Chapter 55

Chapter 55:

Dallas was at her side in an instant. “Stop p>

He glanced at the IV bag. It was empty. “You’re being discharged anyway.” He helped her to her feet, steadying her as her legs wavered beneath her.

“Change your clothes,” he said, guiding her toward the ensuite bathroom.

Eliza walked in and clutched the edge of the sink for support. She felt exposed. Unsteady.

Dallas followed her inside and closed the door behind him, turning the lock with a quiet click.

“Dallas?” She stepped back against the marble counter. The room was small and intimate.

“You called me your husband,” he said. His eyes burned with a dark, quiet fire. “You admitted it to him p>

“I had to,” she defended. “To make him leave p>

“Did it feel like a lie?” He stepped closer, crowding her gently against the sink.

𝖫а𝗍𝗲𝘴t 𝗰𝘩a𝘱𝘵𝖾𝘳𝗌 oո

Eliza couldn’t answer. It hadn’t felt like a lie. It had felt like safety. It had felt like the truth.

Dallas reached out and carefully peeled the medical tape from the back of her hand. He pulled the IV needle free, and a tiny drop of crimson welled up against her skin. He picked up a cotton ball from the jar on the counter and pressed it to the spot. Then he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed the wound — right over the cotton.

Eliza gasped. The sensation was electric, shooting straight down her spine.

Dallas lowered her hand and cupped her face in both of his, his thumbs tracing slow arcs across her cheekbones.

“You belong to me, Eliza,” he vowed. “On paper. In this hospital. Everywhere p>

He lowered his head and kissed her. It was nothing like the kiss at the apartment. This was possessive. Deep. Something that marked her at the level of the soul. He tasted of mint and certainty.

Eliza gripped his shirt. She didn’t push him away. She melted into him, enveloped by a warmth that lingered in the air — the ghost of steam, or perhaps simply the heat radiating off him.

“Let’s go home,” he murmured against her lips.

“Home,” she echoed.

She hadn’t said the penthouse. She had said home.

Eliza changed into the clothes Weston had brought — soft gray cashmere joggers and a matching sweater. They were comfortable, expensive, and warm.

She opened the bathroom door. Dallas was waiting, checking his phone.

“I can walk,” she said, stepping out.

“You’re weak,” he said, pocketing the phone. “And the press is downstairs. If you walk, they’ll swarm. If I carry you, they’ll keep their distance p>

It was a lie, or at least an exaggeration, but Eliza didn’t fight it. She was too tired.

He scooped her up bridal style. She felt weightless in his arms and hid her face in the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent.