Chapter 139: Who is Adonis?

The road was a relentless stretch of bumps and shadows, twisting deeper into the dark forest. The further we went, the more the knot in my stomach tightened. Tristan’s offer to help me reach my mother was appreciated, but his silence felt ominous, heightening my anxiety. Since the day William was killed at Lily’s beach house, I hadn’t heard a word about her whereabouts. The idea that Tristan might know something left me both skeptical and uneasy.

“How did you know where my mother is, Tristan? ”I asked, keeping my voice steady despite the unease swirling inside me.

“I already told you,” he replied, eyes fixed ahead, his tone eerily calm. “I’m clever at tracking people. I have established connections with close ones who have been instrumental in my success.

My throat tightened. “Can you tell me about my mother’s condition?”

He paused for a moment before answering, “I don’t know all the details yet. But my friend saw Lily Brinson and a woman in a wheelchair enter a house not far from his farm.”

Relief washed over me, albeit briefly; with my mother in a wheelchair, she was still alive, still in the same fragile state.

Tristan continued, “The property belongs to a Brinson, so technically, you’ve got a right to know what’s going on there.”

Minutes passed in tense silence before Tristan abruptly turned off the road, steering us into a dense, overgrown forest. The car came to a stop, swallowed by the shadows of the trees.

“We’re walking from here,” he said, stepping out and opening my door. “Better safe than sorry,” he murmured.

We moved quietly along the roadside, and soon the outline of a house appeared through the thick foliage. Tristan grabbed my arm, pulling me behind a tree for cover.

“That’s the place,” he whispered, pointing to an old two-story house in the distance.

“We’ll need to be smart about getting closer.”

The barn was desolate and cold, draped in cobwebs and thick with dust. It felt abandoned for years, as though no living thing had touched it in ages. But the thought that it belonged to the Brinson family stirred questions. Who had owned this place? Could it have been my mother’s?

My curiosity gnawed at me. As I scanned the barn, my eyes fell on an old, handcrafted chair, worn and dusty, with something carved into the back. I wiped away the grime and revealed a name—Adonis.

Adonis? The name sent a ripple through my memory, and Aunt Lucia’s words echoed in my mind. **“One day, your father and mother fought over money. You were sick—so sick. Adonis wanted to take you and Lily away on a trip, but your mother... she snuck you out of your crib. She told me to hide you somewhere, somewhere safe where your father couldn’t find you.”**

I stared at the name, my breath catching. Adonis. Could this be connected to my past, to the father I never knew?

Before I could dwell on it any further, a sharp whisper from Tristan pulled me back to the present.

“Stay focused,” he warned, his eyes scanning the barn door. “We’ll figure this out, but first, we need to get inside that house.”

Another thing in the barn caught my eye—the crib. It sat in the corner, forgotten and dust-covered, yet something about it pulled me in. I approached slowly, my fingers brushing over the worn wood. The moment I touched it, a wave of familiarity washed over me. My heart pounded as memories began to stir, long-buried but now awakened by this connection.

The small toys hanging above the crib, now mere remnants of the past, swayed gently in the faint breeze that crept through the cracks of the barn. I could almost hear the soft chime of the mobile as it turned, its melody echoing in my mind like a lullaby from years ago. It wasn’t just any crib—it was ours. Mine and Lily’s.

My hand trembled as I gripped the edge, the dusty wood anchoring me to something I thought I’d lost. The crib, the place, was proof that we had a family once. My mother must have stood over this crib, watching us sleep; her hands were mine now rested. The realization both comforted and unsettled me.

Questions flooded my mind, pulling me deeper into the mystery of my past. Who was my father really? Was he a loving man, or had he been the villain in the stories I had pieced together? What kind of father was Adonis Brinson?

I wanted to know—needed to know—more about him, the life we were meant to have, and how everything was ruined. My mother, my twin sister, and, most importantly, the guy whose name seemed to be everywhere yet remained a ghost in my memory, my father.

I gripped the crib tighter, the desire to uncover the truth gnawing at me. This barn held fragments of our forgotten history. It wasn't only about the danger we were in or even stopping Lily; it was about understanding where I came from. And if Adonis Brinson was involved, I needed to know who he really was.

My journey into the past was abruptly cut short by the sharp blast of a car horn just outside the barn. I snapped back to the present, my heart pounding as Tristan moved swiftly to the half-open door to investigate.

Without thinking, I followed him, my curiosity overriding my caution. But as I reached his side, Tristan blocked my path, his arm firm against my chest.

“What?” I demanded, my voice a harsh whisper.

He glanced at me, his expression unreadable, and then stepped outside without a word. I pushed forward, determined to see for myself. When I finally managed to peek through the gap in the door, my breath caught in my throat, and I felt my stomach plummet.

It was Jacob.

His car idled in the clearing, and there he was, stepping out as if he belonged here, at this old place that held pieces of my forgotten past. My chest tightened, a thousand questions flooding my mind all at once.

Why is he here? The thought swirled in my head, heavy with dread. My heart sank, a gnawing unease building with every step he took toward the house. This place was tied to my family, my past—and Jacob had no business being here.

Was he following me? Did he know something I didn’t?

I couldn’t shake the sinking feeling that whatever his purpose was, it wasn’t something I wanted to confront.