Shattered Illusions: Love, Lies, and Redemption

Lizetta’s face went ice cold, “What if I’m actually knocked up?”

After dropping that bomb, her heart squeezed tight with anxiety.

She thought, Remington, please don’t let me down, our little peanut is listening too.

But the guy’s handsome mug had already turned frosty.

“Just pop the birth control and you won’t get pregnant!”

*There’s no such thing as a surefire bet, what if?” Lizetta clenched her water glass.

Remington looked like he’d rather be anywhere but here, his face oozing impatience, and he snapped, “If you’re preggers, get rid of it! Take the pill!”

Lizetta’s heart felt like it was wrapped in a tight mesh of barbed wire.

She forced a smile, bleak as hell, tipped her head back, fished out the pill, and tossed it into her mouth.

She took a swig of water, swallowing hard.

Slamming the water glass on the nightstand, she grabbed the duvet and got out of bed, took a couple steps but then spun around, fixing a hard stare on the man whose expression was hard to read.

“I misspoke earlier, let’s make it crystal clear, there ain’t gonna be a next time between us!”

Last night might as well have been a dog bite! Jerk!

Lizetta stormed into the bathroom, slammed the door, and spat out the pill she had been hiding under her tongue with vengeance.

Bitterness spread in her mouth, she quickly grabbed a water glass to rinse, but tears dropped relentlessly into the sink.

She couldn’t figure out why Remington had to be like this.

Dangling hope in front of her only to crush it into dust over and over again.

After washing up, Lizetta finally calmed down, gently touched her belly, and whispered, “Hey little one, let’s make a deal, let’s pretend that crap we just heard was a fart, vanished, unheard, okay? I love you and will protect you. The world’s still a beautiful place, you just grow healthy and meet me soon.”

Exiting the bathroom, Remington was gone. Content provided by NôvelDrama.Org.

Thinking about what Yolanda had said, Lizetta logged off Twitter and saw the gossip blogger’s posted photo.

In the pic, a tall, strapping guy strolling off the stage, a delicate figure in his arms. The man’s broad shoulders shielded the woman almost completely, leaving only her little legs dangling from his arms, swinging.

The pic was blurry but oozed intimacy.

This morning, Evelina tweeted and tagged that blogger.

Evelina, [He’s low–key, please cooperate, thanks, photo.jpg]

it was

Talking about keeping it low–key, but the photo she attached was of herself holding a wine glass, though it filled with juice. In the reflection off the glass, you could barely make out a man’s stern profile.

Netizens zoomed in on the photo, identifying the silhouette as Remington.

And that wine glass? Turns out it was exclusive to the Maplewood Club, the same place the gossip blogger had been.

14:19

Case closed, the woman kissing Mr. Dashiell on stage last night? Evelina.

The blogger deleted the photo after being called out by Evelina, who politely replied no worries.

By the morning, Evelina had gained a few hundred thousand followers from flaunting her love life, with

comments full of people eating up the sweetness.

[The hot and gentle violinist dating the austere, loyal, and smoldering CEO, oh my god, what a perfect combo, I’m dead.]

(Where can I sign up for a childhood sweetheart CEO boyfriend? Asking for a friend, kinda urgent.]

[Mr. Dashiell’s so dominant, won’t even let Evelina drink at the bar.]

Evelina was even mingling in the comments, getting praised for being down–to–earth.

If Lizetta hadn’t been the main character of that bar incident, she might’ve believed all of it herself.

She fe

felt so grossed out, but now she doubted even more that Evelina’s kid was Remington’s.

That Evelina, never a true word out of her mouth!

Lizetta headed downstairs, ready to leave.

“Where you heading?”

From the dining room came a man’s voice.

Lizetta looked over to see Remington sitting at the dining table, newspaper in hand, bathed in a flood of sunlight from the floor–to–ceiling windows, casting a warm glow around him.

Ditching the suit jacket for a simple grey sweater and casual pants, there he was, sitting in the moming light by the dining table, looking less like an ice king and more like a cozy hubby, pretty easy on the eyes.

But remembering what he’d just done, what he’d said, Lizetta thought even a pig looked better than him.

She looked away and kept walking.

“Eat before you go!” Remington’s voice was deep and firm.

Lizetta wasn’t about to listen to him, didn’t even look back, but just as she reached the entrance, she was blocked by four bodyguards and ushered back inside.

Fuming, she stomped back to the dining room. Remington hadn’t even flinched, still cool as a cucumber, eyes on his paper.

Only when he heard the chair scrape did he leisurely fold up his paper, set it aside, and picked up a fancy box from the next chair, sliding it across to Lizetta.