As Lizetta spoke, she turned to leave, but Remington caught her hand, stopping her.


    His expression was conflicted. "Do you... resent that child?"


    He rememberedst time at the hospital, when Lizetta had shown unusual tenderness and concern for Ron when the boy was running a fever. But after Ste arrived and revealed that the child was the baby Evelina had given birth to that night, Lizetta had clearly started to keep her distance.


    She''d left the hospital soon after and hadn''t visited Ron since. Remington had assumed she still harbored resentment.


    Now, pulled gently back onto hisp, Lizetta frowned, let out a sigh, and a flicker of sadness passed through her eyes.


    "To be honest, it would be a lie to say I don''t care at all. I can''t bring myself to like his mother, and I hate even more that his birth gave Ste an opportunity to stir up trouble. But..."


    She pictured the boy''s round, cherubic face and, almost despite herself, smiled softly. A wave of tenderness washed over her.


    "But what fault is it of his? He didn''t choose to be born or pick his mother. He''s innocent in all of this. And honestly, for some reason, whenever I see him, I just can''t bring myself to dislike him. He''s the kind of child who makes you want to protect him."


    Remington studied her for a moment, then wrapped his arms around her in a firm embrace.


    "Alright. I''ll go with you to see him."


    He stood, taking her hand, and together they headed downstairs.


    But before they even reached thest step, a servant appeared, ushering a tall, imposing figure into the foyer.


    Lizetta looked up and saw Remington''s father-Nathan Dashiell.


    Nathan looked exactly as she remembered: a crisp ck suit, salt-and-pepper hair slicked meticulously back, and a deep furrow between his brows that seemed even more pronounced than before, making his stern, unyielding presence feel all the more intimidating.


    His sharp gazended immediately on Lizetta, his brow creasing further.


    "What are you doing here?"


    His eyes dropped to where Remington''s hand still sped hers.


    Lizetta had never been in favor with the Dashiells.


    Nathan''s cold, interrogative tone didn''t surprise her. She''d grown up wary of him. While he wasn''t as openly disdainful as Hanna Evert Dashiell, the subtle chill in his manner had always cut deeper.


    That old childhood fear resurfaced, and almost instinctively, Lizetta pulled her hand free from Remington''s grasp.


    Feeling the sudden absence, Remington turned, concern in his voice. "What''s wrong?"


    Realizing her reaction was a bit much, Lizetta offered him a small, reassuring smile, then turned to Nathan with a polite nod. "Mr. Dashiell."


    She didn''t bother answering his question or attempting small talk.


    Turning back to Remington, she said quietly, “You two go ahead. I''ll wait for you outside."


    Nathan rarely visited Oakridge Heights not since she and


    Remington had moved here from the old family estate. In fact, she


    could only remember himing


    once before.


    It had been at dusk, and she''d been in the courtyard, practicing ballet in her leotard.


    Nathan had stepped out of the car, taken one look, and scowled.


    "If you''re going to be Mrs. Dashiell, start acting with some dignity. Dancing around


    the yard dressed like that—what will people think?"


    She''d mumbled an apology, and he''d


    gone inside, ordering her to call Remington home. She''d tried him several times, but he hadn''t


    answered, and Nathan''s expression had only grown colder.