The air inside the jewelry store was perfumed and chilled to a temperature that kept the clientele awake and the diamonds sparkling.

The store manager, a man in a suit so expensive it hummed with tailored arrogance, bowed slightly as they entered.

"Ms. Solomon," he greeted them. "Please, follow me to the VIP suite."

He led them past glass cases filled with jewels that could feed a small country. They entered a private room at the back, enclosed by frosted glass walls.

A tray of sparkling water was waiting.

"Our client instructed us to show you the investment collection," the manager said, clasping his hands.

Azalea choked on her water. She coughed, slamming the glass down. "Investment? Who is buying?"

Eliza froze. Dallas moved fast. Too fast.

"It's... a portfolio diversification," Eliza lied, grasping at the first thing that came to her mind. "Diamonds hold value."

Azalea looked skeptical, crossing her arms. "Since when do you care about investment portfolios?"

"Since I decided to stop being poor," Eliza snapped back, a little too defensively.

"Fair enough," Azalea shrugged, her attention quickly distracted by a massive 5-carat emerald cut diamond sitting on a velvet pillow.

Eliza picked up a ring. It was a vintage setting, platinum with a solitaire diamond. She slid it onto her finger.

It fit perfectly.

Of course it did. Just like the clothes.

Suddenly, the bell at the front entrance chimed. Not a polite ding, but a jarring sound caused by the door being thrown open with force.

Voices raised at the front desk.

"Sir, you cannot go back there!"

"Get out of my way."

Eliza's blood ran cold. She knew that voice.

She turned just as the frosted glass door to the VIP room was shoved open.

Anson stood there. He looked disheveled. His tie was crooked, his hair messy, and his eyes were wild. He spotted Eliza instantly.

He stormed over, ignoring the manager, ignoring Azalea.

"That platinum band... it looks cheap, Eliza. Is that the best your new benefactor could afford?" Anson spat. He didn't reach for her. He reached for the velvet tray on the table, picking up a grotesquely large diamond necklace.

He dangled it in front of her face. "This is what you're worth. Not that... pathetic little shackle. Come home. I'll buy you ten of these."

"She's not for sale, Anson," Eliza said, her voice shaking but her chin up. She clenched her left hand into a fist, protecting the simple band.

"Not for sale?" Anson laughed darkly. "Everything about you is for sale. I control your trust fund, Eliza. Your entire life is funded by my signature. I can cut you off without a penny."

"Not anymore," a calm, icy voice said from the doorway.

Everyone turned. Dallas's senior lawyer, Mr. Sterling, stood there, flanked by two security guards. He held a tablet.

"As of 9:15 this morning, upon the official execution of her new legal status change, all assets within the Solomon Trust have been legally transferred to Ms. Solomon's independent control," Mr. Sterling announced, his voice carrying through the silent room. "You no longer have signing authority, Mr. Hyde. In fact, you are in breach of fiduciary duty for your past... expenditures."

Anson's face went from arrogant red to a ghostly white. The financial power, his primary weapon, had just been vaporized.

"I'll find out who is backing her," Anson hissed, dropping the necklace back onto the tray with a clatter. "And I'll ruin him. I will bankrupt him and leave him in the gutter. And then you'll come crawling back."

He spun around and stormed out.

Eliza stood there, trembling. The adrenaline was fading, leaving her knees weak.

The store manager stepped forward, bowing slightly to Mr. Sterling. "Mr. Hyde is now banned from all our properties, effective immediately."

Eliza stared at the door. He was going to try to ruin her husband.

He was going to try to ruin Dallas Koch.

She almost laughed. It was a hysterical, terrified sound bubbling in her throat. Anson was about to kick a steel wall and break his foot.

Azalea guided a shaking Eliza out of the jewelry store and into a quiet, upscale café two doors down.

She pushed Eliza into a booth and ordered two double espressos.

"Okay," Azalea said, sitting down and staring Eliza dead in the eye. "Spill. You're married. For real."

Eliza nodded. She was twisting the ring on her finger, the metal warm against her skin.

"Who is he?" Azalea demanded. "And don't give me that 'complicated' crap again. Anson looked like he wanted to murder someone. I need a name."

Eliza took a deep breath. She looked at her best friend. Azalea had saved her from bullies in high school. She had snuck her food when Anson locked her in her room. She couldn't lie to her.

"Promise you won't scream," Eliza pleaded.

Azalea crossed her arms. "Try me."

"It's... Dallas. Your father."

Azalea blinked. Once. Twice. The ambient noise of the café seemed to warp and fade into a dull roar. Her face went blank, a mask of pure, unadulterated shock. She opened her mouth, then closed it again, her brain visibly rebooting as it processed the impossible words.

Then, a slow, dangerous grin began to spread across her face.

"You're... my stepmom?" Azalea whispered.

Eliza flinched, covering her face with her hands. "It's just a contract! For protection! I needed to get away from Anson, and he... he offered."

Azalea burst out laughing. It was a loud, joyous cackle that startled a waiter carrying a tray of pastries.

"Oh my god," Azalea gasped, wiping a tear from her eye. "Anson is going to lose his mind. He's going to stroke out."

Eliza peeked through her fingers. "You're not mad?"

"Mad?" Azalea leaned forward, grabbing Eliza's hands. "Eliza, I have been trying to get Dad to date for five years. He's a monk! A workaholic robot! And you... you are perfect."

"But he's your dad," Eliza said weakly. "It's weird."

"He's lonely," Azalea said, her voice turning serious. "And you need a tank to fight Anson. My dad is a tank. He's a nuclear submarine."

Azalea squeezed Eliza's hands. "We are going to destroy Claudine and Anson. We are going to bury them."

Eliza felt a wave of relief wash over her, so strong it nearly knocked her over. She wasn't losing her best friend. She had gained an ally.

"Thank you," Eliza whispered.

"Don't thank me yet," Azalea said, pulling out her phone. "We have work to do. Dad's credit card is crying out to be used."

"I can't spend his money," Eliza protested.

"It's not his money," Azalea winked. "It's 'step-mommy support.'"

Eliza groaned, but a small smile tugged at her lips.

Azalea's phone pinged. She looked at the screen and turned it to show Eliza.

It was a text from Dallas.

Is she okay?

Azalea raised an eyebrow. "See? He cares."

Eliza looked at the three words. They were simple, direct.

"He just doesn't want his asset damaged," Eliza said, trying to convince herself. "It's a business deal."

Azalea rolled her eyes so hard it looked painful. "You are so blind. But that's okay. I see everything."

The view from the 50th floor of the Koch Tower was spectacular. The entire city lay spread out like a circuit board, cars moving like data packets through the veins of the streets.

Dallas Koch stood at the window, his back to the room.

Behind him, the Board of Directors was arguing about the acquisition of a tech startup in Silicon Valley. The numbers were being thrown around—millions, billions—but Dallas wasn't listening.

He was staring at a small red dot on his tablet screen.

The dot was moving. It had left the jewelry store and was now stationary at a café on 5th Avenue.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. A security report.

Subject: Anson Hyde. Incident at store. Neutralized. Banned from premises.

Dallas's jaw tightened. "Neutralized" wasn't enough. He wanted Anson Hyde erased. He wanted him to feel the fear Eliza had felt for years.

He turned around. The movement was sudden, and the room went silent instantly.

"Gentlemen, we're done," Dallas said.

The CFO blinked. "But sir, the merger details—"

"Email them to me. Get out."

The tone was final. The board members scrambled to gather their papers, sensing the storm brewing behind the CEO's eyes. They filed out, leaving only two men behind.

Zane Sterling and Vance Foster. His inner circle.

Zane spun a pen on the mahogany table. "You're distracted. Is it the market or a woman?"

Dallas ignored him. He walked to the head of the table and sat down, loosening his tie. It felt like a noose today.

Vance placed a manila folder on the table. "Marriage license filed. Sealed by the judge this morning. It's buried deep, Dallas. No one finds this unless they have clearance from the DOJ."

Zane choked on his water. He coughed violently. "Marriage? You? The Monk?"

Dallas glared at him. "It was necessary."

"Who is the lucky victim?" Zane asked, grinning like a shark.

"Eliza Solomon," Dallas said. The name felt heavy on his tongue. Foreign, yet right.

Vance nodded, ever the pragmatist. "The Hyde ward. Smart. You gain leverage over Hyde's sectors if she has a claim to the Solomon estate."

Dallas didn't correct him. He let them think it was business. It was safer that way. If they knew the truth—that he had been watching her, waiting for her, for three years—they would think he was insane.

"She's terrified of me," Dallas admitted. The words slipped out, a rare moment of vulnerability that made the room go quiet.

Zane laughed, but it was softer now. "You are terrifying, man. You look like you eat puppies for breakfast. You need to woo her."

"I don't woo. I acquire," Dallas said stiffly.

"Not with a wife," Zane advised. "You need soft power. Flowers. Dates. Talking."

"Talking is inefficient," Dallas grumbled.

Vance interrupted, looking at his laptop. "Anson Hyde is running a background check on the license number. He's hitting walls."

"Let him hit them," Dallas said, his voice dropping to absolute zero. "I want him to know she is untouchable. I want him to know she belongs to me."

He picked up his phone. He unlocked it and stared at the background photo for a split second—a candid shot of Eliza laughing in a park, taken from a distance two years ago—before locking it again.

"Azalea is with her," Dallas said. "They are shopping."

"Good. Azalea is your buffer," Vance noted. "She humanizes you."

Dallas stood up. He grabbed his jacket.

"I'm leaving early," he announced.

Zane whistled. "The King leaves the castle before 8 PM. It must be love."

Dallas shot him a warning look that could have peeled paint off the walls, but he didn't deny it.

He walked to the private elevator. He needed to see her. He needed to make sure Anson hadn't left a mark on her soul today.