Chapter 103
Chapter 103:
It wasn’t just money. Any wealthy man could buy things. This was attention. This was detail. This was obsession.
She turned to thank him, to ask him why, but the hallway was empty.
She crossed to the other door. It was slightly ajar.
“Dallas?” she whispered, peeking in.
He was lying on the bed, fully clothed — one shoe off, the other still on his foot. He had passed out completely. The beer, combined with whatever he took for his insomnia, had finally knocked him under.
Eliza stepped inside. His room was a stark contrast to hers. Grey walls, grey sheets, nothing personal. No photographs, no art. It was a cell designed for sleeping, nothing more.
𝗜ո𝘵e𝘯𝘴𝘦 𝗋о𝗺𝖺nc𝘦 𝘰𝗇
She knelt beside the bed. He looked younger in sleep, the deep lines of stress between his brows smoothed away.
She reached out and untied his remaining shoe, sliding it off gently and setting it on the floor. She loosened his collar and pulled his tie free. He stirred, muttering something unintelligible, but didn’t wake.
She drew the heavy grey duvet over him, tucking it around his shoulders.
As she began to pull away, his hand shot out.
He grabbed her wrist — not aggressively, but with a desperate, unyielding grip. His fingers closed around the bone like a clasp.
“Eliza,” he mumbled into the pillow, eyes still closed.
“I’m here,” she said softly, her heart aching.
“Don’t — leave — again,” he slurred, the words raw and pleading in a way his waking self would never allow.
“I won’t,” she promised. She told herself he meant just for the night.
She tried to gently loosen his fingers, but his grip was iron. He wouldn’t let go.
She sat on the edge of the bed, held in place.
She looked around the room. It was so lonely. Her room across the hall was full of color and life. His was just a place to exist.
The contrast broke her heart.
She stroked his hair with her free hand. It was soft and thick.
Exhaustion hit her in a wave. She couldn’t hold herself upright anymore. She lowered herself down onto the mattress — just to rest her head for a moment. She curled up on top of the duvet, her hand still locked in his.
Just for a moment, she told herself.
Sunlight sliced through the blinds and hit Eliza directly in the eyes.
She blinked awake, disoriented. She wasn’t on top of the duvet.
She was under the covers.
And she was held in a vice grip.
A heavy arm draped over her waist pulled her back against a hard, warm chest. Legs were tangled with hers. She was the small spoon in a very tight arrangement.
Panic flared for a split second — where am I? — before the smell of cedar and soap grounded her. Dallas.
She tried to inch away, creating a sliver of space.
The arm tightened instantly.