Chapter 318
Exhausting. Eliza felt the word hit her chest like a physical blow. Her breath hitched. “An hour ago, you destroyed your father to protect me. You took the voting shares. You claimed the throne. For us.”
“For the company,” Dallas corrected. He finally turned his head. His eyes were dead, the blue of his irises like frozen ocean water. “You were just the leverage I needed to force his hand. The damsel in distress act played well for Gigi.”
Eliza recoiled, pressing her back against the door. “That’s a lie.”
“Is it?” Dallas looked away again. “I have what I want now. The S&D majority. The Solomon debts are cleared. You are free. I am powerful. The transaction is complete.”
The car slowed to a smooth halt in front of the Aurelia building. The partition slid down. Weston, in the driver’s seat, didn’t look back.
“Get out, Eliza,” Dallas said.
“No.” She reached for his hand.
He pulled it away as if she were made of fire.
“Open the door,” Dallas ordered.
The door clicked open. The cold night air rushed in, biting at Eliza’s exposed skin. She stumbled out, her legs feeling like they belonged to someone else. She turned to say something — anything — but the door was already closing.
She watched as the wheelchair lift descended. Dallas rolled himself out, his movements sharp and efficient. The past week of intense corporate warfare had taken its toll on his leg, a constant, grinding pain forcing him back into the chair he so despised. He didn’t wait for her. He wheeled straight toward the private elevator entrance, bypassing the lobby.
Eliza ran after him, her heels clicking frantically on the pavement. She jammed her hand between the closing elevator doors. The metal sensors beeped, and the doors bounced back.
She stepped inside, chest heaving. The space was too small for this much pain.
“You are lying,” she whispered, tears finally spilling over, hot and stinging. “Why are you doing this? Why now?”
Dallas stared at the digital floor numbers counting up. 40… 41…
“Because I don’t love you anymore,” he said. The lie tasted like acid in his mouth, burning his throat, but he forced it out. “It was a game. I won. Game over.”
The elevator chimed. The doors opened directly into the penthouse foyer.
Eliza opened her mouth to scream, to fight — but the sound died in her throat.
Azalea was standing in the middle of the living room. She was wearing a heavy parka and a backpack that looked ready to burst. Next to her was a massive, battered suitcase that she immediately tried to kick behind the sofa when she saw them.
“Hey —” Azalea’s voice was high and brittle. Her eyes darted between Dallas’s stone face and Eliza’s tear-streaked one. “You guys are back. Early.”
Eliza wiped her face with the back of her hand, trying to compose herself. The domestic normalcy of the scene clashed violently with the wreckage of her marriage. “Azalea?” Eliza sniffed. “Why are you wearing a coat?”
“I was just organizing,” Azalea stammered, taking a step to the right to block the suitcase from view. “Winter clothes. Donation pile. You know.”
.