Shattered Illusions Love Lies and Redemption (Lizetta and Remington) novel Chapter 1019

Stella pressed her lips together and said hesitantly, "Maybe... maybe I should just make do on the sofa in the study..."

Remington raised an eyebrow. "What's wrong? Afraid of having nightmares? Joy has a beautiful soul. Whenever I miss her, I rest in that room, and I always dream of her."

"Really? Ha... why would I have nightmares? It's just that the room hasn't been tidied up."

"It doesn't need tidying. The bed is perfectly clean. Just pull off the white cloth, and you can sleep on it. Didn't you say you were worried about Ron waking up and crying in the middle of the night? That room is the closest to the master bedroom."

Since Remington had already put it that way, declining again would make her look undeniably guilty and cowardly. Stella forced a smile and nodded. "Alright then. As long as you don't mind me spending the night in Joy's room."

Remington withdrew his gaze and turned to leave. But suddenly, Stella took a step forward and grabbed his arm.

"Remington, I came here in such a rush that I didn't bring any pajamas. Could I... borrow one of your shirts to wear?"

Remington's gaze slowly dropped, finally landing on Stella's hand gripping his sleeve. The look in his eyes was as sharp as a blade, brimming with such intense disgust it was as though she were something filthy.

Stella reflexively loosened her fingers, biting her lip in resentment. "I..."

Before she could finish, Remington interrupted with a cold voice, "Stella West, put away your petty schemes. If it weren't for Ron, you wouldn't have even set foot in Oakridge Heights today. A woman should have some self-respect."

His last sentence dripped with mocking disdain, echoing the very words she had thrown at Liz.

Before she could finish, the door clicked open.

The man stood in the doorway, wrapped loosely in a bathrobe. The collar was slightly parted, revealing a glimpse of his collarbone and the sharp contours of his chest muscles.

Stella's heart skipped a beat, and her face instantly flushed. Pushing the glass of milk forward, she took a step toward him.

"The milk is at the perfect temperature..."

She pretended her foot caught on the edge of the doorway rug and let herself stumble forward. In her mind, the scene was perfectly scripted: she would fall forward, milk glass in hand, right into his embrace. A little milk would spill onto his bathrobe, and she would hurriedly, frantically wipe it off. As her fingers slipped against the fabric over his chest, she didn't believe she couldn't spark a fire. After all, Remington was a healthy, vigorous man in his prime, and ever since his divorce from Liz, there hadn't been a single woman by his side. The fact that he and Liz had showered in separate rooms tonight only proved that they hadn't truly reconciled yet.