Fiona snapped, "How could that diary be real! If Liz had any feelings for Lucian, she wouldn't have rejected the marriage proposal right in front of me!"
Remington's hands, previously hanging loosely at his sides, clenched tightly as a tumult of emotions surged from disbelief to realization.
His voice was hoarse, "Rejected the marriage?"
"That year Liz turned sixteen. Camille wanted Lucian and Liz to study abroad together. In front of me and Camille, they made it crystal clear - they weren't having any of it!" Something seemed to lodge in Remington's throat, and it took him a moment to speak, "Was it during the Christmas holidays?"
Fiona pondered before nodding, "Christmas Eve, to be precise. Camille always visited me on that day."
Remington abruptly closed his eyes. Darkness enveloped him, yet it couldn't hide the burning pain in his gaze.
He remembered that holiday season; he was caught up with the branch office work and only made it back to the family home four days after Christmas.
Entering the living room, he saw a group of elders chatting with Lizetta, and a distant relative teasing her.
"Liz is so bright and well-mannered thanks to Fiona's upbringing. No wonder Camille adores you and wants you as her daughter-in-law. What do you think, Liz?" "I'm still young. I'll listen to Grandma Fiona."
The girl shyly withdrew her hand, glancing at Lucian, who was playing video games on the couch. Lucian looked up, made a face at her, and she blushed even more, shooting him an annoyed look.
Their every move was vivid, like a young couple in love. And Fiona was all for uniting Lizetta and Lucian; Remington knew that.
Lizetta had said she'd listen to Grandma Fiona, but he later stumbled upon that diary.
Turned out, before she agreed to listen to Grandma Fiona, she'd already refused. The one she liked, loved, was never Lucian, but Remington.
Remington's vision was filled with the way the girl had looked at him over the years: admiring, joyful, bright, hopeful, bitter, pained.
For a moment, he felt as if a tempest churned within him. His hands clenched tight to the point that the veins seemed on the verge of bursting, his handsome face maintaining a rigid calm. "Remington, are you listening?!"
Nathan was discussing apologizing to the guests, but in the next second, Remington turned and swiftly walked away without a word.
Outside the hospital's operating room, the light had been on for over half an hour. Yet, to Lizetta, it felt as long as days, as years.
She was still in her blood-stained wedding dress, her hands clasped together yet trembling slightly. Anxiety, fear, and regret intermingled in her heart.
Lucian was by her side, but his attempts at reassurance fell flat, both of them just hoping the surgery would end soon and successfully.
When the steady yet rapid footsteps of a man approached, Lucian stood up from the waiting chair.
Lizetta remained seated, not even lifting her eyelids. Until, in front of her appeared a pair of shiny leather shoes, leading up to crisply pressed suit pants, the elegance undiminished. He stood before her, motionless.
Only then did Lizetta slowly lift her head, yet without looking at him, as if she couldn't bother to lay eyes on him, and coldly said, "You're blocking my view. You're not welcome here. Please leave." But the next second, the man crouched down in front of her.
Their eyes unexpectedly met, and Remington's deep gaze was filled with a tumult of emotions Lizetta had never seen before, intense as if they could engulf her whole.
"I've called in the best neurosurgeon; he'll be here any moment. I promise nothing will happen to Yolanda."
Hearing his words, Lizetta found it utterly absurd.
"Do you think you're a doctor, or a miracle worker? On what grounds do you make such a promise? Mr. Dashiell, if you're looking to offer comfort, I'm afraid you've come to the wrong place. I don't need it, nor do I wish to trouble you!"
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