Chapter 161
Chapter 161:
“Anson,” Azalea breathed, her hand rising to cover her mouth. “But why would he leak it? He hates the idea of you two together p>
“He doesn’t need to hunt her — he already knows who she is,” Dallas said, his voice dropping to something quiet and dangerous. “This isn’t about finding her. It’s about exposing her. He can’t reach me. He can’t reach her physically. So he’s using the press as a weapon p>
He paused, the silence carrying more weight than the words that followed. “He starts a public hunt for ‘Mrs. X.’ The press digs, gets desperate, and eventually they find her. And when they do, Anson will be waiting with his narrative: the poor orphan, the gold-digger who trapped a grieving billionaire. He wants the world to tear her apart until she’s so broken she believes running back to him is the only safe harbor left p>
Dallas moved back to his desk and placed both hands flat on the polished surface. His knuckles were white.
“This isn’t just about Eliza,” he said. “He’s trying to smoke her out by setting the entire forest on fire. He’s putting a target on every woman I’ve spoken to in the last year p>
“He’s hunting you, Dad,” Azalea whispered.
“Let him hunt,” Dallas said. A dark, predatory stillness settled over his expression. “He’ll find a predator, not prey p>
𝖣𝗼ո’t 𝗺іѕ𝗌 𝗇𝖾w r𝖾𝗹𝘦𝖺𝗌е𝗌 𝗈n
He looked up at Weston. “Scrub the photo. Kill the thread. Contact the platform administrators directly. If anyone publishes Eliza Solomon’s name in connection with this, sue them into poverty. I want that image gone within the hour p>
“Understood, sir p>
“And Weston.” Dallas’s voice dropped another register. “Find the employee at the jewelry store who took that photograph. Fire them. And make certain they never work in this city again p>
Weston closed the door behind him.
Dallas stood alone. He picked up his phone and stared at Eliza’s name on the screen. Every instinct told him to call her, to hear her voice, to drive across the city and not leave her side until this was over. But he knew she was at work, holding together the fragile independence she had fought so hard to build.
He typed instead.
Dallas: Ignore the noise. You are safe. I handled it.
In the studio, Eliza read the message. The tightness in her chest loosened — just a fraction. She deleted it immediately, then shoved the phone deep into her pocket, as though the device itself were contraband.
The underground garage of The Aurelia was quiet, save for the hum of ventilation fans and the intermittent squeal of tires on polished concrete.
It was evening. Dallas’s black Maybach pulled into its designated spot. He stepped out and loosened his tie with a sharp tug. The day had been a nightmare of damage control — silencing legal teams, scrubbing the internet clean, and ensuring no trace of the story survived long enough to take root.
Azalea was waiting by the elevator bank, leaning against the wall with her phone in hand. She looked up as he approached.