Never Forgive, Never Forget My Pain

After eight years in captivity, I was finally rescued. I thought it was the beginning of a new life with my mother. But she didn't even look at me. She ran into the arms of a handsome stranger, her real husband, and I was treated like a dirty secret from her past. They called me a contamination, a reminder of their trauma. My new stepsister set their Doberman on me, and as the dog's teeth sank into my arm, I looked up and saw my mother watching from the window. She met my eyes for a second, then slowly closed the curtains. In that moment, the last bit of hope I had died. The shallow bond of family was completely gone, and I finally gave up. But they made one mistake. The family patriarch, suspicious after a car accident, ordered a secret DNA test. The results came back on the day of my stepsister's birthday party, revealing a truth that would burn their perfect world to the ground. Chapter 1 Eliza POV: I was born in captivity, the daughter of a monster who had stolen my mother eight years ago. For eight years, Burt Mckenzie had made our lives a living hell. His fists and his venom were the only constants I had ever known. But today, it was going to end. The plan I’d spent months whispering to my mother in the dark was simple: trade her antique silver locket for our freedom. The locket was the only beautiful thing we owned. Heavy and cool, it felt like hope in my small, grimy hand. I stood under the flickering fluorescent lights of the desolate gas station, the air thick with the smell of gasoline and pine, and held it out to the state trooper. His eyes, kind but tired, widened just a fraction when he saw the delicate engraving on its surface. He didn't take it. Instead, he knelt, his voice a low rumble. "Stay right here, sweetie. Don't move." I watched him speak urgently into his radio, and a cold knot of fear tightened in my stomach. This wasn't how I'd imagined it. In my mind, he was supposed to take the locket, give us a ride, and we' d be free. But this was better. Faster. Within minutes, the quiet Appalachian road was swarming with black SUVs. Men in tactical gear, their faces grim and unreadable, poured out. They moved with a terrifying efficiency, storming the dilapidated compound I called home. I heard shouting, a splintering crash, and then a single, sharp sound that made the birds in the surrounding trees fall silent. They brought my mother out. Eleanora. Her face was pale, her clothes were torn, but she was walking. She was safe. A wave of relief so powerful it almost buckled my knees washed over me. I took a step toward her, my mouth opening to call her name. But she didn't see me. Her eyes, wide with a terror I knew all too well, were locked on something behind me. A man stepped out of the lead SUV. He was handsome, impossibly clean, and moved like he owned the very air he breathed. "Nora," he breathed, his voice cracking. My mother's composure shattered. A raw, wounded cry tore from her throat, and she ran, collapsing into his arms. He held her like she was made of glass, his face buried in her tangled hair. I stood frozen, a small, forgotten statue in the middle of the chaos. He was Derek Mccall. I knew the name. My captor, Burt Mckenzie, used to spit it like a curse. My mother clung to him, her sobs shaking her entire body. She never once looked in my direction. She never once asked where I was. In her whispers, she' d promised me, "We'll be together, Eliza. Always. Just you and me." Now, watching her in the arms of this stranger, those words felt like a lie. Suddenly, flashes of light erupted around us. Cameras. Reporters seemed to materialize from the woods, shouting questions, their lenses pointed at the scene like weapons. Derek Mccall' s head snapped up, his expression hardening into a mask of cold fury. His eyes scanned the crowd, and for the first time, they landed on me. A flicker of something-annoyance, disgust-crossed his face. "What about the kid?" a reporter yelled. "Is that Burt Mckenzie's daughter?" Derek' s jaw tightened. He couldn't leave me here. Not with them watching. The scandal would be unthinkable. He gave a curt nod to one of his security guards. "Get her in the car." The command was flat, devoid of any warmth. I was a problem to be managed. A piece of unwanted luggage. The inside of the SUV was another world. The scent of rich leather filled my nose, a stark contrast to the damp, earthy smell of the compound that clung to my clothes. The seats were so soft I felt like I was sinking. My mother was already inside, curled against Derek Mccall, her face hidden from me. I was placed on the seat opposite them, my bare feet not even reaching the floor. I hugged my knees to my chest, trying to make myself as small as possible. The silence in the car was heavier than any sound I had ever heard. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage. The doors clicked shut, sealing us in. The convoy of SUVs pulled away from the gas station, leaving the flashing lights and shouting voices behind. In the front, two of the security men were talking in low tones, but I heard every word. "Gonna have to scrap this whole vehicle," one said, his eyes meeting mine in the rearview mirror with open contempt. "Six-figure SUV, completely contaminated. Can't get the stench of that place out." "Mr. Mccall said he doesn't want to see it again," the other replied. "He said the minute we get to the estate, have it sent to the crusher. He doesn't want Mrs. Mccall to ever have to remember it." Their words were like stones, pelting me. I was the stench. I was the contamination. I was the memory they wanted to crush. A wave of nausea churned in my stomach, a familiar mix of hunger and fear. The rich leather smell, the smooth motion of the car, the suffocating silence-it was all too much. A hot, sour bile rose in my throat. I clamped a hand over my mouth, my eyes wide with panic. I tried to swallow it back down, knowing what would happen, knowing I couldn't make a mess. Not here. But my body betrayed me. I lurched forward, vomiting the watery contents of my stomach onto the pristine, cream-colored floor mat. "Dammit!" the driver cursed, swerving slightly. "Are you kidding me?" I recoiled, pressing myself deeper into the seat, my whole body trembling. "I'm sorry," I whispered, the words barely audible. Derek Mccall' s head turned slowly. He didn't look at me, but at the mess on the floor. His lips curled into a sneer of pure disgust. My mother flinched beside him but didn't turn around. She didn' t make a sound. When we finally arrived, it wasn't a house, but a palace. A sprawling white mansion sat overlooking the ocean, surrounded by perfectly manicured lawns. As Derek helped my mother out of the car, a girl my age came running out of the massive front doors. She was beautiful, dressed in a pink dress, her blonde hair tied back with a matching ribbon. "Mommy!" she cried, throwing her arms around my mother's legs. My mother knelt and hugged the girl tightly, her sobs starting fresh. "Oh, Kylie," she whispered. "My sweet girl." My heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vise. My sweet girl. That's what she used to call me. An older woman with a face as sharp and cold as ice followed the girl out. She surveyed the scene, her eyes landing on me with disdain. "Derek, what is that creature doing here?" she demanded, her voice dripping with venom. That was Dionne Morrison, Derek's mother. "It was a complication, Mother," Derek said, his voice tight with irritation. "The press was there. I had no choice." Dionne's gaze swept over me again, making me feel like something she'd found stuck to the bottom of her shoe. "Well, deal with it," she snapped. "Take it through the service entrance. And for God's sake, keep it out of sight."