Chapter 100 Liza #3
With no clock, and no way to tell how many hours had passed except for the lengthening shadows outside the window, time crept by slowly.
Each passing moment was a cruel reminder of my situation.
Despite my best efforts to lose myself in a book, I kept glancing out the window, entertaining myself with absurd escape scenarios.
I was lost in this contemplation when another guard opened the door and discovered me with my forehead pressed against the cool glass, pondering the logistics of my potential escape.
“Miss Liza, the master is waiting.”
I stood up, the soft fabric of my fresh clothes brushing against my skin. My heart thumped against my ribcage, its beats echoing like the wings of a caged bird, desperate for flight. Refusing to be viewed as weak, I steadied myself and regained my composure.
“Let’s get this over with.” I groaned internally. I’d been aiming for nonchalant, but to my ears, my words lacked confidence.
“Who is he?” I questioned the guard, curiosity winning out of over my fear. “Why go to all this trouble just to keep me here?”
The guard didn’t say a word, and his stoic expression betrayed nothing.
Taking a slow breath, I tamped down my growing frustration. I needed to stay alert and observant if I wanted to stand a chance to escape this place.
When we approached another set of ornate double doors, my palms started to sweat, and my heartbeat grew erratic. The unknown captor, the reason for my imprisonment… It all lay beyond those doors.
The doors swung open at the guard’s push, revealing a lavish dining room with a soaring ceiling and gleaming marble floors.
Against the backdrop of opulence, the beautifully arranged table for two stood out with its simplicity and charm.
The chairs were positioned directly across from each other in a clear sign of what was to come: an intimate dinner with my captor.
This was it, the moment I’d been dreading and anticipating in equal measure.
I hesitated at the threshold, scanning the room for any clues of my captor’s identity. More priceless art adorned the walls, and flames danced in the enormous fireplace.
I thought of my family and friends—the people who had been ripped away from me without warning or explanation. Rage and fear warred within me, tempered only by the knowledge that if I wanted to be with them again, I needed to stay focused and in control.
“Show yourself,” I said, my voice stronger than I expected. “Tell me why I’m here,”
“Have a seat, Miss Liza.” The guard gestured toward the table, then turned and left, closing the heavy door behind him, leaving me alone in the silence.
The table called to me, and my attention was immediately captured by the photo album placed in the center. Its age and simplicity were a stark contrast to the surrounding luxury. A small white envelope with my name written in graceful, flowing script sat on top of the album.
My birthname: Liza Wylde.
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 wiped away 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.