Chapter 191
Chapter 191:
“No.” Eliza swung the wooden leg — not to strike, but hard enough to put a wall of air between them. “I am not going with you. I am married. I love Dallas. And I am done with you p>
Anson went still.
The rejection landed squarely in his chest. He looked at the wood in her hand, then at the contempt in her eyes. The hero narrative he had constructed in his head collapsed piece by piece.
His face changed. The love drained out of it and was replaced by something petty and vindictive.
“Fine,” he said. “You want independence? You want to wait for your white knight?” He backed toward the doorway. “Stay here then. Rot in the dark p>
𝖭𝖾𝗐 𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗄𝗅𝗒 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝗈𝗇
He grabbed the door handle and slammed it shut.
“Anson!” Eliza rushed forward.
From outside, she heard movement — not the turn of a key. Something heavier. He had grabbed a length of timber from the debris pile near the wall and was jamming it into the exterior handle, wedging it firm against the stone frame.
“Let me out!” Eliza screamed, both fists pounding the door.
“Think about it, Eliza!” he shouted back through the wood. “Think about who really saved you when the cold sets in p>
She heard his footsteps on the gravel, quick and angry, fading fast. Then the roar of an engine turning over and retreating into the night until there was nothing left but silence and the wind.
He had left her.
Again.
Eliza slid down the door until she was sitting on the floor, her forehead resting against the rough wood. The silence of the garden pressed back in, heavier than before. The moon had disappeared behind passing clouds, and the studio was pitch black.
She was alone. Truly alone.
“Dallas,” she whispered, pulling her knees to her chest. “Please p>
She closed her eyes and tried to think. The windows were reinforced with wire mesh — she remembered now. Buck had secured this building like a vault to protect the art. There was no way through the glass.
CRASH.
The sound of shattering glass exploded from the back of the studio.
Eliza screamed, scrambling backward on her hands and knees. The wire mesh covering the high rear window had been kicked inward. A dark figure vaulted through the opening and landed in a low crouch amidst the shards and rising dust. He was wearing black tactical gear, a mask covering the lower half of his face.
Eliza grabbed a shard of glass from the floor and held it out in front of her, hand shaking violently.
The figure straightened. He reached up and pulled the mask down.
Blue eyes. Furious, terrified, beautiful blue eyes.
“Dallas,” Eliza sobbed, the glass dropping from her fingers.
He crossed the room in two strides. He didn’t ask if she was all right — he needed to feel it. He dropped to his knees in front of her, his hands moving over her face and arms, checking for blood, for broken bones.
“Did he touch you?” His voice was raw, torn. “I saw him leave. I saw him storm out. Did he hurt you p>