Chapter 45
Chapter 45:
Eliza’s eyes rolled, searching. She found Anson. He was standing three feet away, his tuxedo immaculate. His face was pale, his mouth opening and closing without producing sound. His hands hovered uselessly in the air before him, trembling. He looked at her not with action, but with a paralyzed horror that offered nothing.
“Do something!” Azalea shrieked, shoving his leg. “Call 911 — she’s dying p>
Anson didn’t move. He was a statue of incompetence.
The gray in Eliza’s vision fractured into black spots. Her lungs burned. Her heart hammered against her ribs — a frantic, caged bird in a space that was rapidly shrinking. She was going to die here, on a hotel carpet, while the man who claimed to love her watched.
𝗜ո𝘀𝘵a𝗻t aс𝖼𝖾𝗌ѕ о𝘯.с𝘰𝘮
Ding.
The sound of elevator doors opening at the far end of the hall was sharp and clear, preceded by a distant crash and a muffled shout — the unmistakable sounds of a hotel security line being violently breached. Heavy footsteps surged against the floor. Not running. Something more purposeful than running.
Through the haze, Eliza saw a figure in black. He moved with a speed and ferocity that blurred the air around him.
Dallas Koch.
He didn’t look at Anson. He didn’t look at the gathering crowd. His eyes were locked on her with an expression that was apocalyptic — cold fury and terrified focus burning together.
He reached them in seconds. Anson was in his way. Dallas didn’t ask him to move. He shoved him aside with a single brutal sweep of his forearm. Anson flew backward, hit the opposite wall with a dull thud, and slid to the floor.
Dallas dropped to his knees. The impact cracked against the marble, but he didn’t flinch.
“Eliza. Look at me,” he commanded. His voice wasn’t loud, but it had a resonance that rattled her bones. An anchor in the storm.
Eliza fought to focus. Her eyes found his — dark, turbulent, and alive.
Dallas didn’t waste a second checking her pulse or asking questions. He already knew. His hand moved to the inner pocket of his tuxedo jacket and came out with a yellow plastic tube.
An EpiPen.
Why, her fading mind managed to form, does he have that?
He uncapped it in one fluid, practiced motion. He didn’t hesitate. He didn’t search for bare skin.
“This will hurt,” he warned, his voice rough.
He swung his arm down. The needle punched through the layers of black silk and drove deep into her outer thigh.
Eliza’s body convulsed with the shock of it — a sharp, sudden sting that cut clean through the suffocation. Dallas held the injector pressed firmly against her leg and stared into her eyes, counting.
One. Two. Three.
He withdrew the device and tossed it aside. It skittered across the marble and came to rest near Anson’s polished shoe.
Eliza waited for air. Her throat was still a solid wall. The swelling hadn’t retreated yet. Her chest heaved, but nothing entered. Her lips were turning blue.
“She’s not breathing!” Azalea sobbed, crushing Eliza’s hand. “Dad — she’s not breathing p>
Dallas shifted. He placed one hand behind Eliza’s neck and tilted her head back, opening the angle of her throat. With the other hand, he pinched her nose shut.