Chapter 97
Hanna was stunned. When she called earlier, Remington had questioned her who told her that. But she read it as the kid was definitely Remington’s; he just wanted to keep It hush–hush for now.
“The kid isn’t yours? Then whose could it be?”
After all, Evelina was Remington’s ex, and she only went abroad because Lizetta swooped in and snatched Remington, leaving Evelina heartbroken.
And now Evelina’s flying back home on Remington’s private jet. If the kid wasn’t his, then who else?
Remington frowned slightly, “That’s a weird question, Mom. I’m a married man; my wife is right here. You should’ve asked me that when your daughter–in–law’s pregnant.”
Lizetta’s heart was racing, and she grabbed onto Remington’s shirt, her breath catching in her throat.
“Remington, are you refusing to admit it because you don’t want Evelina to be labeled as a home wrecker? Or is it because you don’t want a divorce from Lizetta? You can’t do this! The kid is flesh and blood of the Dashiell family, and right now, the Dashiell family needs this child! Joseph’s illness…
Hanna didn’t buy any of Remington’s words. She had checked with the hospital, and since Evelina came back to the country, all the hospital and medical expenses were being paid from Remington’s personal account.
Remington was even accompanying Evelina to the doctor’s appointments. The nurses said he seemed very concerned about the child, and Evelina herself hinted that the child was indeed Remington’s.
Remington cut Hanna off, his voice suddenly turned ice–cold, “I’ve already said, Joseph’s illness doesn’t need a bone marrow transplant, and Evelina’s child is none of my business. Stop eyeballing that kid!”
Hanna was taken aback by his tone, her face tuming sour.
Lizetta was shocked. The mother–son relationship between Hanna and Remington wasn’t exactly warm and fuzzy, but Remington had always shown respect to his parents.
At least Lizetta had never heard him speak to Hanna with such severity. To protect Evelina’s baby, he was willing to throw shade at Hanna.
Was he worried that Hanna was eyeing Evelina’s child as a potential cure for Joseph’s ailment, and that was why he was denying the child was his?
Lizetta’s pounding heart gradually calmed down.
Remington didn’t say anything more. He scooped Lizetta up and headed upstairs, their figures quickly disappearing around the stairwell.
Hanna was breathing heavily, leaning on the stair railing.
But she and Lizetta were on the same page. As soon as Joseph’s illness was mentioned, Remington got all worked up about Evelina’s child. The kid had to be Remington’s, no doubt about it.
Hanna scoffed coldly and, grabbing her purse, stormed out.
Upstairs.
Lizetta was carried into the bedroom by Remington. He tried to put her down on the bed, but she wriggled free.
“I feel dirty and want to shower first. Put me down.”
She was still reeking of some strange man’s cologne, and Remington was suddenly reminded of it, the scent seemingly growing stronger.
The man looked down and sneered, “You realize you’re dirty, huh?”
Chapter 97
He was offhand about it, but she took it to heart. She felt like she had plunged Into icy waters, the Image of being pinned against the wall by Daniel flashing before her eyes again.
Yes, he was right; she was dirty. Her face turned pale, and with a sudden burst of strength, she pushed Remington away fiercely.
“I might be dirty, but I’m nowhere near as filthy as you! Go take care of your Evelina and her child!“*
She dashed into the bathroom, seemingly deeply unsettled. Remington staggered back a few steps, his handsome face cold as ice; then he walked over to the bathroom door to turn the handle.
Lizetta had locked the door from inside, and the sound of rushing water was loud. The water was so loud that Remington frowned and knocked twice on the door, but whether she couldn’t hear or just didn’t want to respond, there was no reaction.
Biting down on his back teeth, Remington barely managed to suppress his anger and left the master bedroom.
Inside the bathroom.
Lizetta turned on the shower, cranking it up to full blast. Not waiting for the water to warm, she stood under the showerhead, letting the cold water drench her from head to toe.
She scrubbed at herself forcefully, but that sticky, nauseating feeling seemed to cling to her skin, as if it would never wash away.
