Shattered Illusions Love Lies and Redemption (Lizetta and Remington) novel Chapter 1279

Just then, a loud thud echoed through the house.

The daughter-in-law flinched violently, nearly collapsing off the sofa in sheer terror.

She whipped her head around, her body rigid, only to see her husband—the eldest son—walking in from the hallway. Clutching her chest, she gasped.

"You scared me to death!"

Martha shot her a disdainful glare. "Stop jumping at shadows. You're pathetic."

The daughter-in-law lowered her head, not daring to argue with her mother-in-law, but she couldn't help a bitter pout.

Was she being pathetic?

They were actively declaring war on the Dashiell empire by holding the billionaire's infant son hostage. Anyone with a brain would be terrified.

"Is the kid quiet?"

Martha asked, shifting her attention to her eldest son.

She was, of course, referring to Joy.

During the video call, they hadn't actually dropped the baby onto the hard floor; he had landed on a pre-positioned inflatable cushion.

Joy was their ultimate bargaining chip, and taking him to a hospital was impossible, so they weren't reckless enough to intentionally cause severe physical trauma.

If the child died or suffered a critical injury, their leverage would evaporate.

Despite landing safely, the drop—combined with hearing Lizetta's frantic voice—had sent Joy into a state of absolute hysteria.

Normally, they would simply force-feed him formula laced with sleeping pills.

But today, the furious toddler had locked his jaw, refusing to swallow a single drop.

Frustrated, Martha had pinned the boy down and clamped a pillow over his face to muffle the deafening wails, assuming he would eventually exhaust himself and pass out.

Instead, the tiny boy had summoned a shocking burst of strength, fighting his way out from under the pillow and sinking his baby teeth directly into Martha's hand.

Martha snapped, cutting him off. Whether her daughter-in-law's panic was contagious or not, a lingering unease had begun gnawing at her nerves.

Her eldest son grumbled but obeyed. After all, Martha had raised them single-handedly, and every ounce of their current wealth was entirely due to her ruthlessness.

Grabbing his cigarettes, he stood up, figuring a smoke break wouldn't hurt.

He honestly believed there was zero threat. Remington Dashiell wasn't a god. Finding their highly secured safehouse in just two days was statistically impossible.

The heavy police presence in Zion City was simply because the Dashiell empire was headquartered there; they were likely just blindly shaking the trees.

With that arrogant mindset, he stepped out onto the patio. He kept his head down, shielding his lighter from the wind to spark his cigarette, not even bothering to scan the darkness.

It wasn't until the orange flame illuminated the ground that he noticed the silhouette cast against the pavement.

There was a second shadow standing inches behind his own.

A jolt of absolute terror struck his heart. He immediately reached for the pistol tucked into his waistband, but before his fingers could even brush the grip, a vicious strike slammed into the back of his neck.