Chapter 395
Chapter 395:
“Damon, stop!” Eliza shoved against his chest. “You’re crossing a line p>
“There are no lines,” he mumbled, his lips moving against her collarbone, his hand fumbling with the zipper of her dress — not a violent tear, but a presumptuous, slippery slide. “You’re mine now. The contract — we’re partners. Let me seal the deal p>
Revulsion coiled in her stomach. This wasn’t the brute force of a thug. It was the slime of a man who genuinely believed he had paid for the right to touch her — that she should submit because he had written a check.
“I am not part of the inventory!” Eliza hissed.
She didn’t panic. She calculated. He was heavy, feverish, and leaning on her. She brought her knee up — sharp and precise.
It connected with his thigh, just below the hip.
Damon yelped. His leverage broke. He rolled off the bed and crashed onto the floor.
Thud.
He landed on his bad arm. The stitches burst. Fresh blood soaked through the bandage instantly.
“Ahhh!” Damon screamed, curling into a ball.
Eliza scrambled off the bed, straightened her dress, and wiped the feeling of his sweat from her skin. She looked down at him with pure disgust.
𝗥e𝖺d 𝘧𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝘺𝗈𝘂𝗿 ph𝗈nе o𝘯
“You tried to p>
“I’m sick!” Damon sobbed from the floor, shifting tactics instantly. He clutched his arm and looked up at her with wide, wounded eyes. “I’m burning up, Eliza! I didn’t know what I was doing! The fever — I thought you wanted comfort p>
“Comfort?” Eliza stepped back. “You tried to unzip my dress p>
“I was delirious!” he cried, tears mixing with the sweat on his face. “And now look — you hurt me! I’m bleeding! Eliza, help me p>
Eliza looked at the blood pooling on the wood floor. It was a masterclass in manipulation. He had tried to violate her, and within seconds, he had recast himself as the victim needing rescue.
She wanted to walk out and let him rot. But if he died, the Solomon deal died with him. She needed him alive. She needed his money to fight Dallas.
She grabbed a towel and threw it at him. She didn’t kneel. She kept her distance.
“Press it against the wound,” she ordered coldly.
“Eliza…” he whined.
“You are sick, Damon,” Eliza said, her voice trembling with suppressed rage. “And not just from the fever. Touch me again, and I will let you bleed out. Do you understand p>
“Don’t leave,” Damon begged, pressing the towel to his arm, his eyes tracking her every move. “Please. I’m scared. I need you p>
It was the plea of a child, masking the soul of a shark.