Chapter 56
Chapter 56:
They exited the room. The nurses at the station stopped working to watch, their expressions caught somewhere between envy and awe. Dallas carried her to the private elevator at the end of the hall, bypassing the main lobby entirely, and they descended to the basement garage.
The silver Maybach was waiting — a silent, armored beast. Weston held the rear door open. Dallas settled her into the leather seat, then slid in beside her.
The car moved. Smooth. Silent. A cocoon of luxury.
Eliza looked out the tinted window as the city streets blurred past.
“Anson,” she murmured. “He looked destroyed p>
Dallas stiffened beside her. “Are you pitying him p>
Eliza turned to look at him. “No. I’m just surprised. I never thought I’d see him like that. He was always so arrogant. So sure of himself p>
“He realized what he lost,” Dallas said. “Too late p>
He reached over and took her hand, playing idly with her fingers, tracing the shape of the silver ring she wore.
Eliza felt a quiet thrill move through her. She liked that Anson knew. She liked that Anson knew she belonged to Dallas Koch. It felt like revenge. And it felt like safety.
“Are you angry I told him?” Dallas asked. His voice was softer now, the edge gone.
R𝗈𝘮а𝘯cе 𝗮ո𝖽 р𝘢ѕ𝘀іo𝗻 oո ѕ.с𝗼m
Eliza looked at him. “I should be. You broke the rules p>
“But?” he prompted.
“But I’m glad he can’t bother me anymore,” she admitted. “I’m glad the door is closed p>
Dallas smiled — a real, rare smile that reached his eyes. “He won’t touch you again. I promise p>
Eliza leaned her head against his shoulder, just for a moment. She was exhausted. The allergy attack had emptied her completely. She closed her eyes and let the rhythm of the car carry her, steady and soothing, until she drifted off against him.
Dallas watched her sleep. He signaled Weston to drive slower.
His phone buzzed. A message from Azalea.
Azalea: Did you tell him? Is he crying? Did you crush him?
Dallas typed a reply with one hand.
Dallas: He is handled. She is safe.
Eliza woke up in her own bed in the penthouse. Sunlight streamed through the sheer curtains.
She stretched. Her throat felt better — still scratchy, but the swelling was gone.
She walked out to the kitchen, where Mrs. Higgins stood at the counter, chopping kale.
“Good morning, Mrs. Koch,” Mrs. Higgins beamed. “Mr. Koch ordered a specific breakfast. Anti-inflammatory protocol p>
She set a glass of thick green sludge and a bowl of oatmeal on the counter.
Eliza sighed. “Green smoothies. Joy p>
Dallas walked in wearing jeans and a black t-shirt. Casual Dallas — a rare sight, like spotting a unicorn in the wild.
“Eat,” he said. “Then we have appointments p>
“Appointments? I’m fine,” Eliza argued, taking a sip of the green drink. It tasted like grass and lemon.
“Allergist. Nutritionist. And a tailor,” he listed, leaning against the counter.
“A tailor p>
“To replace the dress I ruined with the needle,” he said, perfectly matter-of-fact. “And to reinforce the seams of your other clothes. You seem prone to medical emergencies p>
Eliza felt heat rise to her cheeks at the memory of the needle punching through her thigh.
“You don’t have to control everything,” she grumbled.