Chapter 267
Chapter 267:
Dallas’s face appeared. He was in his study at the penthouse, the lighting dim, half his face cast in shadow. He looked tired too — jaw set hard, tie undone.
“Hey,” Eliza said softly, her voice trembling slightly. “You answered p>
“I’m working,” Dallas said. His voice was flat, stripped of the warmth she was desperate for. He wasn’t looking at the camera — his eyes were fixed on something on his desk.
“Are you still angry?” she asked, fighting to keep the desperation out of her tone. “I miss you p>
Dallas looked up. His eyes were dark and unreadable. “You’re still at his house p>
T𝗁e 𝖻eѕ𝘁 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝗶𝘯g e𝘹𝗽е𝗿іeոсe 𝗈𝗻 𝗀𝖺𝗅ո𝗼𝗏е𝗅s.𝗰о𝗺
“Victoria needs me,” Eliza said, the old excuse tasting stale even as it left her mouth. “But she’s better. I’m coming home tomorrow. For good. I promise p>
Dallas stared at her. For a moment, the mask slipped. She saw the hurt beneath the anger.
“I want pasta,” he said suddenly. “The kind with the spicy sauce you make p>
Eliza’s heart leaped. It was an olive branch — small and grudging, but it was there.
“I’ll make it,” she promised, smiling. “Tomorrow night. I’ll make a huge pot. And we can p>
The door to her bedroom opened.
No knock. No warning.
Eliza turned instinctively. The phone shifted in her hand, the camera angling toward the doorway.
Anson walked in.
He was wearing loose grey sweatpants and a white t-shirt, his hair damp as though he had just showered. He looked comfortable. Domestic. In his hand he held a steaming mug.
“Eliza,” he said, his voice soft and intimate. “Mom wanted you to have this before you sleep. Warm milk. She insists — you know how she gets when she’s not obeyed. We wouldn’t want to cause another incident, would we p>
Eliza froze. The sight of him — dressed for bed, walking into her room without knocking, carrying warm milk — was a scene from a marriage. A life she didn’t have with him.
“Anson!” She scrambled up, clutching the phone to her chest and trying to cover the lens. “I’m on the phone! Get out p>
Anson stopped, his expression shifting to one of confused, wounded innocence. “I’m sorry. I thought you were done. I just wanted to make sure you were comfortable p>
The word hung in the air, heavy with implication. Comfortable. In his house. In her old room.
Eliza spun the phone back around to face her.
“Dallas, he just walked in, I didn’t p>
The screen was black.
Call Ended.
Eliza stared at the phone. Cold, sharp panic spiked through her chest. She hit redial.
User Busy.
He had declined the call.
She tried again.
The subscriber you are calling is currently unavailable.
He had turned his phone off.
Eliza lowered the phone slowly. She turned to look at Anson. He was still standing there, holding the mug, a picture of innocent concern.
“Did I interrupt something?” he asked.
“You did that on purpose,” Eliza said, her voice shaking with barely contained rage. “You didn’t knock. You never bring me milk p>