With a single breath, the bravado I’d been holding onto evaporated.
I was Liza Mimms. Liza Keller. Very few people beyond my mate and our families knew the truth about my birthright. Most people believed Liza Wylde had died with her family in the massacre at Heather Falls. Dread consumed my entire being. Fuck. Castro could be behind all this. Was it possible I was being held captive by the one man we’d fought so tirelessly against?
“Take a look,” said the all-too-familiar voice in my mind, softer than ever before. “It may help explain a few things.”
I bit my lip as I stared down at the note, then cautiously lowered myself onto the seat, my unsteady fingers grazing the cover of the album. Blood rushed in my ears, and my fingers trembled with anticipation. What secrets would I discover within these pages?
Gingerly, I opened the album to the first page, and I gasped and slapped my free hand to my mouth. The photo was charred around the edges and crumpled, but someone had taken the care to have it properly mounted inside the album. I stared down at the image of a baby girl, her wide eyes filled with curiosity, a tuft of white-blonde hair on top of her head, with her arms reaching out to the unknown photographer. I didn’t need anyone to tell me that I was looking at myself.
Tears welled in my eyes as I turned the page, the rustling sound breaking the heavy silence around me. Seeing the countless photos of me as a baby was a surreal experience. I’d never seen them before. With my adoptive parents, Scott and Rory Mimms, the photographs began after Dominic Keller left me with them, and they adopted me at age four. In these images, I was a newborn cradled in the arms of my birth parents, Josef and Portia Wylde, or playing with them. It was a surreal experience to witness these precious moments. Moments I had no memory of.
“Mom... Dad...” My finger trembled as I traced the contours of my mother’s image, my throat tight with emotion. I wipedaway a tear, trying my best not to cry. I needed to stay strong to understand what this all meant. The kidnapping, and now this album… it was like trying to solve a jigsaw puzzle without a picture. A challenge that seemed impossible to overcome.
Flipping through the pages, I witnessed my growth from a newborn with innocent eyes to a toddler with an insatiable curiosity. In many of the pictures, there was another constant presence—a little boy, a few years older—that shared a noticeable resemblance with me. My brother Liam. In the captured moments, our laughter and playfulness served as a testament to the undeniable strength of our connection. As all the puzzle pieces fell into their rightful spots, the door swung open once more.
Caught between fear and a sense of possibility, I slowly shifted my focus from the album to the doorway. I was in a state of shock and disbelief as I took in the sight before me. Even though I hadn’t seen him since I was a toddler, I recognized him instantly. The boy in the pictures. The boy from my dreams.
“Liam,” I gasped, my vision locked on the unbelievable figure standing in front of me. “You’re here. You’re really… How?”
“Hey, Liza.” He offered a small, sad smile, and his voice sounded familiar. “You must have so many questions.”
“Questions?” I scoffed, shaking with a combination of relief and anger. “You have no idea.”
“Let me explain.” Liam took the chair across from me. “There’s a lot I need to tell you. First, I need you to understand I never meant for any of this to happen. You were never supposed to be involved.”
“Involved in what, exactly?” I asked, my attention flitting between him and the photo album.
“Everything that’s happened, you being brought here?—”
“Me being kidnapped, you mean,” I snapped.
“You being brought here,” he reiterated calmly. “It’s all tied to our family, to secrets that go back generations.”
“Secrets? What are you talking about?”
“Please, just listen.” Liam reached out to take my hand. As much as I wanted to pull away and reject the comfort he was offering, I couldn’t. I needed answers, and he was the only one who could provide them.
101
LIZA
The tension in the air was suffocating as Liam and I stared at each other. Confusion spiked inside me. He looked exactly like the one picture I’d found of him on social media, only older. His brow had a few more wrinkles, and a few gray hairs were sprinkled among the darker locks.
What had happened to him during the years we’d been separated? How had this man transformed into the kind of person who would scheme to harm an innocent woman who wasn’t involved in whatever was going on? He’d arranged for me to be kidnapped. He’d taken me from my mate and family.
As I pondered on the events that had unfolded in my mother’s kitchen, I could feel my anger intensifying, like a bonfire gradually engulfing my body.
Vivid flashbacks surged through me, as if I were reliving them. I could hear my mother’s voice calling me, urging me to come quickly. I sensed something amiss, yet I hastened to her side.
In my mind, the night unfurled before me in a series of distressing images. I arrived to find the front door ajar, inviting uncertainty. Entering the house, I discovered my mother lyingmotionless on the frigid kitchen floor in a pool of coagulated blood. Her pleas for me to flee and abandon her echoed in my ears, her words a desperate warning. The memory of my frantic attempts to lift her, to get her to safety, engulfed me with a heart-wrenching ache.
I could still feel the stickiness of her blood staining my hands. Then as we burst out of the house, believing we had found refuge, a figure emerged from the shadows. He brandished a weapon, directing his demands toward me while my mother stood defenseless.
The shock of the memory was amplified by the realization that this man was acting under the orders of my own brother. My own flesh and blood had betrayed me and orchestrated a situation that led to physical harm being inflicted upon my mother. It was an unforgivable act.
As I pushed myself up out of my chair and paced the grand dining room, I couldn’t help but notice the strong smell of freshly polished wood, which only heightened my restless state. The anger that welled up within me became so overpowering, it took over my entire being. The flooring beneath me started to shake, and the fine china on the table made a chiming sound as plates collided with each other.
I was beyond angry at this point. The images replayed back over and over like flash photography.
