Chapter 9
Chapter 9:
The Aston Martin ate up the miles on the highway, leaving the grey skyline of the city far behind.
The car was quiet. Smooth jazz played softly from the speakers — Eliza’s favorite genre, though she hadn’t told him that.
She watched Dallas drive. His hands were relaxed on the wheel, his profile sharp against the passing green of the trees. He looked less like a CEO and more like a man at peace.
“Where are we going?” she asked again.
“Maple Lake,” Dallas answered.
Eliza’s hand flew to her chest. “Maple Lake? My parents used to take me there every summer. Before —” She trailed off. Before they died. Before the Hydes took over and sold the lake house.
“I know,” Dallas said. Then he caught himself. “It’s a popular spot. Good for privacy p>
Eliza turned back to the window. Memories flooded through her — the smell of pine, the sound of water lapping against a dock. It was the last place she had been truly happy.
𝘐𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘦 𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘰𝘯
“I haven’t been back since the accident,” she whispered. “Anson said it was too expensive to keep the house p>
Dallas reached over and covered her hand where it rested on the center console. His hand was large, warm, and grounding. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t offer platitudes. He simply offered his presence.
Eliza didn’t pull away. She turned her hand over and interlaced her fingers with his.
They left the highway and wound through forest roads where sunlight fell in shifting patterns through the canopy of leaves.
At last, they reached a set of massive iron gates. Koch Estate. The gates swung open automatically, and they rolled up a long driveway lined with ancient maple trees.
Then the house came into view. It wasn’t a cabin — it was a modern masterpiece of glass, stone, and timber, cantilevered over the edge of the hill to command an unbroken view of the water below.
“This is beautiful,” Eliza breathed. “I didn’t know you had a place out here p>
“I bought it three years ago,” Dallas said.
He didn’t tell her he had purchased it the week after reading an interview in which she mentioned missing the lake. He didn’t tell her he had built it with her in mind.
They parked and stepped out. The air was cool and clean, carrying the scent of damp earth and pine needles.
Mrs. Higgins was already inside, having arrived by helicopter earlier to prepare the house.
“Your room is the master suite,” Dallas said as they entered the foyer.
“And you?” Eliza asked, suddenly feeling shy.
“I have the study,” he said. “I have work to finish p>
He was lying. He had no work. He simply wanted to give her space, to make sure she didn’t feel pressured.
Eliza explored the house slowly. It was filled with art — not generic prints, but pieces she recognized. A Monet she had always loved. A sculpture that looked remarkably like one her father had once owned.
“He has good taste,” she murmured, her fingers grazing a frame.
She drifted out to the back patio. The lake stretched before her, calm and mirror-still, the tree line reflected perfectly in its surface.
Then the roar of an engine shattered the quiet. A red convertible tore up the driveway.
Azalea.
She hopped out wearing oversized sunglasses and brandishing a bottle of wine.
“Party time!” she announced.
Eliza smiled. Dallas had invited Azalea. He had known she would feel awkward alone with him, and so he had thought of everything — as he always seemed to.