The man doesn’t reply, but I don’t know what expression is on his face as I’m too busy staring at Ash to ensure she’s okay to bother looking at him. Pain rages behind her eyes, but she’s doing her best to disguise it. She stares back at me, silently begging me to go along with this. I’m not going to fight. I’m in no fit state. I’m late to the party, and I have no clue what is going on. I have no choice but to trust my stepsister.
And the truth is…I do.
I don’t know when it happened, but I trust Ashley.
I have fallen so far from my original agenda it’s laughable.
What is this girl doing to me?
“If you don’t believe me, maybe this will convince you.” Rhett thrusts a photo in my face.
It’s an image of a man and a woman on their wedding day. The man has the woman pressed possessively against his side as he stares at her like she is the goddess Aphrodite brought back to life. His eyes flare with adoration as he looks at his bride, and a lump wedges in my throat. He gazes at her like she is his everything. As if he would burn the world down to have her and hold her. He’s tall and broad, and he fills out the fitted gray suit he’s wearing well. The woman has neck-length wavy blonde hair, and her simple white dress drapes seductively over her ample curves. The look of love in her eyes is unmistakable. The rapture she’s feeling is showcased in the blinding-white smile on her face.
I suck in a shocked gasp as I focus on her smile.
It’s Mom’s smile.
I see nothing else, besides her height, that gives her away.
But the smile does it.
My chest clenches as I examine the man’s face.
“The resemblance is stronger in this one.” Rhett shoves a second photo in my face.
This photo is of the same man standing alongside three other men. They hold themselves almost regally in the shot. They are similarly dressed in expensive suits. Haughty expressions paint all of their faces except for the man from the wedding photo. His expression conveys fear and pride and anxiety.
Staring at his face is like staring at a mirror. We have the same dark hair, broad nose and hazel eyes and the same shaped face. Even his stature is similar to mine.
I am so confused, and I guess it must show on my face.
“This picture was taken the day your father was initiated as the Pride & Wrath Luminary.”
My brow puckers in more confusion. “What does that even mean?”
“He was the youngest to ever hold the position,” he replies, ignoring my question.
A growl slips from my lips. I wonder if this jerk is in politics because he deflects questions with the skill of a politician.
“Your grandfather died unexpectedly,” he continues. “Sudden heart attack. Your father wasn’t prepared to assume power so young, but he rose to the challenge. Your father was the same generation as me, Eric Stewart, and James Manford.”
He says that like I know all this. I know Eric is Jase and Bree’s dad and James is Julia’s father. He mentioned a few minutes ago that Pamela is a Manford too. Actually, now I think about it, there was mention of Julia being Ash’s cousin back at the hospital, so they are definitely related. I recall the photo Rocky took of Jase and Baz outside a bar. Toby Salinger and Knight Carter were the other two guys in that pic. I am guessing Toby and Clinton are related, and going on looks, I think Knight Carter must be Rhett Carter’s son. They share the same surname and dark-blond looks.
I still don’t know how any of it is connected though. And what did he mean when he said Pride & Wrath Luminary? I need fucking answers, and I need them now.
Before I can form a question, he continues. Dude sure loves the sound of his own voice. Rhett points out the other three men in the pic, one at a time. “Your father was the same generation as myself, Eric Stewart, and James Manford, but he assumed control way earlier than the rest of us. He worked mainly with our fathers. They are the other men in this photo.”
“I know nothing about any of this,” I truthfully say. “I don’t understand.”
He clamps a hand on my shoulder. “I did wonder if you knew and were just adept at concealing it, but it’s clear to me now you are completely in the dark.” His grip on my shoulder tightens, and my fingers twitch with the craving to punch him in his smug face. “Don’t worry, son. There is much you need to learn, but we’ll get you caught up.”
He thinks he can mold me to his will, but fuck that shit. And how does he think he is calling meson? I grew up without a father, and I sure as fuck don’t want one now.
“Your mother has lied to you your entire life.” He pushes a birth certificate under my nose. The words are all blurring together, thanks to the confusion racing through my veins, but I see enough to spot the name Blade Salinger alongside my actual date of birth and the listed names of my parents—Daphne Helen Salinger and Clinton Andrew Salinger.
“It’s not real. She wouldn’t do that to me.” Mom told me stuff about Dad as I got older. Explaining why we had to leave the US. So why would she lie about his name? None of this is making any sense.
“Let me see that,” Pamela says.
