Shattered Illusions: Love, Lies, and Redemption

Head down, Lizetta reached for another makeup remover pad. As she looked up, the reflection of a man appeared behind her in the mirror.

He stood there, his handsome face etched with a cold sternness.

Lizetta knew all too well he was upset, but her own irritation matched his. She pretended not to notice, leaning closer to the mirror to continue removing her makeup. However, his grip tightened on her shoulder, and he leaned in, pinching her chin, staring down at her reflection with a frosty gaze.

"Not fond of the jewelry I got you, but you seem pretty keen on the tacky flowers and handkerchief that other guy gave you?"

The flowers Jerome had given her were crushed, and Remington had callously tossed them into the trash along with the handkerchief right before they got into the car.

Lizetta was fuming at that moment. But her anger stemmed from Remington humiliating her in front of her colleagues, showing her no respect whatsoever. It wasn't about the flowers or the handkerchief.

His gaze was menacing, and suddenly Lizetta felt a twinge of fear, her brows furrowing as she managed a strained reply, "Let go! I'm about to take a shower; am I supposed to wear a necklace in there?" "Lizetta, don't take me for a fool!"

Did he really look like he couldn't tell when she liked something or not?

Lizetta remained silent, wondering who was really being treated like a fool here. Her lips pressed tightly together, she said no more.

And her silence, like an admission that she preferred Jerome's flowers. Remington's grip tightened, forcing her to look at him as he leaned down and kissed her forcefully.

Lizetta kept turning her head, refusing to cooperate,

her lips forcefully, his kisses raining down on her neck. Each one left a heavy mark, a branding of

mix of pain and fear, "Remington, what's gotten into you! Get

waist, lifting her from the chair, turning her to face him with a cold smirk, "Finally stopped calling me

arm, he knocked the array of cosmetics from the vanity to

second,

the vanity,

ne

the mirror, her clothes torn operas his hands and feverish kisses ravaged her body.

round of performances in the next few days, and Dizetta was on the verge

biting, I have to be on stage! Remington, are you a dog? You're hurting me! Remington, stop it.

angry to weak, to fearfully trembling,

She shouldn't have let

course, maybe because she'd secured the

had never

this before;

restrained and