Chapter 158
Chapter 158:
He took a long drink of wine. “So they sent me away. To toughen me up. Or kill me. I was never entirely certain which they preferred p>
“I was ten,” he continued, his eyes fixed on the scar. “I learned to hunt before I learned algebra. This” — he touched the burn mark — “was from a hazing ritual. I didn’t cry. That was the rule p>
Eliza’s heart broke quietly inside her chest. She had always assumed he was a spoiled prince, born into power and ease. She understood now that he was something else entirely. He was a survivor.
“That’s why you’re so hard,” she whispered. “Why you built walls p>
“I had to be,” he said, looking at her. “Until I met you p>
а𝗱𝗱𝗂𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘷𝖾 𝘀𝘵𝗈ri𝖾𝘀 оn ѕ.c𝘰𝘮
“Me? I was just a charity case,” she said.
“You were the only thing that felt soft,” he said. “That day in the garden, five years ago. I had just come back from a tour. I was angry at everything. You were reading under a tree. I scraped my knee on the stone bench, and you — without even looking up from your book — just held out a bandage. A ridiculous pink thing with a cat on it. You didn’t seem to notice me at all p>
Eliza blinked. A memory surfaced — not of a face, but of a shadow, a fleeting presence. The lost book. The forgotten bandage.
“I didn’t know that was you,” she whispered.
“I know. But I knew,” he said. “You were the first person who didn’t look at me like I was a monster p>
He paused, and when he spoke again, his voice carried the faintest crack. “I’m not a curse, Eliza. But I am damaged p>
Eliza took his scarred hand in both of hers. She lifted it slowly and pressed her lips to the burn mark.
“You’re not damaged,” she said, smiling through the blur of tears. “You’re just… textured p>
Dallas looked at her the way a man looks at something he had stopped believing he deserved — like salvation, like the only fire capable of warming him through.
“Stay tonight,” she said. “Not because of the storm p>
“Are you sure?” His gaze was steady and intent.
“Yes,” she said.
He leaned in. The kiss was gentle and unhurried — reverent, not hungry. It wasn’t about desire. It was about healing. A quiet seal on something new, forged in the truth of his scars and the warmth of her hands.
Sunlight streamed into Eliza’s bedroom, bold and uninvited.
She woke up wrapped in warmth. Dallas was the big spoon, his arm draped heavily over her waist, holding her as though she were something he refused to lose.
They hadn’t had sex. They had simply slept. It was intimate in a way that felt more dangerous than anything else could have been. She traced the line of his jaw with one finger. He woke instantly, his eyes snapping open — clear and alert before she had even pulled her hand back.
“Morning.” His voice was gravelly, vibrating against her back.
“Morning,” she smiled, turning to face him. No regret. Only peace.