Finding Ourselves.

Chapter 1

The afternoon sun spilled over the vast, golden acres of the Miller farm, painting the rustic landscape in shades of amber and green.

​Surrounded by endless rows of tall, rustling cornstalks, neat wooden horse stables, and the distant, rhythmic lowing of cattle from the barn, Elaine stood in the middle of the field. She wore a simple, flowy white dress with long sleeves that caught the gentle breeze, her fiery red hair pinned neatly into a soft bun beneath a wide-brimmed straw hat. In her hand, she held a woven wicker basket, carefully selecting plump, ripe tomatoes straight from the vine.

​A few hundred yards away sat a cozy, two-story wooden cottage—a five-bedroom home tucked comfortably into the heart of the farmland.

​This had been Elaine’s sanctuary for the past seventeen years.

​Yesterday, she had turned twenty-three. Seventeen years ago, she was a terrified, ash-covered six-year-old orphan with no name and no past she dared speak aloud. But then Mama Vera and Papa John had taken her in, wrapping her in unconditional warmth and raised her as one of their own alongside their two biological daughters. Though she affectionately referred to them as her sisters, Mama Vera never treated Elaine as anything less than a true daughter.

​Right now, Papa John was away in town, taking the rickety pickup truck to the local livestock market to sell off two of their older yard goats.

​"Elaine, sweetie!" Mama Vera’s warm voice carried across the porch from the cottage kitchen. "Don't take too long with those tomatoes! Your sisters are setting the table, and Papa should be heading back down the dirt trail soon!"

​"Coming, Mama!" Elaine called back, her voice sweet and serene.

​She plucked one last vibrant red tomato and placed it gently in her basket. Taking a quiet breath, Elaine adjusted her straw hat and looked out over the quiet horizon.

​As peaceful as her life was here, a quiet ghost always lingered at the back of her mind. On quiet afternoons like this, her thoughts couldn't help but wander back to the boy with the sharp green eyes and warm smile—the mafia heir who used to hold her hand, run through the sunny courtyard with her, and promise to protect her from everything- and Eleanor, her twin.

​She let out a soft, bittersweet sigh, brushing a stray lock of red hair from her cheek. That was another life, she reminded herself softly. He’s long gone. We both survived... but that world is over.

​Unbeknownst to Elaine, miles down the narrow country road leading to the farm, a sleek, jet-black luxury SUV was quietly navigating the gravel path, kicked-up dust rising behind it like smoke. Inside, a broad-shouldered man in a custom dark suit rested his hand on the steering wheel, his piercing green eyes fixed intent on the horizon.

​Hayes had finally found her.

Hayes's POV

​In the plush leather interior of a custom tinted SUV, Hayes sat in the backseat, leaning his head back against the headrest. He pinched the bridge of his nose, his dark brow furrowed as a rare mix of tension and nervous anticipation churned in his chest.

​Beside him sat his younger brother and right-hand man, Liam, tapping methodically on a digital tablet screen.

​Up ahead, a black lead vehicle cleared the dusty, uneven dirt road, while a third security SUV followed at a disciplined distance behind them. Three heavy vehicles carving through a quiet, forgotten countryside.

​"According to the records we managed to dig up," Liam said, his voice quiet, his glasses reflecting the light of his tablet, "she was brought into this county seventeen years ago. Found in an abandoned car that had capsized off the edge of a cliff further down the ridge. The vehicle was caught in the branches of a massive oak tree, hanging by a thread. She was unconscious inside."

​Hayes didn't open his eyes, but his jaw tightened. "Who got her out?"

​"A local farmer. John Miller—Papa John, as the locals call him," Liam answered, scrolling down. "He was out in his truck looking for a stray cow when he spotted the wreck. He pulled her out himself, brought her straight home, and nursed her back to health. At six years old, her memory was scrambled from the trauma. But as the years went by, pieces started coming back."

​Liam paused, glancing over at his older brother.

​"She talked to Miller about trying to find her family," Liam continued. "But the old man gave her some solid advice—he told her that if anyone was out there searching for her, running around blindly would only make it harder. He told her to stay in one place and wait so her family could find her. And she listened, Hayes. She’s been right here, waiting."

​Hayes let out a slow, heavy breath.

​Waiting.

​He was nine years old when he had last held her small hand in the courtyard—a lifetime ago, before the blood, before his world was burned away, and before he was forced to turn himself into a monster just to reclaim his family's throne. He was twenty-six now. A lethal, hardened man who commanded fear wherever he walked. Yet right now, the thought of facing the only girl he had ever loved made his pulse hammer against his ribs like a restless drum.

​"We’re entering the town limits," the driver reported quietly.

​They rolled slowly into the heart of the rustic village, the heavy hum of their luxury engines drawing curious looks from locals on the gravel footpaths. Pulling up near the center square, Liam stepped out briefly to ask the locals about the girl rescued years ago. The village elder pointed them straight down the winding dirt trail toward the Miller farm.

​Ten minutes later, the three black SUVs pulled up outside the five-bedroom wooden cottage, coming to a halt in a cloud of fine dust.

​Inside the house, footsteps heavy with protective caution approached the front door. It swung open, revealing Papa John—a weathered, broad-shouldered farmer with grey-streaked hair and sharp, guarded eyes.

​Outside, Liam stepped to the side, bowing his head respectfully to let Hayes take the lead.

​Hayes stepped out of the vehicle, his long legs eating up the distance as he stopped at the bottom of the porch steps. Standing over six feet tall in a sharply tailored charcoal coat, a few top buttons of his black shirt undone to reveal the broad, muscular expanse of his chest, he looked like a dark storm cloud against the bright afternoon sun. Thick veins corded up his forearms, ending in large, powerful hands.

Papa John didn't flinch. He sized up the imposing, dangerous-looking stranger, standing tall on his own porch to protect the family inside.

​"Can I help you, son?" Papa John asked, his voice low and steady. "Who are you looking for?"

Hayes kept his voice remarkably calm, though his green eyes burned with intense focus. "I’m looking for a girl. Her name is Elaine."

Papa John’s eyes narrowed slightly, but instead of shutting the door, he turned back toward the hallway and called out into the house. "Elaine! Sweetie, step out here for a second. Do you know any of these fine gentlemen?"

​Footsteps soft as a feather approached from the kitchen.

​Elaine stepped onto the porch, wiping her hands on her simple, flowy white dress. She stopped dead in her tracks the second her gaze landed on the man standing at the bottom of the steps.

Silence fell over the porch, thick and suffocating.

Elaine’s breath hitched. She didn't recognize him at first. Her wide, beautiful eyes slowly tracked up his tall frame—taking in the sheer width of his shoulders, the raw, heavy muscle straining against the fabric of his coat, and the prominent veins running along his large hands. He looked dangerous. Predatory. A man who looked like he belonged to a world of dark, adult desires, far away from her quiet fields.

Her heart fluttered wildly in her chest, a sudden shiver running down her spine as her eyes finally met his.

They were the greenest, sharpest eyes she had ever seen.

And then... time froze.

The dangerous stranger before her blurred away, replaced by the memory of a nine-year-old boy holding her hand under the golden sun, promising he would always come back for her. The sharp jawline, the intense tilt of his brow, the undeniable spark in those emerald eyes—it was him.

Elaine gasped, her hand flying to her lips as her basket slipped from her fingers, tumbling down the porch steps.

​"Hayes...?"