Chapter 287
Chapter 287:
She didn’t know Vance’s number. She didn’t know Weston’s. She knew only one number by heart that might reach that room — a number she prayed was still connected.
The Red Phone.
It was a secure line Dallas had installed for emergencies. Only five people in the world had the number. She hesitated, her finger hovering over the keypad. Using it felt like a violation, like screaming fire in a crowded theater. But she was on fire. They were burning down.
She dialed. Her fingers trembled.
Pick up. Please pick up.
In Room 2201, the red telephone on the bedside table began to ring. It was a jarring, old-fashioned sound.
Dallas’s eyes snapped open. He stared at it. Only a handful of people had that number. Why was it ringing now?
He reached out. His fingers were inches from the receiver.
“Don’t,” Weston said. He stepped forward and seized the handset. A flicker of confusion crossed his face — how had a call from outside gotten through on this line? — but it was immediately consumed by a wave of protective rage. “If it’s her, you don’t need to hear her lies p>
𝗣o𝗉𝘂la𝘳 s𝘁оr𝘪e𝘴 o𝗻
“Weston—” Dallas warned, too weak to stop him.
Weston answered the phone and hit the speaker button.
“Dallas? Dallas, is that you?” Eliza’s voice filled the room. She sounded hysterical. “I’m trapped! I’m in a room on the twenty-second floor! They locked me in p>
Weston let out a harsh, incredulous laugh. “Wow. That’s a new one. Trapped? We just saw you downstairs with Anson p>
“What? No!” Eliza screamed. “That’s not me! I’m here! I’m in Family Room B! The Nightingale! Dallas, remember the Nightingale! Please — just come open the door p>
“Save it, Eliza,” Weston said coldly. “We have the photos. Dallas has seen them. He’s done. The divorce papers are being drafted as we speak p>
“No! Dallas, listen to me!” Her voice broke. “It’s a trick! Anson has a double! Please p>
Dallas lay still and listened. Her voice sounded so real. So desperate. The Nightingale — a code they had created years ago for when things went truly wrong. But his eyes were still burning from the photograph. The evidence before him versus the voice of a woman who had lied to him.
“Dallas!” she cried.
Weston slammed the receiver down. He reached behind the unit and yanked the cord from the wall.
“It’s over, man,” Weston said, breathing hard. “She’s toxic p>
Dallas stared at the silent red phone. A single tear escaped and tracked slowly through the grime on his cheek.
“Yeah,” he whispered. “It’s over p>
Eliza listened as the line dissolved into dead silence.
He had hung up. He hadn’t even spoken to her.
She lowered the handset. It clattered to the floor.
She curled into a ball beside Victoria’s wheelchair, drawing her knees to her chest.
“He hates me,” she sobbed. “He really hates me p>
The lock clicked.
Eliza’s head snapped up. She wiped her face, bracing herself for Anson, or the nurse, or security.
The door swung open.
Dr. Vance stood there, a master keycard in hand. He looked at Eliza huddled on the floor, then at the unplugged phone.