Chapter 75
Chapter 75:
“I’ll call her later,” Eliza said, dismissing him. She picked up her water glass. “Goodbye, Anson p>
Anson glared at her, then shifted his gaze to Bella, who was watching him with open hostility. He sneered, straightened his jacket, and retreated to his table. But he didn’t look at his client. He sat facing Eliza, his eyes fixed on her like a predator watching prey.
Bella leaned across the table. “Okay, that was intense. Is he the ex or the brother p>
“Both,” Eliza sighed, rubbing her temple. “It’s complicated. I’m an orphan the Hydes took in p>
“So not a kept woman,” Bella summarized. “Just a Cinderella story gone wrong p>
𝖱еa𝘥 𝗼n a𝗇у 𝖽𝗲𝗏𝗂𝗰е о𝘯.с𝗈𝗺
Eliza laughed — a short, dry sound. “Exactly. The glass slipper was a contract p>
“I need to use the restroom,” Eliza said, standing. Her legs felt unsteady.
“Want backup?” Bella asked, glancing over her shoulder at Anson.
“I’ll be fine. It’s a public place,” Eliza said. “He wouldn’t dare make a scene here p>
She made her way toward the back of the restaurant. The corridor leading to the restrooms was long, narrow, and dimly lit for ambiance. The noise of the dining room faded behind her.
She heard footsteps. Heavy. Fast.
Eliza’s heart slammed against her ribs. She quickened her pace. The footsteps quickened with her.
She reached the heavy oak door of the ladies’ room and extended her hand toward the handle.
A palm slammed against the door above hers, holding it shut.
Eliza spun around.
Anson was there, looming over her, his face twisted into the mask of rage he had kept carefully hidden in the dining room.
“You think you can embarrass me in front of my client?” he hissed.
“You embarrassed yourself, Anson,” Eliza said, pressing her back against the door. “Move p>
“You belong to Hyde Manor,” he ranted. “Not S&D. Not Koch. You are mine to fix!” He reached for her arm, his fingers curled like claws.
Eliza didn’t think. Instinct — honed by fear and the new steel Dallas had forged in her — took over.
She shifted her weight. She lifted her right foot. She was wearing the sensible flats Bella had mocked, but the heel was hard rubber.
She stomped on his instep. Hard. With every ounce of frustration she had held back for ten years.
Anson yelped — a high-pitched, undignified sound of shock and pain. He stumbled backward, hopping on one foot. The corridor was narrow. He caught his heel on a large decorative ceramic pot housing a fern.
He crashed to the floor.
His head struck the wall with a loud, sickening thud. The pot shattered. Soil and ceramic shards scattered across the expensive carpet.
Anson groaned, clutching his forehead. Blood began to trickle from a cut above his eyebrow.
A waiter came around the corner carrying a tray of martinis. He stopped, eyes wide.
“Sir! Are you all right?” the waiter gasped, rushing forward.