Chapter 39
Chapter 39:
Azalea: Heard about the Gala from my spy network. DON’T GO. It’s a trap. Claudine wants to gloat.
Eliza typed back: I have to. To show them I’m fine.
But she had a problem. Bring a guest.
She couldn’t bring Dallas. If Dallas Koch walked into that room on her arm, the evening would stop being about her reclaiming her dignity and become entirely about him. Her quiet life would be finished.
She had to go alone.
A knock at the study door made her jump.
Yо𝗎𝗋 ոex𝘁 fа𝗏оr𝘪𝘁𝘦 rе𝗮𝗱 𝗶𝗌 𝘰𝗇
“Eliza p>
Dallas opened the door. He took one look at her pallor and the phone clutched in her hand. His expression hardened instantly.
“What happened?” he asked.
“Anson’s engagement party,” she admitted, her voice unsteady. “I’ve been invited p>
Dallas’s face became a mask of granite. His eyes narrowed slowly.
“We are going,” he said.
Eliza looked at him. He had assumed we without a second’s hesitation.
“No,” she whispered, more to herself than to him. “I have to do this alone p>
The next morning, breakfast was a battlefield.
Eliza pushed her scrambled eggs around the plate, building little yellow walls and tearing them down again.
“I’m going to the Gala alone,” she announced.
Dallas stopped buttering his toast. The knife scraped loudly across the crust. He looked up, his eyes cold.
“Excuse me p>
“This isn’t about the contract anymore,” Eliza said, her voice steady. “Everyone already suspects something is going on between us, thanks to Azalea. But this is about me. I need to walk in there as Eliza Solomon and face them on my own terms. If you come, you become a shield — your power will eclipse everything else in the room. This is my fight, Dallas. I need to prove to them, and to myself, that I don’t need a crutch p>
“I am not a crutch,” he said, his voice rising, cracking with frustration. “I am your husband p>
“And I am not a damsel in distress!” she insisted. “I need to do this myself. Please p>
Dallas stared at her. He saw the resolve in her eyes — the pride he admired and resented in equal measure.
“Fine,” he said coldly. “Go alone p>
He stood, threw his napkin onto the table, grabbed his briefcase, and walked out of the penthouse without finishing his coffee.
Eliza slumped in her chair. She felt terrible. She had wounded him to protect a fragile piece of independence she wasn’t even sure was worth the cost.
In his black SUV, Dallas was fuming. He punched the speed dial on the console.
“Zane,” he barked into the Bluetooth system. “What is an appropriate engagement gift for an enemy p>
Zane’s voice crackled over the speakers, caught off guard. “A bomb? Or a better car than his p>
“Something that says ‘I won,’” Dallas clarified, staring out at the grey city streets.
Zane was quiet for a moment. “Send a check. A substantial one, to a charity in his fiancée’s name. Specifically, a charity she despises. Or better yet — a charity for victims of domestic emotional abuse. Classy and deeply insulting at the same time p>