Chapter 33
Chapter 33:
The word settled in her stomach like a stone. She wasn’t dealing with a cold corporate machine. She was dealing with a man carrying real damage, doing the only thing he knew how to do with fear — turning it into control.
“I need to be careful,” Eliza murmured, more to herself than to Azalea.
“Just don’t poke the bear,” Azalea advised, reaching for another cookie. “And maybe do something nice for him. To balance the scales. He hates feeling like the bad guy — even though he’s genuinely very good at it p>
Eliza nodded slowly. She needed to find a way to pay him back. Not just for the protection, but to steady the ground between them. If he was volatile, perhaps she could be the thing that grounded him.
The clock on the wall read 6:00 PM. The penthouse was quiet, save for the rhythmic clink of silver against china as Mrs. Higgins set the long dining table.
Eliza sat at the far end, her art history textbooks spread open before her. She was trying to focus on the Baroque period, but her mind kept drifting down the hall.
“Mr. Koch has a gala dinner with the Board tonight,” Mrs. Higgins noted, placing a single setting at the head of the table. “You’ll be dining alone, ma’am p>
Eliza nodded, a quiet wave of relief washing over her. A peaceful evening. No walking on eggshells, no navigating the minefield of Dallas’s moods. “That’s fine, Mrs. Higgins. Just a salad for me, please p>
The elevator chimed.
The doors slid open, and Dallas walked in.
He was early. He was loosening his tie as he moved, the silk hanging undone around his neck. He looked tired, but the energy rolling off him was sharp and alert.
𝘈d𝘥𝘪c𝗍𝗶𝘃𝗲 nо𝗏e𝗅𝘴 𝗈n
“Mr. Koch?” Mrs. Higgins straightened, visibly surprised. “The dinner — I thought p>
“Cancelled,” Dallas said smoothly. He tossed his jacket over a chair. “I prefer to dine with my wife p>
Eliza froze. Her pen hovered over her notebook. He had cancelled a board dinner — an event worth millions in networking and decisions — to eat in silence across a wide table from her.
He pulled out the chair opposite and sat down. The table was broad, but it suddenly felt intimate.
“How was your study session?” he asked. His voice was neutral, the anger from the afternoon apparently dissolved.
“Fine,” Eliza said. She closed her book. “Why are you really home, Dallas p>
He poured himself a glass of water from the carafe and watched her over the rim as he drank. “To be a husband,” he said, setting it down. “Isn’t that the role p>
Eliza felt the full weight of what he had just given her. Time was currency for men like Dallas Koch. And he was spending it on her.
She looked around the penthouse — the marble floors, the art on the walls, the security detail outside. She was living in his house, driving his car, sheltered by his name.
She felt like a parasite.
“I need to contribute,” she blurted out.
Dallas raised an eyebrow. “You contribute by existing, Eliza p>
“No,” she said, sitting straighter. “A marriage should have equal exchange — even a contract one. I can’t just take p>