Chapter 366
“Dallas?” Vinnie dropped the bagels and ran over.
Dallas lifted his head.
His lips were blue. A pink, bloody froth covered his mouth and chin. The bin was splattered with it.
“Holy shit!” Vinnie yelled. “Vance! Get in here now! Code Blue!”
“No,” Dallas gasped, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. “No hospital. Ferd will find out —”
“You’re dying!” Vinnie screamed. “Look at this!”
𝘔o𝘳е ո𝘰v𝗲𝗅s o𝗇 𝘨𝖺𝗹𝗻o𝘃е𝗅𝗌.𝖼o𝗺
“Vance,” Dallas wheezed, his voice barely a whisper. “Just — the clinic — back door.”
His eyes rolled back. He slumped forward into Vinnie’s arms.
Eliza washed her face in the bathroom of a Starbucks three blocks away. She looked terrible — eyes puffy, skin pale.
She applied a thick layer of concealer. She put on lipstick.
She wasn’t going to cry. She was going to work.
She took a cab to the University. Professor Preston’s office was in the basement of the History Department, smelling of old paper and dust — a comforting smell.
“Eliza!” Professor Preston beamed when she walked in. He was a small, round man with glasses as thick as bottle bottoms. “I didn’t think you’d actually come. S&D is — well, it’s the big leagues.”
“I prefer the minors,” Eliza said, handing him her résumé. “I want to work in the lab. Hands-on. No politics.”
“We can’t pay you much,” Preston warned. “It’s a grant-funded position.”
“I don’t care about the money,” Eliza said. “I just need to fix things. Broken things.”
“Well,” Preston smiled, “we have plenty of those.”
He handed her a contract. Eliza signed it without reading the fine print.
Eliza Solomon. Restorer.
Not Mrs. Koch. Not the heiress. Just Eliza.
The first week blurred into the second. The methodical work was a balm to her frayed nerves. Cleaning ancient pottery shards, analyzing pigment composition under a microscope — these were tasks with clear rules and predictable outcomes. It was the opposite of her life with Dallas.
She walked out of the building an hour later, feeling a strange lightness. She had a job. A purpose.
Her phone buzzed.
Damon Luna.
She debated ignoring it. But she needed allies. Or at least, she needed to know where the enemies stood.
“Hello, Damon.”
“Eliza,” Damon’s voice was smooth. “I heard you had a rough night. How about dinner? We need to discuss the merger.”
“What merger?”
“Luna and Solomon,” Damon said. “I have a proposal. One that gets the Greenwood Project back online. Without Dallas.”
Eliza paused. The Greenwood Project.
“Where?”
“Le Coucou. 8 PM. Wear something victorious.”
Le Coucou was empty. Damon had bought out the entire restaurant.
Candles flickered on every table. A violinist played softly in the corner. It was aggressive, performative romance.
Eliza wore a black dress — high neck, long sleeves. Funeral chic.
“You look stunning,” Damon said, rising as she approached. He reached for her hand. Eliza pulled away.
“Let’s talk business, Damon. How do you plan to restart Greenwood?”
He gestured toward her seat. “Sit.”
They sat. Waiters materialized instantly, pouring vintage wine without a word.
.
.