Shattered Illusions: Love, Lies, and Redemption

I never expected to get caught in a downpour, with both the signal and the mountain roads cut off, delaying my journey. What I least expected was for Stella to come down with a relentless fever halfway

through, nor did I anticipate Yolanda's accident at the wedding."

It was his arrogance, always believing he had everything under control, but he forgot that things didn't always go according to plan.

Lizetta slowly turned her head to look at him. Perhaps it was the dim lighting of the hospital corridor, but the man's handsome features seemed shadowed, almost pale.

But Lizetta realized she no longer felt sorry for him.

With a voice as calm as it could possibly be, she said, "Whatever issues you're wrestling with, whether you've let go of the past or not, I don't care anymore. Mr. Dashiell, please, show some self-respect." Remington's grip on Lizetta's arm loosened slightly. She took a deep breath, about to pull her arm away to leave, but then he suddenly pulled her in closer, holding her tight.

His familiar scent overwhelmed her. But all Lizetta felt was revulsion as she pushed against him.

"Remington, what exactly are you trying to do!"

that diary, the person you confessed your love to in your diary, it's me, isn't

hoarse, tightening his hold, keeping the struggling woman firmly in his embrace as

with everything laid bare, Lizetta felt

you so much that I demeaned myself, but now I've woken up. I don't want to love you anymore! I'm begging you, let me go!" Lizetta managed to lift her head from his embrace, her eyes red but dry, her face

hearing her admit that she'd always loved him felt like a painful strike to his heart,

across that diary once, and I've been misunderstanding you and Lucian all this time. I've been so

I refuse to believe

in his icy gaze. His demand was fierce;

then in a burst of

lost, as if he couldn't understand what he'd said that

a bitter laugh, her

falling out of love doesn't happen overnight. It's the culmination of disappointment reaching its peak, a qualitative change brought on by quantitative

years ago, when I said I didn't drug you to get into your bed, you didn't believe me! When I said I liked you, you didn't believe it either. The year we got married, I gathered the courage to say I liked you again, and you still didn't

but a few days ago in the hospital, someone slandered me with that handwriting, and you said you believed me, said you'd get to the bottom of it. Clearly, you never did. If you had,