Chapter 272
Chapter 272:
He saw Eliza near the stairs — the real one. Then his eyes swept to the entrance. He saw Anson. And the woman on his arm.
From his elevated angle, through the distortion of the masks and the dim, hazy light, Zane’s mind filled in the gaps with prejudice. He assumed the woman standing alone near the stairs was a guest. He assumed the woman with Anson was Eliza.
“Son of a bitch,” Zane hissed. “She actually brought him p>
Below, Suki played her part. She leaned into Anson, her hand sliding up his chest, fingers toying with his bowtie. She threw her head back in a silent, visual laugh that looked intimate and reckless.
Eliza was waylaid by a cluster of socialites. “Eliza! Darling! Is that you? We haven’t seen you since the wedding p>
“Excuse me,” Eliza tried to press past them, her eyes fixed on the woman in her dress. “I need to p>
But they surrounded her, a wall of perfume and chatter.
Upstairs, Zane pulled out his phone and aimed it at the corner where Anson and Suki stood. Suki whispered something in Anson’s ear and then kissed his neck — a slow, lingering, possessive kiss.
“Look at your wife, Dallas,” Zane muttered, hitting record. “Look at what she’s doing at her own mother’s memorial p>
𝗥𝘰𝗺𝖺n𝘤𝖾 aո𝘥 𝗉𝘢𝗌sі𝗼𝗻 𝘰ո
Eliza finally broke free. She rushed toward the corner, intending to tear the mask from that woman’s face.
But Anson saw her coming. He seized Suki’s hand and they slipped through a side door into the alley.
Eliza ran after them — and collided with a hard chest.
It was Zane. He had come down the stairs.
“Having fun, Mrs. Koch?” His voice was drenched in acid.
“Zane, that woman—” Eliza pointed at the closing side door. “That wasn’t me. I’ve been standing right here p>
“Save it.” Zane raised his phone. “Dallas is watching the live feed p>
Eliza looked at the screen. A video. The woman in the black dress — her dress — kissing Anson’s neck.
“That’s not me!” Eliza’s voice cracked with rising panic. “Look at me, Zane! I’m right here p>
“Yeah, you are,” Zane said, looking her over slowly. “Wearing the same dress. Same hair. Same mask. What — did you clone yourself? Or did you run over here after he left to play the victim p>
“It’s a trick!” Eliza grabbed his arm. “Anson set this up p>
“The only trick,” Zane pulled free, “is the one you played on Dallas p>
The VIP room was dark, lit only by the cold glow of the massive flat-screen television on the wall.
Dallas sat in a leather armchair. He wasn’t moving. He wasn’t blinking.
On the screen, the video Zane had sent was looping. The woman in the black dress. Anson’s hands on her waist. The kiss.
Simmons stood in the corner, holding a glass of scotch, looking deeply uncomfortable.
“Boss,” he said quietly. “Turn it off. It’s torture p>