Shattered Illusions: Love, Lies, and Redemption

“Sure, I’ll head back, but I’ve got one condition.”

She seemed to soften; as a result, Remington’s face finally lightened up a bit, and his tightly pursed lips turned to relax.

“Name it.”

‘There’s this composer online, who goes by Maestro Adagio. He’s got this new track, and I want it.”

Lizetta stood tall, with her fists clenched.

She knew the kind of pull Remington had. She didn’t want to hand that song over to Evelina, but if the Dashiell Group kept snooping around, they’d find her sooner or later, and they had ways to make her bend.

Remington didn’t see it coming that Lizetta would bring up Maestro Adagio. His brows furrowed slightly. Copyright by Nôv/elDrama.Org.

That song was part of a deal he’d already hashed out with Evelina.

Plus, Evelina was dying for that track, and there was Lizetta, just lazing around at home, wanting that song just to spite Evelina. He said sternly, “Don’t be a brat, that’s a no–go. Pick something else.”

Lizetta bit the tip of her tongue, tasting the bitter sweetness of blood.

She knew it she’d humiliated herself once again.

“Be a good girl. I snagged some top–notch blood diamonds in Celestia, and aren’t you into Elsa’s designs at Tiff, the up–and–coming jewelry designer? I’ll have her whip up a bracelet for you.”

He didn’t finish his sentence when Lizetta cut him off.

“Give it to Evelina. She might not like blood, but she sure likes blood diamonds.”

She started to walk away, not wanting to stay a moment longer.

Jewelry’s great and all, but to someone like Remington, it’s just the easiest way to sweet–talk someone without breaking a sweat.

He’d dig into Maestro Adagio’s background just because Evelina wanted it.

But he never cared about what Lizetta wanted. Even when she mustered the courage to ask, all she got was disregard and lip service.

That fleeting tenderness just now was probably another ploy to coax her back.

Lizetta picked up the pace, soon breaking into a run.

10:19

Rounding the path, she bumped into someone.

Sorry!

Liz, what’s wrong?”

Hogan’s clear voice rang out. He’d finished his business but doubled back, feeling worried. Lizetta’s eyes were red–rimmed; not wanting to be seen like this, she kept her head down.

“I just remembered I’m almost late for a part–time gig.”

She tried to sidestep Hogan, but he stepped aside to let her pass, then he followed.

“I’ll drive you.”

Lizetta was hurting inside, not in the mood for chat, so she just quickened her steps.

Her emotional outburst took Remington by surprise, and it irked him.

He’d never tried so hard to keep someone around, yet she still wanted a divorce, as if every second with him was agony. Fine, then let her go a hard knock might just straighten her out!

But remembering the redness at the corners of her eyes as she left, Remington abruptly

started to follow.

That’s when he saw in

and Hogan’s silhouettes, one after the other, walking away.

The man’s tall figure shielded the woman’s, and their shadows merged in the setting sun.

A chill settled in Remington’s eyes as he halted his steps.

Lizetta headed to Zion Theatre. Though she didn’t join a dance company after graduation, Professor Blue, who taught her at university and valued her talent, was an honorary advisor of the theatre and allowed Lizetta to use the stage when it was free.

She’d sometimes come here to practice and record dance videos.

Linking her music to the sound system, she stood barefoot in the spotlight, and a violin’s plaintive melody filled the air.

Pivoting on her right foot, she had her body sway and spin; her movements became more free and fluid, as graceful as a nymph skimming over water, as if she was defying gravity and dancing like a butterfly.

The music was sometimes sad, sometimes joyous, slow here, fervent there – just like Remington was to Lizetta.

A light of redemption, yet a descent into ash.

Remington had no clue about the pressure Lizetta had faced during his four–year absence.

All the online comments and slander, the defamation and insults, the Dashiell family’s disapproval, the sneers and taunts, the belittling.

Her disrupted dance dreams, her brother’s trouble, the weight too heavy for Lizetta’s fragile twenty– year–old shoulders. She’d even developed mild depression, leading to severe insomnia.

This song was born out of an overdose of sleeping pills; when she woke to the chirping birds of dawn and thought of him in her dreams, her inspiration was sparked.

Lizetta danced with abandon; her face was indistinguishable between sweat and tears, all drenched.

Suddenly, the music stopped dead, and lights went blazing.

With her legs giving out, Lizetta fell to her knees; she was gasping for breath as she lifted her head.

A figure standing at the side door of the stage looked at her with a complex gaze.