NovelAppRemington pinched the bridge of his nose, frustration clear in his voice. "I don't agree with you giving birth at
Skyline Hospital." Lizetta replied with a detached tone, "It's my body, my choice of hospital."
Remington scoffed coldly, "But I'm Daisyy's father. You'd need my signature to even get into the delivery room!"
With no other family to turn to, Lizetta indeed would need Remington's signature when the tcame.
Angered, she turned around swiftly and swung at him, shouting, "Jerk! Using this as a threat, are you even a
man?"
But Remington, as if anticipating her move, caught her hand effortlessly and retorted icily, "If | wasn't a man,
how would Daisyy even exist?"
Lizetta glared back, teeth gritted in frustration.
Remington's expression softened a bit, "Skyline Hospital doesn't have the amenities private clinics offer. Even if
not for your sake, don't you want Daisyy to have the best care and protection possible? Don't be stubborn."
He always seemed so reasonable, so considerate.
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Yet Lizetta felt exhausted. She closed her eyes and when she opened them again, her emotions had turned
indifferent.
"Remington, during our two years of marriage, you barely cared about me. Now that we're divorced, suddenly
you want to be involved in everything. Isn't it too late?"
"Not at all," he responded, his gaze softening.
Lizetta punched a pillow in frustration, her tone dripping with sarcasm.
"So, you want to keep tabs on your childhood sweetheart and us too? Think you can manage? No wonder Stella's
scratching at you; | too can't help but want to slap you."
Her eyes then fell on the scratch along his neck.
Following her gaze, Remington touched the mark, a slight sting reminding him of its cause.
He frowned slightly, recalling the incident.
"You're not jealous, are you? It's not what you think. Stella had a nightmare, and | was just waking her up when
she accidentally scratched me. That's all there is to it, nothing more between us." But Lizetta couldn't stop
imagining Stella crying for comfort in his arms.
She pulled her hand away, "I'm not jealous. | don't love you anymore, why would | be jealous?"
Yet, Remington suddenly leaned in,
his arm pressing against the back of the chair beside Lizetta, his towering
pbbed herwhelming her. He r chin, insisting, "You ne
don't love me? If that were true, why can't you treatindifferently? Why keep running, afraid to face me?"
Under his intense gaze, Lizetta felt her resolve waver. She tried to push him away.
But Remington was persistent, his grip tightening as he lifted her hands above her head and pressed his lips
against hers in a kiss far more passionate and deep than any before, as if to ignite the buried feelings and
turmoil within her.
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Lizetta's attempts to resist turned into muffled sobs, dissolving into the heat of their entwined lips.
Her struggle only brought them closer, his warmth enveloping her, causing her breathing and senses to scatter
in disarray.
Feeling increasingly panicked and out of control, with Remington evidently more so, the tension between them
palpable.
This kiss had shifted, becoming something more profound and desperate.
Tears streamed down Lizetta's
cheeks, and tasting the salt,
Remington finally pulled away, their
foreheads, still touching, his gaze et B
intensely focused on her
tear-streaked, flushed face. In a hoarse voice, he declared, "You don't stop loving me. You're just trying to
convince yourself, lying to yourself!"
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