“He has been transferred,” Simmons said.
“Transferred? To where? Why?”
“To a private facility. For specialized care.”
“Which facility? Tell me, Simmons!” She grabbed his arm. The fabric of his suit was expensive and smooth beneath her frantic fingers.
.
.
.