Chapter 87
Chapter 87:
Anson stood as she entered. He looked tired, the bruise on his forehead concealed beneath makeup, but his eyes were sharp and glittering with triumph.
“You came,” he said.
“I’m here for my team, Anson. The error has been fixed,” Eliza said immediately. She didn’t sit down.
Anson poured wine into two crystal glasses, the sound of the liquid obscenely loud in the quiet room. “Sit down, Eliza. You look expensive p>
P𝘰𝗽𝘶𝘭𝖺𝘳 ѕ𝗍𝗼ries 𝗈𝗇 𝗴𝘢𝗹ոo𝘷𝘦𝗹ѕ.𝖼о𝘮
His eyes moved over her outfit — a cream silk blouse and tailored trousers from the wardrobe Dallas had provided. Jealousy flared in his gaze. She looked like a Koch.
Eliza perched on the edge of the chair, ready to bolt.
“The error is significant,” Anson said, taking a slow sip. “Negligence involving safety regulations. I could sue S&D for breach of contract. I could demand the lead designer be fired and blacklisted p>
“Bella took the blame, but it wasn’t her. It was a junior architect going through a personal crisis. Don’t punish her,” Eliza said. Her hands were clenched in her lap.
“I don’t care about Bella Rose,” Anson said. “I don’t care about the architect.” He leaned across the table. “I care about you p>
He paused, letting that sit. “I can overlook the mistake. I can ensure no one gets fired. I can even double the renovation budget — which would make you look exceptional at S&D.” He spread his hands. “I’m offering you a great deal p>
Eliza’s eyes narrowed. “What do you want p>
“Come home,” Anson said.
“I am married, Anson. I have a home,” Eliza stated. “Dallas is my home p>
Anson slammed his glass down. Wine sloshed over the rim and spread across the white tablecloth like a stain. “That penthouse is not your home. It’s a cage. He bought you p>
He took a breath and reached composure back with visible effort. Then he pulled a medical file from his jacket pocket and slid it across the table.
“Victoria is sick. Really sick this time,” he said. His voice dropped, and for once it sounded genuine.
Eliza froze. She looked at the file. It was a cardiologist’s report. Arrhythmia. Stress-induced cardiac failure.
“What?” she whispered.
“Her heart. The doctor says she needs rest and peace. She keeps asking for you,” Anson said. “She raised you, Eliza. You can hate me, but you can’t hate her. She’s dying p>
He reached into his jacket again and produced a second, thicker folder. He laid it beside the first. It was labeled Solomon Industries — Final Liquidation Report.
“And there’s this,” he said, his voice cooling. “Loose ends from your father’s company. Unsettled debts with some very unsavory lenders. Allegations of fraud that were buried with him. It would be a shame if any of that became public. It would destroy his name. Your name p>
Eliza felt the walls of the private room pressing inward. One week. Back in that house. Back in the place where her spirit had been slowly crushed over a decade.