Chapter 238
Chapter 238:
Dallas reached over and squeezed Eliza’s hand. His grip was tight, his palm warm against her cold skin. “Remember,” he said, his voice low and intent. “You are the Lady of the House. They are guests in my empire p>
“Technically, this is their house,” Eliza whispered, looking up at the gargoyles perched along the roofline.
“I pay the mortgage,” Dallas said, a cold, predatory smirk crossing his face. “I pay the staff. I pay for the heating. It’s my house. They just live in it p>
The front door opened. A butler in a stiff uniform stood in the entrance, wringing his hands slightly.
𝘚𝘩𝘢𝗋e уо𝗎𝘳 t𝘩о𝗎𝗴𝗁𝘵ѕ 𝗼𝘯
“Mr. Koch.” He bowed as Dallas stepped out of the car. “They are in the drawing room p>
Dallas adjusted his cuffs, checking the platinum cufflinks. He looked impeccable — a wall of dark suiting and absolute composure.
“Let’s go say hello to the vipers,” he murmured to Eliza.
Eliza took his arm. Her heart hammered a frantic rhythm against her ribs, but she kept her face smooth, drawing on every ounce of poise her mother had ever taught her.
They walked up the stone steps together. The air felt colder here. Sharper.
As they crossed the threshold into the foyer, a woman’s voice cut through the silence like a blade through silk.
“He actually brought her p>
The drawing room was a museum of intimidation. Heavy velvet drapes blocked out the natural light, leaving the room bathed in the golden glow of crystal chandeliers. Every surface was cluttered with priceless antiques — Ming vases, Fabergé eggs, statues that seemed to be passing judgment.
Ferd Koch stood by the marble fireplace. He was a tall man, broad-shouldered, with silver hair swept back from a high forehead. He looked like an older, crueler version of Dallas — the same blue eyes, but where Dallas’s could turn warm, Ferd’s were flat and hard as polished stone. Jeannine Koch sat on a brocade sofa, sipping tea from a delicate china cup. She was elegant in a terrifying way, wearing a grey suit tailored to within an inch of its life. Her face was unlined — likely the work of expensive doctors — but her expression was frozen in perpetual distaste.
“Father. Mother.” Dallas didn’t let go of Eliza’s hand. He pulled her slightly forward, presenting her. “This is Eliza p>
Ferd didn’t look at Eliza. He kept his eyes fixed on Dallas, as though she were a piece of furniture he had already decided to return.
“You married a Solomon,” Ferd barked. His voice was a deep boom that echoed off the high ceilings. “Without my permission p>
“I don’t need permission,” Dallas replied evenly. “I’m thirty-two years old, and I run this family p>
“You run the company,” Ferd corrected, stepping away from the fireplace. “I am the head of this family. I decide who carries the name p>
He turned his gaze to Eliza at last. It landed like a physical weight — crushing and dismissive.
“She is a bankrupt girl,” Ferd sneered. “Her uncle is a murderer. Her family is a headline for failure. She brings shame to this house p>