THE WAITRESS WAS PARALYZED WHEN SHE SAW HER CHILDHOOD PHOTO IN A BLACK FRAME IN THE MANSION...

The waitress went to work at a party in a luxury mansion and froze when she saw her childhood picture in a black frame. Lla woke up early, just like every other day. The first rays of sunlight crept through the thin curtains of her small bedroom, casting a warm golden glow on the few things she owned. The faint scent of coffee brewing in the kitchen wafted through the air, comforting in its familiarity. Today was going to be another long day. She had a shift at the diner later, but before that, there were errands to run,

bills to pay, and her younger sister to take care of. Life wasn't easy for Lla; at 23, she had grown used to the grind. There wasn't much time to think about her own dreams or desires between the diner shifts, odd jobs, and helping her adoptive mother at home. She had little space left for anything else. Still, she couldn't complain; she had a roof over her head, and although they didn't have much, her family always made sure there was food on the table. Her adoptive mother, Rosa, had taken Lla and her sister in when they were

just babies, raising them with love and care despite the hardships. As Lla got dressed for the day, her mind wandered. Today was a little different; she'd been given the chance to work at a high-end party in the city as a server, something she didn't usually do. The pay was better than anything she earned at the diner, and even though it was just a one-time gig, it would help cover this month's rent and maybe even give her a little breathing room for once. Still, the idea of stepping into such an extravagant world made her feel uneasy.

The rich and powerful lived lives she couldn't even begin to understand. The mansion where the party was to be held belonged to the Waywri family, a name everyone in town knew. They were wealthy, influential, and mysterious. There were always rumors swirling about their wealth and how they had maintained their power over the years, but those stories felt distant to Lla; they belonged to another world, one she would never touch, or so she thought. "Are you sure about this, Lla?" Rosa asked as she handed Lla her bag. "It's going to be a long night, and those

rich folks, well, they're not always the kindest." Lla smiled, trying to ease her mother's worry. "I'll be fine, Mama. It's just for one night. The money will help us a lot." Rosa's face softened, but there was still concern in her eyes. "Just be careful. People like that—they have their secrets." With a final hug, Lla stepped out of the house and into the fresh morning air. The sun was shining brighter now, and for a moment, she allowed herself to feel a small flicker of hope. Maybe today would be a step forward, a tiny escape from the

relentless grind. By the time Lla arrived at the mansion, the sun had begun to set. The grand estate loomed in front of her, towering and imposing. The long driveway was lined with luxury cars, and the sounds of classical music floated through the air from inside. The house itself was a testament to the Waywri's wealth: marble floors, towering columns, and chandeliers that sparkled like diamonds. Lla couldn't help but feel small as she stepped inside, blending in with the other workers who were busy setting up for the event. "Welcome to the Waywri mansion," one of the coordinators

said, his tone brisk and formal. "We expect nothing less than perfection from our staff tonight." Lla nodded, feeling the weight of the expectations already. She was here to work, not to dream; she needed to stay focused. As the night went on, Lla moved through the grand ballroom, serving drinks and appetizers to the elite guests. Her eyes constantly scanned the room, taking in the opulence. The women wore gowns that shimmered in the light, their laughter tinkling like crystal. The men, dressed in sharp suits, talked in low voices about business deals and political connections. It was a

different world, one where money was no object and secrets lay hidden beneath every polite smile. At one point, as she walked through a hallway on her way to the kitchen, something caught Lla's eye—a portrait hanging on the wall in an ornate black frame. She stopped, her heart suddenly racing. It was a picture of a little girl, no more than five years old. The girl had long dark hair tied in pigtails and wide, curious eyes. Lla stared at the picture for a long moment, a chill running down her spine. That little girl... it was her. It

couldn't be, but it was. She recognized the dress, the way her hair was done. It was an old photo from when she was a child, long before she had any memory of her early life. "What is this doing here?" she whispered to herself, feeling her breath quicken. Shaking her head, Lla forced herself to move; she couldn't afford to get distracted—not here, not tonight. But the image of the photo burned itself into her mind, making her question everything she thought she knew about her life. How could her picture be hanging in the home of the Waywri's?

She had never even met these people. Throughout the rest of the evening, Lla couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that had settled in her chest. She tried to push it aside, focusing on her tasks, but the questions kept swirling in her mind: Who were the Waywri's, and why did they have a picture of her as a child? As the guests began to leave and the night wound down, Lla found herself lingering in the same hallway, her eyes drawn once again to the mysterious portrait. She had to find out. Answers, but she didn't know where to start.

Lla couldn't shake the feeling of unease as she left the portrait behind and returned to the main event. The mansion buzzed with life, guests laughing, clinking glasses, and music filling the air, but her mind was elsewhere, racing with questions she couldn't ignore. How could her photo—a picture she barely remembered from her childhood—end up in this house? Who had put it there, and why? She moved mechanically, going through the motions of serving drinks, smiling politely, and staying out of the way of the wealthy elite. But every time her mind wandered, it circled back to the same

haunting thought: there was a connection between her and the Wri family, a connection she had never imagined. Her heart pounded in her chest, and the anxiety gnawed at her, making it impossible to focus. As the evening wore on, Lla found herself scanning the faces of the Wri family. She hadn't met them directly, but she could tell who they were. There was an aura about them, a confidence that came from generations of wealth and privilege. They moved through the crowd like royalty, making small talk with their guests, but always with a hint of distance—as if they

were somehow above everyone else. At the center of it all was Haron Wri, the patriarch of the family. His presence commanded attention, with sharp features, silver hair neatly combed back, and an air of authority that made people straighten up when he walked by. He was someone who demanded respect and was likely feared by those close to him. Lla had heard rumors about him over the years—whispers about how ruthless he could be in business, how he had built the family empire through cutthroat tactics. But standing in the same room as him, she could sense there was

something even darker beneath the surface. She couldn't help but feel a shiver run down her spine as her eyes lingered on Haron for a moment too long. He caught her gaze, and for the briefest of seconds, their eyes met. It felt like he could see straight through her, and a cold smile flickered across his face before he turned away, resuming his conversation with a group of distinguished guests. Lyla quickly looked away, her heart racing. Did he know who she was? Was that why her picture was in this house, or was she just being paranoid? Trying

to shake off the feeling, she continued her rounds, delivering trays of appetizers to the guests, but the questions wouldn't leave her mind. She needed answers, and soon. As the night progressed, Lyla decided she had to do something. She couldn't just let this go—not without understanding why her picture was hanging in this mansion, why she felt such an inexplicable connection to a family she had never even met. By the time the guests had begun to thin out, Lla made up her mind. She couldn't ask the Wri family directly—that would be too dangerous, especially if they had

something to hide. Instead, she decided to talk to the other staff. If anyone knew the secrets of this house, it would be the people who worked behind the scenes. As the party came to a close and the last few guests trickled out, Lyla slipped into the kitchen, where the rest of the servers were cleaning up. She approached Marta, an older woman who had worked in the Wri mansion for years. Marta was kind, always offering a smile to the newer staff and making sure they were treated fairly. If anyone knew something about the family, it would

be her. "Hey, Marta," Lyla began cautiously, not wanting to arouse suspicion. "Can I ask you something?" Marta looked up from the stack of dishes she was organizing, wiping her hands on her apron. "Of course, dear. What's on your mind?" Lla hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to phrase her question. "That portrait in the hallway—the one with the little girl—do you know anything about it? It just caught my eye, and I couldn't help but wonder." Marta's expression shifted ever so slightly, a flicker of something Lyla couldn't quite place. Was it recognition or hesitation? "Oh, that

old thing," Marta said, her tone light, but there was a guardedness to her voice. "That's been there for as long as I can remember. Why do you ask?" Lla forced a casual shrug, trying to keep her voice steady. "I don't know. It just looked familiar, like maybe I'd seen it somewhere before." Marta gave her a long look, as if weighing whether to say more. Finally, she spoke again, her voice quieter this time. "The Wri family has always been a bit private about their family history. There are things they don't talk about—things that happened long before

you or I ever came here. Best not to ask too many questions, if you know what I mean." Lla felt a knot tighten in her stomach. Marta wasn't saying it outright, but the message was clear: the Wri family had secrets, and digging into them could be dangerous. Still, Lla couldn't just let it go. "What kind of things?" she pressed, her voice barely above a whisper. Marta glanced around, making sure no one else was listening. "There was a tragedy many years ago. The Wri family lost some members in a terrible accident. It's not something they talk

about, especially not with the staff. But there were rumors. People said it wasn't really an accident, that there was more to it. But I'd be careful, Lyla. This family has a way of making sure their business stays private." Lyla's heart pounded in her chest. A tragedy, an accident, and now her picture hanging in their house. The pieces were starting to come together, but they still didn't make sense. Why was her face in a house filled... With so much mystery and darkness, she thanked Marta for the information, but as she returned to the ballroom to finish

her shift, Lla knew she was only scratching the surface. Whatever had happened in the Way Wri family, it was connected to her in ways she couldn't yet understand. If she wanted to uncover the truth, she would have to dig deeper, no matter the risk. Lla couldn't let it go. The entire way home from the Way Mansion, the image of that portrait, the look on Haren's face, and Marta's cryptic warning circled in her mind like a relentless storm. By the time she reached her small apartment, the weight of it all sat heavy in her chest, making

it hard to breathe. There was no denying it now: something was wrong, something deep and unsettling, and she was somehow tied to it. Her adoptive mother, Rosa, was already asleep when she came in, so Lla moved quietly through the apartment, careful not to disturb the peaceful night. But her mind was anything but peaceful. She couldn't stop thinking about what Marta had said: the tragedy, the accident, the rumors that swirled around the Way Wri family. How could her picture be there, connected to a family that seemed so far removed from her own life? Lla sat down

at the small kitchen table, staring at the chipped surface in front of her. She could feel her heart still racing from the events of the night. Every part of her told her to let it go, to leave the mystery behind. After all, she was just a waitress, a working girl who barely scraped by. What business did she have poking around in the lives of the rich and powerful? But the more she tried to ignore it, the stronger the pull became. There was something more to this—something that involved her, whether she wanted to accept it or

not. The next day, Lla found herself distracted at work. The steady hum of the diner, the clinking of plates and cups, the chatter of customers—it all felt distant, as if she were watching from outside her own body. She couldn't stop thinking about the Way Wri family and the secrets that seemed to lurk within its walls. During her break, she pulled out her phone and did a quick search for the Way Wri family. There wasn't much online—mostly articles about their wealth, their influence in local politics, and their various businesses—but buried in the pages of news reports

and social media posts, Lla found something that sent a shiver down her spine: a headline from 20 years ago. "Tragic Accident Claims Lives of Way Wri Family Members." Lyla's hands shook as she opened the article. It was short—just a few paragraphs—but it confirmed everything Marta had hinted at. The accident had involved a car crash, killing two members of the Way Wri family. The article didn't give many details, but it was enough to make Lyla's blood run cold. The victims: Henry and Evelyn Wright, a married couple. Lla blinked, staring at the screen. The names meant nothing

to her, but there was something familiar about them. As she continued to scroll through the article, she noticed a small note at the bottom: "The couple is survived by their young daughter, Lla." The world seemed to tilt for a moment. Lla felt like she couldn't breathe. She read and reread the words, trying to make sense of what she was seeing. It couldn't be true; it couldn't. But the more she stared at the name, the more it made sense. Her name: Lla. A common enough name, sure, but the odds were too slim. Could it be possible

that the accident Marta had mentioned was the same one that had taken her parents' lives? The same accident that had left her in the care of her adoptive mother? Her fingers hovered over her phone, unsure of what to do next. She felt like the ground had been ripped out from under her—the steady life she thought she knew suddenly unstable and full of questions. Her head spun with memories: scattered images from her childhood, flashes of faces she couldn't quite place, and the vague feeling that she had always been different, somehow out of place. She needed answers,

and she knew she wasn't going to find them here. There was only one place she could go. That evening, Lla returned to the Way Wri Mansion. She had no plan, no idea of what she would say or do, but she knew she couldn't rest until she had some clarity. The towering gates and sprawling estate felt more imposing in the dusk, the long shadows of the trees stretching out like claws across the perfectly manicured lawn. She hesitated at the gate, her heart hammering in her chest. What was she doing? She was just a waitress, a nobody.

She didn't belong here. But before she could turn back, the gate buzzed, and a voice came through the intercom: "Can I help you?" the voice asked, impatient and sharp. Lla swallowed hard, unsure of what to say. "I... I need to speak with someone from the family. It's about a personal matter." There was a long pause, then the gate creaked open, allowing her inside. Her legs felt like lead as she walked up the driveway, the mansion looming ahead of her like a dark, silent giant. Every step felt heavier, like the weight of her past was pulling

her down, threatening to swallow her whole. When she reached the door, one of the staff—a stern-faced woman in her 50s—led her in and guided her to a small sitting room off to the side of the main hall. Lyla's stomach churned with nerves as she sat down, her fingers twisting in her lap. She could hear the muffled sounds of people talking in other rooms. Rooms, the faint clink of glasses and the shuffle of footsteps on the polished floors. After what felt like an eternity, the door opened, and Haren Wright stepped into the room. He was dressed

impeccably, his silver hair slicked back, his eyes as cold as ice. He didn't say anything at first, just looked at her with that same unsettling gaze from the night before, as if he could see right through her. "What can I do for you, miss?" he began, his voice smooth but distant. Lyla's mouth went dry. She had rehearsed what she would say a hundred times in her mind, but now, standing in front of the man who held the key to her past, the words seemed to slip away. "I—I saw a picture of me in your house,"

she finally managed to say, her voice shaky. "When I was a child, I don't understand why it's here, and I need to know." Harland's expression didn't change; he simply watched her for a moment, as if calculating how much to reveal, how much to keep hidden. Then, with a small, almost imperceptible smile, he said, "There's a lot you don't know, Miss Lyla. Perhaps it's time we change that." Lyla sat frozen in the chair, her heart pounding as Harland's words echoed in her mind: "There's a lot you don't know." The room felt colder, the silence stretching painfully

as he studied her. Every instinct screamed at her to leave, to run far from this place and never look back. But she couldn't—not now, not when she was so close to finding out the truth. Harland moved to a chair across from her, sitting down with an air of controlled calmness, as if he had all the time in the world. He looked at her, that calculating gaze making her feel exposed. "I must admit, I was surprised to see you at the party the other night," he said smoothly. "But I shouldn't have been; it was bound to

happen eventually." Lyla's throat tightened. "What was bound to happen?" Harland leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other, his fingers tapping lightly on the armrest. "Your return. You may not have known it, but this has always been where you were meant to be." Lyla's stomach turned. "What are you talking about? I don't know you; I don't know this family." A small, thin smile spread across Harland's face. "Oh, but you do. You just don't remember." He paused, as if enjoying the confusion in her eyes. "You are Lyla Wright, daughter of Henry and Evelyn

Wright—my niece." The words hit her like a punch to the gut. For a moment, she couldn't breathe; her mind raced, trying to process what he had just said. It couldn't be true, could it? "No," Lyla said, shaking her head. "That can't be. I was adopted when I was a baby. My parents—my real parents—died when I was little." Harland's smile faded, replaced by something colder, more serious. "Yes, they did die in a car accident—a tragedy that shook this family to its core. But you survived, and somehow you were taken from us." He tilted his head slightly,

studying her reaction. "How did you think you ended up with your adoptive family?" Lyla blinked, her mind reeling. "I—I don't know. I never thought about it. I just assumed—" "You assumed you were unwanted," Harland finished for her. "But that's not the case. You were very much wanted, Lyla, and not just by us." She swallowed hard, her pulse quickening. There was a dangerous edge to his voice, something that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. "What do you mean?" Harland's gaze sharpened, his voice lowering. "After the accident, there were complications—people who

wanted to control your family's wealth and influence. You were taken from us to keep you safe, or at least that's what they claimed. But I suspect there were other motives at play." Lyla felt a chill creep through her bones. "What kind of motives?" "Power," Harland said simply, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world. "Control. Your parents' deaths left a vacuum, and there were those who saw an opportunity to fill it. But keeping you hidden—that was a way to keep the Wright legacy from being passed down to its rightful heir." Lyla's mind

swirled with questions. Could this really be true? Could she have been part of the Wright family all along? It didn't make sense. Why had no one told her? Why had she lived her entire life in the dark, thinking she was just another orphan? She stared at Harland, trying to read his expression. He seemed calm—almost too calm—like someone who had carefully planned this conversation and knew exactly what he wanted from it. "So you're saying I'm—I'm supposed to be part of this family?" Lyla asked, her voice trembling. "Yes," Harland replied, his voice as smooth as ever. "You

are the last true Wright heir." Lyla's mind raced, trying to wrap around the enormity of what he was saying. Her whole life, she had struggled just to make ends meet, to survive, and now she was being told she was the heir to a fortune—a legacy she had never known existed. But there was something about Harland's demeanor that unsettled her. He was too calm, too controlled. She couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to this story than he was letting on. "If that's true," Lyla began slowly, "then why didn't you come looking for me? Why

didn't you try to find me all these years?" Harland's expression didn't change, but his eyes flickered with something dark. "It wasn't that simple. There were obstacles—people who didn't want you to be found." "Like who?" Lyla pressed. Harland's smile returned, but it didn't reach his eyes. "That's something you'll have to discover for yourself." the trees. The details were sparse, but the article described how the couple, known for their philanthropic efforts in the community, had left behind a young daughter, Lyla. As she read on, the story painted a picture of shock and mourning in the community, highlighting

the impact of their deaths on friends and family. Lyla’s heart raced as she absorbed the words on the page. The tragedy that had defined her early years was laid bare in front of her, but there was something unsettling about the way the article described the circumstances of the accident. There were whispers of ‘mechanical failure’ and ‘road conditions,’ but no definitive answers. She wondered how much of this narrative had been influenced by the same forces Harland had hinted at. Determined, Lyla continued to sift through the articles, hoping for something, anything, that would give her real insight

into that fateful night. Hours passed, but her resolve only grew stronger; she was not merely a victim of circumstance. She was a Wri, and she had a legacy to uncover. After what felt like an eternity, she stumbled upon a small article buried deep in the archives. It mentioned “unusual circumstances” regarding the accident, hinting at an investigation that had quickly fizzled out. The phrase caught her attention—a flicker of hope igniting within her. Perhaps there was more to uncover, a thread she could pull that would unravel the truth. Lyla made a mental note of the details, ready

to follow any potential leads that might shed light on her parents’ deaths. As she left the library, her blood hummed with a mix of adrenaline and purpose. She had a mission now, one that went beyond merely seeking answers—it was about reclaiming her identity and, ultimately, her power. The answers were out there, and she was determined to find them. A ravine. Both were pronounced dead at the scene. The article mentioned no foul play, but Lyla couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. Harland had been too insistent that there was more to the story. She scrolled

through a few more articles, hoping to find something—anything—that could give her more insight. But each one repeated the same information: tragic accident, prominent family, no survivors except their young daughter, who had been sent to live with relatives after the accident. Relatives. Lyla's heart skipped a beat. If she was the only survivor, why had she been adopted by a completely different family? Where had the Way rights been all this time? And why had no one come looking for her sooner? She was about to give up when she noticed a small article from a local gossip column

dated a few weeks after the accident. The headline read, "Speculation Surrounds Way Wri Estate: Will the Fortune Be Contested?" Lyla's eyes widened as she read the article. It was filled with vague references to a family dispute over the Way Wri fortune. There were rumors that not everyone had agreed with how the estate had been settled after Henry and Evelyn's deaths. Some believed there had been a power struggle within the family, with different factions vying for control of the wealth and influence left behind. The article didn't name names, but Lyla couldn't shake the feeling that Harland

had been at the center of it. Had he been the one to take control of the Way Wri estate after her parents' deaths? And if so, had he kept her hidden away to maintain his grip on the family's wealth? Lyla's mind spun with possibilities. Everything pointed to Harland, but without more concrete evidence, she was left in the dark. She leaned back in her chair, rubbing her temples as the weight of it all pressed down on her. If Harland had orchestrated the events after the accident, what else was he capable of? Was it possible that he

had been involved in her parents' deaths? It was a terrifying thought, but one she couldn't dismiss. If Harland had killed her parents to seize control of the Way Wri fortune, then he had more blood on his hands than she had ever imagined. And if he had hidden her away to protect his interests, it meant he had been lying to her from the moment they met. Lyla stood up from the chair, her pulse racing. She needed more information, but she couldn't do this alone. Harland was powerful, and if he was as dangerous as she suspected, she

would have to tread carefully. She thought of Marta, the woman who had hinted at the Way Wri's secrets during the party. Maybe Marta knew more than she had let on. With new determination, Lyla left the library and headed back toward the Way Wri mansion. She needed to speak with Marta again, this time with a clearer understanding of what she was looking for. As she walked, the wind picked up, rustling the leaves on the sidewalk and sending a chill down her spine. She couldn't shake the feeling that the deeper she dug, the more dangerous things would

become. By the time she arrived at the mansion, the sky was darkening, casting long shadows across the estate. Lyla hesitated at the gate, her heart pounding in her chest. This time she wasn't here to ask innocent questions; she was here to uncover the truth, no matter what it cost her. She took a deep breath and stepped forward, knowing that once she crossed this line, there would be no going back. Lyla's hands trembled as she stood outside the Way Wri mansion, her eyes fixed on the imposing gates that separated her from the truth. The mansion loomed

ahead like a fortress, dark and silent under the fading light of the evening. She hesitated for a moment, her breath catching in her throat. She knew this confrontation with Harland could change everything. The secrets she was about to uncover could unravel the life she had known and lead her down a path she couldn't predict. But she had no choice. The more she thought about it, the clearer it became: Harland had lied to her, hidden the truth for years, and likely played a much darker role in her parents' deaths than he had admitted. If she didn't

confront him now, she might never get another chance to expose him. With a deep breath, Lyla pushed the intercom button at the gate. Her heart pounded in her chest as she waited, the seconds stretching into what felt like an eternity. Finally, the speaker crackled to life, and a familiar voice came through. "Can I help you?" "I need to speak with M. Way," Lyla said, trying to keep her voice steady. There was a pause on the other end. "Do you have an appointment?" Lyla clenched her fists. "No, but it's important. I'm family." The silence that followed

was long and heavy; she could almost feel the weight of the words sinking in on the other side. Then the gate buzzed and slowly began to open, creaking as it swung inward. Lyla steeled herself, stepping forward onto the long driveway that led to the front entrance of the mansion. Every step felt heavier than the last, as if the ground itself was resisting her approach. By the time she reached the front door, a butler was waiting for her. He nodded curtly, holding the door open as if he had been expecting her all along. "Right this way,

Miss," he said, his voice calm and detached. Lyla followed him inside, her eyes sweeping over the lavish interior she had seen before, but this time the grandeur felt oppressive, as if the mansion itself was hiding secrets in its shadows. The butler led her to the same small sitting room where she had met Harland the night... Before, the room was just as cold, just as elegant, and filled with the same suffocating silence. "Mr. Wright will be with you shortly," the butler said before closing the door softly behind him, leaving Lla alone in the room. Her heart

raced as she waited, her hands gripping the arms of the chair. The minutes ticked by, and with each passing second, her resolve hardened. She wasn't going to let Haren manipulate her again. She needed answers—the real answers—and she was prepared to fight for them. Finally, the door opened, and Harland stepped into the room; his presence was as imposing as ever, but there was a new edge to his expression, a flicker of annoyance in his eyes. He closed the door behind him and walked slowly toward her, his hands clasped behind his back. "Lla," he said calmly, but

there was an undercurrent of irritation in his voice. "I wasn't expecting to see you again so soon. What brings you here tonight?" Lla met his gaze, refusing to be intimidated. "I've been doing some research," she said, her voice firm, "about my parents, about the accident." Haron raised an eyebrow, his expression carefully neutral. "I see. And what have you found?" "That their deaths weren't an accident," Lla continued, her voice growing stronger with each word. "That there was more going on and that someone didn't want me to inherit what was rightfully mine." Harland's eyes flickered with something—surprise,

annoyance—but he quickly masked it with a smile. "You've been busy, haven't you?" he said, his tone almost amused. "I warned you that digging into the past could be dangerous." Lyla ignored the veiled threat. "You knew all along who I was," she said, her voice trembling slightly with anger. "You knew I was your niece, and you let me live my whole life thinking I was just a nobody. Why didn't you come for me? Why didn't you tell me the truth?" Harland sighed, as if her questions were a minor inconvenience. "Lla, there are things you don't understand—"

"No," she cut him off, standing up from her chair. "I think I understand more than you want me to. You kept me hidden because you wanted the Wright fortune for yourself. You didn't want me to inherit what was mine, so you let me believe I was just some orphan." Harland's smile faded, replaced by a hard, cold look. "You're making dangerous accusations, Lla. I suggest you tread carefully." Lyla's hands clenched into fists at her sides. "I'm not afraid of you, Harland. I want the truth, and I'm not leaving until I get it." Haren stepped closer, his

gaze narrowing. For the first time, Lla could see the real Harland Wright—not the charming, polished man who had welcomed her into his home, but someone far more dangerous. His voice lowered to a near whisper, sharp as a blade. "The truth," he said slowly, "is more than you can handle, Lla. Your parents' deaths weren't an accident, but they also weren't what you think. There were forces at play that you're not prepared to deal with—people who would do anything to keep the Wright legacy intact." Lyla's heart raced. "What do you mean? Who was involved?" Harland's lips curled

into a dark smile. "Let's just say your parents made powerful enemies, and when they got in the way, those enemies made sure they were removed from the equation." "Removed?" Lyla repeated, her voice barely a whisper. "You mean they were murdered." Harland didn't answer directly, but the look in his eyes told her everything she needed to know. Her legs felt weak, and she had to steady herself against the back of the chair. Her parents hadn't died in a tragic accident; they had been killed—murdered—and Harland had known all along. She looked at him, the man who had

kept her hidden for so many years, and a wave of disgust washed over her. "And you did nothing," she said, her voice shaking. "You let them die, and then you took everything that was supposed to be mine." Harland's expression darkened. "I did what I had to do to protect this family. You think you deserve the Wright fortune? You don't even know what it means to carry that name. You don't understand the responsibility, the sacrifices." Lla shook her head, stepping back. "You don't care about the family; you only care about yourself." Haren's eyes flashed with anger.

"You think you're going to take everything from me? You think you can just walk in here and claim what's yours?" He stepped closer, his voice low and dangerous. "I've spent my entire life building this family's legacy. I won't let you destroy it." Lyla felt a surge of fear, but she didn't back down. "I'm not here to destroy anything. I just want the truth." Haren's lips curled into a sneer. "The truth," he said slowly, "is that your parents were weak. They didn't understand the power they held, and it got them killed. If you want to survive,

you'll have to be smarter than they were." Lyla's blood boiled at his words. "I'm nothing like you, Harland." He smiled coldly. "We'll see about that." Without another word, he turned and walked out of the room, leaving Lla standing there, her heart pounding in her chest. She had come for answers, and she had gotten them, but at a cost. Now she knew the truth: her parents had been murdered, and Harland had stood by and let it happen. But this wasn't over—not by a long shot. Lyla's hands trembled as she stepped out of the sitting room and

into the mansion's grand hallway. The confrontation with Harland had left her shaken to her core. Her parents had been murdered, and Harland had known. Worse yet, he had done nothing to stop it. Perhaps he had even benefited from their deaths. The air in the mansion felt colder now, more oppressive, as if the walls themselves were closing in on her. Her footsteps echoed on the marble floors as she hurried toward the exit. She needed to leave, to get away from this place and clear her head. But as she reached the front door, she paused. There was

something Marta had said before—something about the way Wright family's secrets and the whispers of a conspiracy. Haron had just confirmed part of it: that there were people who had wanted her parents dead. But there was still more she didn't understand. Who were these enemies, and what role had Haron really played? Lyla clenched her fists, her mind racing. She couldn't walk away from this now, not when she was so close to uncovering the full truth. She had to speak to Marta again. The older woman had been hesitant to say much before, but now that Lyla knew

more, maybe she could convince her to talk. She turned away from the door and headed toward the kitchen, where she knew Marta would be finishing her duties for the night. As she walked through the long corridors, she noticed how quiet the mansion had become. The staff had begun to leave for the night, and the guests had long since departed. It was just her, a few remaining workers, and the ever-present sense of something lurking just beneath the surface. When Lyla reached the kitchen, she found Marta wiping down the counters, her face lined with exhaustion from the

long evening. The older woman looked up as Lyla entered, her expression softening with a faint smile. "Lyla," she said, setting the cloth down. "You're still here? I thought you'd left by now." Lyla stepped closer, her voice hushed but urgent. "Marta, I need to talk to you. It's about what you said before, about the Wrights and the accident." Marta's eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of concern crossing her face. "Lyla, I told you—" "I know what you told me." Lyla interrupted, her voice firm. "But I found out more. Haron... he told me the truth. My parents didn't

die in an accident—they were killed." Marta's expression froze, her hands stilling on the counter for a moment. The kitchen was so silent that Lyla could hear her own heartbeat. Then, Marta let out a long weary sigh, her shoulders slumping. "I was afraid of that," she said softly. Lyla's chest tightened. "You knew, didn't you? About what happened to them?" Marta nodded slowly, her gaze dropping to the floor. "I didn't know everything, but I suspected. There were always rumors—whispers among the staff. People said that the accident wasn't an accident at all, that your parents had been taken

out of the picture to make way for someone else." Lyla swallowed hard. "Haron…" Marta hesitated, then shook her head. "I don't know if Haron was directly involved, but I do know he benefited from it. After your parents died, he took control of the family's wealth and power. There were others who stood to gain from their deaths as well, but Haron... he was always the one pulling the strings behind the scenes." Lyla felt a wave of nausea wash over her. She had suspected as much, but hearing Marta confirm it made everything feel more real. Haron had

manipulated the entire situation, using the tragedy to solidify his control over the Wright fortune. And all the while, she had been left to grow up thinking she was just an orphan, with no idea of the powerful enemies that surrounded her. "Who else was involved?" Lyla asked, her voice barely a whisper. "Who would want my parents dead?" Marta's eyes flickered with unease. "There were business rivals—people your father had crossed in the past. Henry Wright wasn't a perfect man; he had made enemies in his time. But there was someone else too—someone closer to the family." Lyla's pulse

quickened. "Who?" Marta hesitated, her gaze shifting toward the door as if afraid someone might overhear. "Your uncle. Haron always had a way of keeping people loyal to him. But there was another person who stood to gain if your parents were out of the picture—someone who was supposed to protect you." Lyla's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?" Marta's voice lowered to a near whisper. "Your parents had a close friend—someone they trusted. He was supposed to watch over you after they were gone, but instead, he disappeared. Some say he made a deal with Haron, that he was

paid to keep quiet and stay out of the way." Lyla's heart raced. "Who was it? Who is this man?" Marta looked away, her voice strained. "His name was Edgar Barnes. He was your father's business partner, and he was supposed to be your legal guardian after the accident. But after your parents died, he vanished. No one has seen or heard from him in years." Lyla's mind spun. Edgar Barnes—a name she had never heard before but one that seemed to hold the key to everything. If this man had been her father's business partner and her supposed guardian,

then he might know the truth about what really happened to her parents. But if he had disappeared, where could she even begin to look for him? "Marta, do you know where I can find him?" Lyla asked, her voice desperate. Marta shook her head. "I don't, but there were rumors that he left the country—that he was hiding somewhere overseas. Some said he was afraid of what Haron would do if he stayed." Lyla's stomach churned. This was bigger than she had ever imagined. Haron wasn't just trying to control the family fortune; he had orchestrated a conspiracy, silencing

anyone who could threaten his power. And now, the one man who might hold the answers had disappeared, possibly for good. "Why didn't anyone do anything?" Lyla asked, her voice breaking. "Why didn't anyone try to stop him?" Marta's face softened; her eyes filled with sympathy. "Because Haron is powerful. He has connections in places you can't even imagine. People are afraid of him. They always have been." Lyla clenched her fists, her anger bubbling to the surface. "I’m not afraid of him! I’m going to find out the truth, and I’m going to make him pay for what he's

done." Marta reached out, placing a gentle hand on Lyla's arm. "Be careful, Lyla. Haron isn't someone you can take on alone. If you push him too hard, he won't hesitate to do whatever it takes to protect himself." Lyla looked into Marta's eyes, feeling a surge of determination. "I don't care! I have to do this for my parents." Marta nodded slowly, her expression sad but understanding. "I know. Just promise me you'll be careful." Lyla gave her a small, grateful smile. "I will." As she left the kitchen and made her way out of the mansion, Lyla's mind

was buzzing with new information. Edgar Barnes—the missing piece in the puzzle. If she could find him, she might finally be able to uncover the full truth about her parents' deaths and Haron's involvement. But finding him would be a challenge, especially if he had gone into hiding. As she stepped out into the cool night air, Lyla knew one thing for certain: she couldn't do this alone. She would need help, and she knew just where to start looking. Lyla walked away from the Wayman mansion with a newfound sense of purpose but also a growing sense of dread.

The revelations from Marta had shaken her, but they had also lit a fire inside her. She wasn't going to let Haron get away with what he had done—not to her parents and not to her. But the danger was clear now. Haron had spent years building a fortress of lies and manipulation, and anyone who had tried to cross him had either disappeared or been silenced. The night air was crisp and cool as Lyla made her way back to her apartment; her thoughts raced. She kept turning the name Edgar Barnes over in her mind, wondering where he

could be and what he might know. If he had truly vanished after her parents' deaths, there had to be a reason. If Haron had made him disappear, then finding him would be far more difficult and dangerous than she had anticipated. But she had no choice—Edgar Barnes was her only link to the full truth, the only person who could fill in the gaps in the story and help her bring Haron down. She just had to figure out where to start. As she approached her building, Lyla noticed something odd. The street was quieter than usual—almost too quiet—and

there was a black car parked a few houses down from her apartment that hadn't been there before. Her instincts immediately kicked in, and she felt a shiver of unease creep down her spine. She slowed her steps, glancing over her shoulder. The car didn't move, but she could feel eyes on her, watching her every move. For a moment, she considered turning around, walking past her building, but then she realized it didn't matter; whoever was watching her already knew where she lived. Lyla's heart raced as she reached her front door and fumbled with the keys. Her hands

shook as she unlocked the door and slipped inside, locking it quickly behind her. She stood in the dark for a moment, her back pressed against the door, trying to calm her racing thoughts. Haron knew. He knew she was digging into the past, and now he was watching her. The black car, the eerie silence—it was his way of sending a message. She was getting too close, and he wasn't going to let her go any further without a fight. Lyla swallowed hard, her pulse pounding in her ears. She needed to stay calm, think clearly. Panicking wouldn't help

her now; she had to be smart about this. If Haron was going to try to stop her, she had to be one step ahead of him. She moved through her small apartment, double-checking the locks on the windows and doors, her mind racing with possibilities. She couldn't stay here—not if Haron's people were watching her. She needed to lay low for a while and figure out her next move. But where could she go? And more importantly, who could she trust? Her first thought was Marta, but she quickly dismissed it. Marta had already risked enough by telling her

what she knew; getting her involved further would only put her in danger. Lyla couldn't let that happen. Then she thought of Carlos, one of the few people in her life who had always been there for her. Carlos worked with her at the diner, and they had been friends for years. He was trustworthy, kind, and he knew the streets of the city better than anyone. If anyone could help her lay low and stay off Haron's radar, it would be him. Lyla grabbed her phone and dialed Carlos's number, her hands still trembling slightly. It rang a few

times before his familiar voice answered, "Hey, Lyla! What's up?" he asked, sounding tired but concerned. "Carlos, I need your help," Lyla said, her voice tight with urgency. "I can't explain everything right now, but I need somewhere to stay—somewhere safe." There was a pause on the other end. "Safe? Lyla, what's going on? Are you in trouble?" She hesitated, not wanting to drag him into the mess that her life had become. "It's complicated, but yes. I can't stay at my place tonight. Can I come over?" "Of course," Carlos said without hesitation. "You can stay here as long

as you need. Just come by, okay?" Relief flooded through Lyla. "Thank you, Carlos! I’ll be there soon." "Hung up the phone, grabbed a small overnight bag, and quickly left her apartment, keeping her head down as she walked past the black car parked on the street. She didn't look at it, but she could feel the presence of whoever was inside watching her. Lla hurried down the sidewalk, her pulse racing as she made her way to Carlos's apartment, which wasn't far from her own. The streets felt emptier than usual, the night darker, and every little sound made

her jump. She couldn't shake the feeling that she was being followed, even though she saw no one behind her. When she finally reached Carlos's building, she breathed a small sigh of relief. He was waiting for her at the door, his face filled with concern as he opened it and ushered her inside. "Lla, what's going on?" Carlos asked, his brow furrowed with worry. "You look like you've seen a ghost." "I might as well have," Lla muttered as she stepped into the safety of his apartment. The warmth and familiarity of the place eased some of her tension,

but she knew she wasn't out of danger yet. "It's a long story, Carlos, a really long story." He nodded, leading her to the couch. "Take your time. Whatever it is, we'll figure it out." Lla sat down, her hands still shaking slightly. She had been through so much in the past few days, and now it felt like the walls were closing in on her. She had known this would get dangerous, but she hadn't expected it to escalate so quickly. "Carlos, I'm in trouble," she said, her voice trembling as she looked at her friend. "It's about my

family, my real family." Carlos sat beside her, his expression serious. "What do you mean? What's happening?" Lla took a deep breath, then began to explain everything: about the way R.S. about the accident that had killed her parents, and about Harland's role in it all. She told him about the secrets she had uncovered, the threats she felt closing in on her, and the danger that now surrounded her. When she finished, Carlos stared at her, his eyes wide with shock. "Lla, this is... this is huge! Are you sure about all of this?" "I wish I wasn't," Lla

said softly, "but I'm in deeper than I ever thought possible, and now I think Harland's people are watching me. I saw a car parked outside my place tonight, and I'm pretty sure it's them." Carlos ran a hand through his hair, letting out a long breath. "Okay, you can stay here as long as you need, but you're going to need more than just a place to hide. If Harland's after you, you're going to need a plan." "I know," Lla agreed. "I'm going to find Edgar Barnes. He's the only one who can help me take Harland down."

Carlos nodded. "Then let's figure out where to start. We'll find him, Lla, and we'll make sure you stay safe." Lla smiled, a wave of gratitude washing over her. She wasn't alone in this anymore. With Carlos by her side, she felt a renewed sense of hope, but she also knew the danger was only just beginning. The following morning, Lla woke up in Carlos's small but comfortable apartment. The light of dawn filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow on the walls. For the first time in what felt like forever, she had slept without nightmares, but as

soon as she opened her eyes, the reality of her situation crashed back down on her like a wave. She wasn't safe—not yet. Lla sat up, rubbing her eyes, and heard the faint sound of Carlos in the kitchen, probably making coffee. He had been nothing but supportive since she arrived the night before, and she knew she had made the right choice coming to him. She wasn't sure what her next move would be, but she couldn't afford to waste any time. Harland was out there, likely planning his next move, and she needed to stay ahead of him.

She pulled on her shoes and walked into the kitchen, where Carlos was indeed standing over the stove, stirring a pot of coffee. He looked up as she entered, giving her a small smile. "Morning," he said, handing her a mug. "I figured you could use some caffeine." "Thanks," Lla said, taking the cup gratefully. "I definitely need it." Carlos poured himself a cup and leaned against the counter, his expression serious. "So, what's the plan?" Lla took a sip of the coffee, her mind still swirling with possibilities. "I need to find Edgar Barnes. He's the only person who

might know the full truth about what happened to my parents. If I can get him to talk, maybe I can finally expose Harland for what he's done." Carlos nodded, thinking it over. "You said Marta mentioned he disappeared after the accident, right? Went into hiding?" "Yeah," Lla replied. "She said there were rumors he left the country—maybe because he was afraid of what Harland would do if he stayed." Carlos furrowed his brow. "So, we're looking for someone who could be anywhere in the world. That's not exactly an easy task." Lla sighed, running a hand through her hair.

"I know, but there has to be some kind of trail, right? If he was my father's business partner, he couldn't have just vanished without a trace." Carlos set his mug down on the counter, his expression thoughtful. "Maybe there's someone else who knows where he went—a mutual connection, someone from their old business dealings." Lla nodded slowly, her mind racing. That made sense. There had to be someone who had crossed paths with Edgar Barnes after the accident. If she could track down one of her father's old associates, maybe they could point her in the right direction. "Do

you know anyone who might have connections to your father's business?" Carlos asked." "asked, interrupting her thoughts. Lla paused, thinking back to what little she knew about her father's life. 'I barely remember anything about that part of his life,' she admitted, 'but I do remember hearing the name Victor Callahan. I think he was a close friend of my father's, maybe a business associate. If anyone knows what happened to Edgar, it might be him.' Carlos raised an eyebrow. 'Victor Callahan? That name rings a bell. Isn't he some kind of big shot businessman?' Lla nodded. 'Yeah, I think

so. I don't know much about him, but I remember hearing that he and my father were close.' Carlos grabbed his phone from the counter and started typing. 'Let's see what we can find on him.' Lla watched as he searched for Victor Callahan online, her heart pounding in her chest. Every second that passed felt like an eternity. Finally, Carlos turned the phone toward her, showing a picture of a distinguished-looking man in his 50s standing in front of a luxury office building. 'Here he is,' Carlos said. 'Victor Callahan. Looks like he's still in the game—CEO of a

finance firm downtown.' Lyla stared at the image, feeling a rush of both hope and anxiety. If Victor really was her father's friend, maybe he could help her find Edgar Barnes. But what if he was just another person tied up in the Harlan conspiracy? What if he had his own reasons for staying silent? 'I need to talk to him,' Lla said, her voice resolute. 'He might be my only shot at finding Edgar.' Carlos looked at her, concern flickering in his eyes. 'Are you sure that's a good idea? If Harlan's as dangerous as you think, then going

after one of your father's associates might put a target on your back.' Lla took a deep breath, weighing the risk. Carlos was right; approaching someone as connected as Victor Callahan could backfire, especially if Harlan had people watching her. But what other choice did she have? She couldn't stay in the shadows forever, hoping the truth would come to her. She had to act. 'I don't have a choice,' Lla said, her voice firm. 'If I don't do this, Harlan will get away with everything. I need to talk to Victor, and I need to do it soon.' Carlos

nodded, though his expression was still clouded with concern. 'All right. Just promise me you'll be careful. We don't know who's on Harlan's side.' 'I will,' Lla assured him. 'But I can't keep running. I have to face this head-on.' They spent the next hour planning how Lla would approach Victor Callahan. She couldn't just walk into his office unannounced, especially with the risk of being followed. Instead, Carlos suggested she call his office under the pretense of a business inquiry—something that would allow her to get in the door without raising suspicion. Once she was inside, she could try

to speak to him privately. By the time they had everything mapped out, Lla felt more prepared, but the sense of unease still lingered. She knew she was stepping into dangerous territory. But with Carlos's support and the plan in place, she felt a glimmer of hope. This was her chance to finally get the answers she needed. That afternoon, Lla dialed the number for Victor Callahan's office, her hand trembling slightly as she held the phone to her ear. The receptionist answered in a calm, professional voice, and Lla introduced herself, explaining that she was interested in discussing a

potential business opportunity. It was a half-truth, but enough to get her foot in the door. The receptionist transferred her to Victor's personal assistant, who scheduled a meeting for the following day. Lla hung up the phone, her heart pounding. She had the meeting, but now came the hardest part: facing Victor Callahan and asking him for the truth about her father, her parents' deaths, and Edgar Barnes. As the day wore on, Lla and Carlos went over the plan again and again, trying to anticipate every possible outcome. But no matter how much they prepared, Lla knew one thing

for certain: nothing could prepare her for the moment she would come face to face with someone who might hold the answers to everything. That night, as Lla lay on the couch, sleep eluded her once again. Her mind was too full of what-ifs and a myriad of fears and doubts. She couldn't help but think of Harlan, of the black car that had been parked outside her apartment, and the growing danger that surrounded her. But beneath all the fear, there was also a growing sense of determination. She had come too far to turn back now. Tomorrow, she

would meet Victor Callahan, and with any luck, he would help her find Edgar Barnes. And once she had Edgar, she would finally be able to bring Harlan down. As the clock ticked past midnight, Lla closed her eyes, letting the exhaustion take over. Tomorrow would be the day that changed everything; she just had to survive it. The next day arrived sooner than Lla expected. She stood outside the sleek glass-covered office building where Victor Callahan's finance firm was headquartered, her heart racing with a mix of nerves and determination. The sun glinted off the windows, and the bustling

city around her seemed oblivious to the gravity of what was about to unfold. She had spent the night replaying the plan over and over in her mind, but nothing could fully prepare her for what she was about to do. Carlos had insisted on driving her there both to keep her calm and to watch her back in case anything went wrong. He had parked a few blocks away, keeping a low profile, but knowing he was close by gave Lla a sense of security. 'Are you sure you're ready for this?' Carlos had asked before she stepped out

of the car. Lla nodded." voice steady despite the anxiety bubbling inside her, Lla took a deep breath and walked into the building. The interior was sleek and modern, filled with polished surfaces and clean lines. The receptionist behind the front desk greeted her with a polite smile, already expecting her. "Miss Wright, Mr. Callahan will see you now," the receptionist said, her tone professional and distant. Lla forced a smile and nodded, following the assistant who had appeared to escort her to Victor's office. Her heart pounded with each step, but she focused on keeping her composure. She couldn't

let her fear show—not now. She needed to come across as confident, even if her insides were a tangled mess of doubt. As they reached the top floor, the assistant led Lla to a large office with floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a panoramic view of the city. Inside, behind a massive mahogany desk, sat Victor Callahan. He was exactly as she remembered from the online photos: tall, distinguished, with a neatly trimmed beard and an air of authority that seemed to fill the room. He looked up from his papers as she entered, giving her a brief, polite nod. "Miss

Wright," he greeted her, his voice smooth and measured. "Please have a seat." Lla swallowed her nerves and sat down in the leather chair across from him, forcing herself to meet his gaze. Victor's eyes were sharp, assessing but not unfriendly. There was a coldness to him, though—a professionalism that made it clear he wasn't someone to be taken lightly. "I must admit, I was surprised when my assistant told me you wanted to meet," Victor said, leaning back in his chair. "I wasn't aware that the Wright family was still interested in business matters, especially after all these years."

Lla took a deep breath, choosing her words carefully. "I'm not here about business. I'm here because I need answers." Victor raised an eyebrow, his interest clearly piqued. "Answers about what, exactly?" "About my parents. About the accident that killed them," Lla said, her voice steady. "I know it wasn't an accident, and I think you know that too." There was a flicker of something in Victor's eyes—surprise, maybe even recognition—but he quickly masked it with a neutral expression. "That was a tragic event," he said slowly, "but I'm afraid I don't know much more than what was reported at

the time. Your parents were close friends of mine, and their loss was difficult." Lla leaned forward, her eyes locked on his. "I'm not here for the official story. I know there was more going on. I know Harland was involved, and I know that you were supposed to be my father's friend, his business partner. But after they died, you disappeared." Victor's expression remained impassive, but Lla could see the tension building in his posture. He didn't like where this conversation was going. "I had my reasons for stepping away," Victor said carefully. "There were complications after your parents'

deaths, but that doesn't mean I know anything more than what you already do." Lla's jaw tightened. "I think you know a lot more than you're letting on. I think you knew Harland was behind their deaths, and I think you were part of whatever deal was made to keep me out of the picture." Victor's eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn't respond right away. The silence in the room stretched thick and heavy as Lla waited for him to say something—anything. Finally, he spoke, his voice quieter, more measured. "Harland is a dangerous man, Miss Wright," Victor said, leaning

forward slightly. "You don't know the full extent of what he's capable of. If you're smart, you'll stop digging and walk away while you still can." Lla's heart raced, but she refused to back down. "I'm not walking away—not until I have the truth." Victor sighed, rubbing his temples as if the weight of the conversation was finally getting to him. "Your father… he was a good man, but he made enemies—powerful enemies. Harland wasn't the only one who stood to gain from their deaths, but he was certainly the one who benefited the most. I tried to protect you."

"Protect me?" Lla interrupted, her voice incredulous. "By disappearing? By leaving me to be adopted by strangers while Harland took everything?" Victor looked away, guilt flashing across his face for the briefest moment. "There were things I couldn't control. Deals were made, threats were issued. I was given a choice: disappear or face the same fate as your parents." Lla's breath caught in her throat. "So you did know." Victor didn't answer directly, but the silence between them spoke volumes. He had known, and he had chosen to save himself. Anger surged through Lla, but she forced herself to stay

calm; she still needed something from him. "Where's Edgar Barnes?" she asked, her voice sharp. Victor blinked, clearly caught off guard by the sudden change in direction. "Edgar Barnes?" he repeated, as if the name had come out of nowhere. "Yes," Lla pressed. "He was my father's business partner, and he was supposed to be my guardian after they died, but he vanished too—just like you. I need to find him." Victor hesitated, and Lla could see the gears turning in his mind. He was weighing his options, deciding how much he could reveal without putting himself in further danger.

"I don't know where Edgar is," Victor finally said, his voice low, "but the last I heard he was living under an assumed name somewhere in South America. He went into hiding after the accident. Harland made sure of that." Lla's pulse quickened. South America! It wasn't much, but it was more than she had before. Edgar was still alive, and now she had a general idea of where to start looking. Victor leaned back in his chair. his chair, his expression resigned. "You're playing a dangerous game. Lla, Haron won't let you take him down without a fight." "I

don't care," Lla said, her voice firm. "I'm going to expose him no matter what it takes." Victor sighed again, looking at her with a mix of pity and respect. "Then I wish you luck. You're going to need it." With that, Lyla stood up, her heart pounding as she left Victor's office. She had what she needed: Edgar Barnes was still out there, and now she had a lead on where to find him. But as she walked out of the building and back into the busy city streets, a sense of dread settled over her. Haron would know

soon enough that she was getting closer to the truth, and when that happened, he would come after her with everything he had. But Lla wasn't afraid anymore. She had spent too long living in the shadows of her past, running from the truth. Now she was ready to fight for her parents, for herself, and for the justice they deserved. As she stepped back into Carlos's car, Lla turned to him, her voice steady but filled with resolve. "We're going to South America." Two weeks had passed since Lyla and Carlos had flown to South America in search of

Edgar Barnes. The journey had been long and filled with uncertainty, but now they stood on the doorstep of a small, unassuming house nestled in the hills outside a quiet town. The sun was setting behind them, casting long shadows across the landscape. The air was thick with anticipation, and Lyla's heart raced as she stared at the wooden door in front of her. This was it! After all the searching, the sleepless nights, and the dangers they had faced, they were finally about to confront the man who might hold the key to everything. Carlos stood beside her, his

hand resting gently on her shoulder, offering silent support. They had been through so much together, and Lla was grateful to have him by her side. But this moment was hers alone; she was the one who had to face Edgar Barnes and demand the truth. "You ready?" Carlos asked, his voice low but steady. Lla nodded, her resolve hardening. "I'm ready." With a deep breath, she lifted her hand and knocked on the door. The sound echoed through the quiet evening, and for a moment, there was nothing but silence. Then slowly, the door creaked open, revealing an older

man with graying hair and weary eyes. He looked at them with a mixture of suspicion and caution, his gaze lingering on Lla as if trying to place her. "Can I help you?" the man asked, his voice rough and hesitant. Lyla's throat tightened. This was Edgar Barnes, the man who had been her father's friend, the man who had disappeared after the deaths of her parents. She had spent so long imagining this moment, but now that it was here, the words felt stuck in her throat. "I'm Lla Wright," she said finally, her voice trembling slightly. "Henry and

Evelyn Wright were my parents." Edgar's expression changed in an instant; his eyes widened in shock, and for a moment he looked as if he had seen a ghost. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Instead, he took a step back, his hand gripping the door frame as if for support. "Lla," he whispered, his voice barely audible. She nodded, her heart pounding. "I've been looking for you. I need answers about what happened to my parents, about why you disappeared. I know Haron was involved. I know he benefited from their deaths, but I

need the whole truth." Edgar's face paled, and he glanced over his shoulder as if checking to see if anyone was watching. "You... you shouldn't have come here," he said, his voice thick with fear. "It's not safe." "I don't care," Lyla said, stepping forward, her voice firm. "I've come too far to turn back now. Please, I need to know what happened." Edgar looked at her for a long moment, his eyes filled with a mixture of fear and regret. Finally, he sighed and stepped aside, gesturing for her to come in. Carlos shot Lyla a worried glance, but

she nodded to him, and they both followed Edgar into the small, dimly lit house. Inside, the air was heavy with the scent of old wood and dust. The furniture was simple, and the walls were lined with bookshelves overflowing with papers and documents. It was clear that Edgar had been living in isolation for years, hidden away from the world. Edgar motioned for them to sit at a small table in the corner, and as they did, he lowered himself into a chair across from them, his hands trembling slightly. "I knew this day would come," Edgar said quietly,

his voice filled with weariness. "I always knew you'd find me one day." Lla leaned forward, her eyes locked on his. "Why did you disappear? You were supposed to be my guardian. Why did you leave me with strangers?" Edgar let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his graying hair. "I didn't have a choice, Lyla. After your parents died, everything changed. Haron made sure I had no choice." "What do you mean?" Lyla pressed, her voice sharp. Edgar's eyes flickered with pain as he looked at her. "Your father and I were business partners, yes, but we

were also friends—close friends. Henry trusted me with everything, including you. He named me your guardian in his will. But after the accident, Haron stepped in. He manipulated the situation, twisted the law in his favor, and threatened me." "Threatened you how?" Carlos asked, leaning forward. Edgar glanced at Carlos, then back at Lla. "Haron made it clear that if I tried to challenge him, if I fought for custody of you, or tried to..." "Expose what he had done! I would end up like your parents. He had powerful connections—people in high places. I knew I couldn't win, so

I ran. I went into hiding, hoping that by staying out of sight, I could keep myself alive." Lyla's heart sank. She had suspected as much, but hearing it confirmed was still a blow. "So you let him take everything? You let him control my family's fortune—my life!" Edgar's face crumpled with guilt. "I'm sorry. Sorry, Lyla. I thought I was protecting you by staying away. I thought if I left, Harlin would have no reason to come after you." Lyla shook her head, the anger and frustration boiling inside her. "He came after me anyway! He watched me, manipulated

me—all because I was getting too close to the truth." "I know," Edgar said quietly, his eyes filled with regret, "and I'm so sorry. I should have done more." Lyla took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. She had the answer she needed now, but the anger still burned hot in her chest. Harlin had destroyed her family, stolen her life, and now she had the proof she needed to expose him. "There's one more thing," Lyla said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Marta, one of the staff at the mansion, she told me something. She said my

mother might still be alive." Edgar's eyes widened in shock. "What? No, that's impossible! Your mother... she survived the accident?" Lyla interrupted, her voice trembling. "Harlin had her put away in a clinic, far from the public eye. She lost her memory, but she's still alive. I know it." Edgar stared at her, his face a mixture of disbelief and hope. "I—I didn't know," he whispered. "I thought she was gone, just like your father." Lyla stood up, her heart pounding. "I have to find her. I have to bring her back." Carlos stood beside her, his hand on her

arm. "We'll find her, Lyla. We'll make sure Harlin can't keep her hidden anymore." Edgar looked up at them, his eyes filled with a new determination. "If you're going to do this, you'll need my help. I may have disappeared, but I still know people—people who can help you get to her." Lyla's chest tightened, a wave of gratitude washing over her. For the first time in years, she felt like she wasn't alone in this fight. Together, they would expose Harlin, rescue her mother, and finally bring an end to the wretched legacy of lies and deceit.