Redemption of hearts

Trust in the dark!

Liza's POV

"What the hell?" I snapped, anger bubbling under my words. After all those sleepless nights and sacrifices, someone thinks I'd just hand over my work to some random stranger? Really? I didn't pour my heart and soul into this project just to be accused of something so absurd. The audacity—it's almost laughable, if it didn't hurt so damn much.

"We have proof against you, Ms. Anderson," some guy in a blue tuxedo said, his face as emotionless as a statue. His words hung in the air, a clear accusation for something I didn't even do. Because apparently, baseless blame looks good in formalwear.

"And sorry, who exactly are you?" I asked, my tone laced with irritation as I stared at his blank, emotionless expression. Honestly, was he a person or a poorly programmed robot?

"Well, you're not exactly in a position to ask me questions," he replied, his tone as dry as his expression. "But since you're so curious, I'm Mark. Mark Robinson. Legal advisor for Parker and Co. I'll be handling this case from now on." He said it like he was announcing the weather—cold, detached, and thoroughly uninterested in my existence.

I glanced at Samuel. His face was unreadable, his eyes heavy with exhaustion. Still, before diving headfirst into this battle, there was something I needed to know—something only he could answer.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady the whirlwind of emotions churning inside me. "Samuel," I said firmly, my voice cutting through the suffocating silence. "Do you believe I could do something like this?" There was a faint, desperate hope laced in my words, a tiny crack in my armor that I couldn't quite hide.

His eyes met mine, tired and shadowed, but still frustratingly unreadable. For a moment, he didn't answer, and the silence grew heavier, pressing down on me like a weight.

Finally, he sighed, his voice low and distant. "I don't know what to believe anymore."

The words hit me harder than any accusation could. My chest tightened as the small flicker of hope inside me dimmed, leaving a cold emptiness in its place.

"Fucking pathetic," I hissed, the words dripping with anger and hurt. How could I have been so stupid? Believing him when he said he'd fix things, when he swore he wouldn't back out this time. And the worst part—the part that twisted the knife—was when he said he loved me. I clung to those lies like a fool, and now they were crumbling around me, leaving nothing but anger and the sting of betrayal.

"I got my answers," I said, forcing my voice to steady as I pulled myself together. Strength—fake it till you feel it, right? I turned to Mr. Robinson, who was watching us with a faint smirk, like he'd just found front-row seats to his favourite drama.

"So, Mr. Robinson," I said, narrowing my eyes at his smug expression. "You mentioned you've got evidence, didn't you? Well then, may I see it?" My tone was polite enough, but the challenge in my words was unmistakable.

Mr. Robinson adjusted his cuffs with an air of self-importance before pulling a sleek black folder from his briefcase. He set it down on the table between us with an almost theatrical pause, his expression cool and detached.

"Of course," he said smoothly. "Everything you need to see is right here. Take your time."

I hesitated for a fraction of a second before flipping the folder open. The first page was a printed email thread—my name glaring back at me in bold letters. My stomach twisted as I skimmed the contents, accusations and details that painted a picture I didn't recognize but couldn't entirely dismiss.

"What the hell is this?" I demanded, my voice rising despite my attempt to stay composed.

"Proof," Mr. Robinson said simply, his tone so calm it made my skin crawl. "Dates, times, communication logs—it's all there."