Kidnapped - A Beautiful Blessing

Sasha barely had time to register the sharp pain twisting in her abdomen before another wave hit her, leaving her gasping. A strangled cry slipped from her lips as she clutched the cold porcelain sink for support. Her knuckles turned white against the marble as she bent forward, sucking in a shaky breath.

She had ignored the dull cramps all afternoon, dismissing them as the usual pre-menstrual discomfort. But now, standing in the washroom, a strange dampness spread between her thighs—warm, slow, and unfamiliar. Panic clawed at her chest.

Her hands trembled as she reached down, fingers fumbling with the hem of her gown. When she checked, the sight sent her heart slamming against her ribs—dark red blotches staining the delicate fabric of her underwear.

Her breath hitched. **This isn't normal.**

A deep unease settled in her gut as she frantically wiped her hands and dug into her pocket for her phone. There was only one person she could call.

With shaking fingers, she dialed the number. It rang twice before a familiar, deep voice answered, edged with impatience.

**"What is happening? And where are you?"**

Sasha bit her lip, gripping the phone tighter. "I—I'm in the washroom," she stammered, barely able to get the words out before another sharp cramp coiled through her muscles. She hissed, her body tensing involuntarily. "Can you… I mean, I need—ahhh!"

The pain made her knees buckle slightly. She pressed her back against the cool tile wall for support, her breaths uneven.

**"Will you speak up?"** Darius's voice was sharper this time, irritation laced in his tone. She could hear the faint sound of his footsteps growing louder, drawing closer.

She gritted her teeth, trying to steady herself. "Darius, just listen. I—"

Before she could finish, the door to the washroom swung open with a forceful push.

**"Where are you?"**

His voice was commanding, clipped with urgency.

Sasha's eyes widened in horror as she turned to face him. "You—you're in the *ladies'* washroom!" she hissed, scandalized.

Darius stood in the doorway, utterly unbothered by her outburst. His dark eyes swept over her form, his expression unreadable. Without sparing a glance at their surroundings, he pulled his phone from his ear and pocketed it.

"Shut up and tell me what happened."

Sasha's cheeks burned. Her gaze flickered toward the stalls, heart pounding. "No one else is here, right?" she asked in a hushed voice, suddenly hyperaware of the situation.

His patience was running thin. "No. Now talk."

She exhaled slowly, fingers tightening around the edge of the sink. **God, this is so humiliating.**

"It's… embarrassing," she admitted, avoiding his gaze. "I should have been prepared for this."

Darius's jaw twitched. **"Will you just say what the problem is?"**

A deep breath. Then, in one rushed sentence, she blurted out, "I need a pad. Right now. Like, *immediately*."

Silence.

Darius blinked, his brows furrowing slightly. "...A pad?"

"Yes! A *fucking* pad!" she snapped, her frustration flaring. "Have you never heard of menstruation before? Or did you just conveniently *skip* that chapter in school?"

His lips twitched slightly, almost as if he found her outburst amusing. But instead of engaging in her temper, he simply said, **"I didn't go to school."**

Sasha rolled her eyes so hard she nearly saw the back of her skull. "*Of course* you didn't. Figures."

She huffed, pressing a hand against her stomach as another dull cramp twisted inside her. "Well, since you're so *uneducated*, let me spell it out for you—if I don't get a pad right now, my gown will be drenched in blood. And guess what? I'll walk out there in front of *all* your people and make *you* uncomfortable. Not me. *You*."

Darius arched a brow at her blatant threat but didn't bother responding. Instead, he slipped his phone out once more, his fingers flying over the screen with precise efficiency.

Sasha watched him, crossing her arms. "*What* are you doing?"

"Getting what you need," he answered without looking up.

A beat passed before she realized what he meant. Her mouth fell open slightly. "Are you seriously *ordering* pads right now?"

He didn't dignify that with a response.

Her irritation peaked. She let out an exasperated groan, then, in a mix of stress and frustration, began muttering curses under her breath in rapid Hindi.

Darius didn't understand a single word, but the sharpness in her voice, the way she spat each syllable like venom, told him everything he needed to know. He let her vent while his attention remained fixed on the screen, tracking the delivery route.

A few minutes later, his phone buzzed.

He glanced at the screen. "It's here."

Sasha blinked, momentarily stunned. "*That fast?*"

Darius slipped his phone back into his pocket, already turning toward the door. "Stay here. I'll be back."

She stared after him, still processing what had just happened.

He'd actually ordered them. Without hesitation. Without judgment. Just... handled it.

A strange warmth settled in her chest.

She shook her head, muttering under her breath, "Still an insufferable bastard, though."

She didn't see it, but just before he disappeared through the doorway, Darius smirked.

Darius left the dimly lit restroom without a word, his expression unreadable as he strode down the hall. The music from the venue thumped distantly behind him, a reminder of the world continuing beyond this moment of inconvenience. His footsteps were sharp, deliberate, cutting through the silence of the empty corridor as he made his way to retrieve the damn pad she had so loudly demanded.

He moved with purpose, but irritation simmered beneath his calm exterior. Sasha had a way of riling him up, of pressing all the wrong buttons at the worst times. Yet, despite the annoyance tightening his jaw, he found himself heading straight for the nearest convenience store inside the building.

The cashier barely spared him a glance as he grabbed a pack of pads from the shelf and tossed it onto the counter. It wasn't something he ever imagined himself buying, but here he was. The transaction was quick, his patience already frayed by the unnecessary delay.

When he returned, the quiet of the hallway was shattered by a sudden, *violent* banging against the washroom stall door.

**"Fucking hell, Darius! How long does it take to get a damn pad?!"**

Her voice was sharp, laced with frustration, and it scraped against his nerves like sandpaper.

His patience snapped.

**"Shut the fuck up!"**

His voice was a crack of thunder in the enclosed space, reverberating off the cold tile walls. The sheer force of it sucked the air from the room, and for a moment, all was still.

Inside the stall, Sasha froze.

She hadn't expected that.

A tense silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken emotions. Then, without another word, Darius crouched down and slid the pack of pads under the stall door.

A soft exhale of relief came from the other side, followed by the rustling of plastic as Sasha hastily tore into the packaging. But just as she reached for one, she realized something that made her stomach plummet—her underwear was completely soaked.

She groaned under her breath, cursing her body for betraying her at the worst possible time. The pads wouldn't be enough. She needed a full change of clothes.

Gritting her teeth, she swallowed her pride and called his name.

**"Darius?"**

His response was a low hum—impatient but listening.

She hesitated, knowing this was going to annoy him even more. Still, she had no choice.

**"I… I need a fresh pair of underwear. And new clothes."**

A sharp exhale sounded from the other side of the door, followed by a muttered curse.

**"Are you serious? You could have told me that earlier."**

Annoyance flared in her chest, and she shot back, **"Well, you could have told me you were actually getting the damn pad!"**

Silence.

Then, another sigh—this one heavier. A beat later, the faint click of his phone unlocking reached her ears.

She pressed her forehead against the cool metal door, feeling equal parts exhausted and embarrassed as she listened to him make a quick call. His voice was clipped, giving precise instructions to one of his men. He rattled off a list of items, his tone brooking no argument.

Then, it was just silence again.

Sasha sighed, sinking down onto the toilet lid. This was beyond humiliating.

Minutes passed. Then half an hour. She spent the entire time pacing in the cramped stall, crossing and uncrossing her arms, her frustration mounting with every passing second.

Finally, after nearly an hour, a knock sounded against the restroom door.

Darius's voice came, quieter this time. **"Got it."**

Sasha let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. Moments later, a neatly folded bundle of clothes was passed through the same space under the stall door.

She grabbed them quickly, her fingers brushing the smooth fabric. Relief flooded her chest. Without wasting another second, she stripped out of her ruined clothes, working as fast as she could. The fresh underwear and clean outfit felt like heaven against her skin.

When she was done, she bundled up her stained garments, shoving them into the same bag her fresh clothes had come in. The weight of humiliation still clung to her, but she pushed it down, steeling herself before unlocking the stall door.

Stepping out, she found Darius leaning against the sink, arms crossed over his chest. His dark eyes flicked to her, unreadable, before dropping to the bag in her hands.

Wordlessly, she held it out to him, her gaze firmly avoiding his.

Darius studied her for a moment, then took the bag without a word. No teasing remark. No snide comment. Just a quiet acceptance.

With that, he turned on his heel, leading her back to the venue as if nothing had happened.

But something had.

The air between them was heavier now, thick with something unspoken.

And Sasha wasn't sure what unsettled her more—his silence or the fact that, for once, she had nothing left to say.

As they entered the grand hall, a wave of applause erupted around them. The sound echoed off the high ceilings, mingling with the rich hum of music. Guests stood at their tables, clapping, their eyes shining with anticipation as they urged the couple toward the center of the room.

Sasha swallowed hard. *Just great.*

She wasn't in the mood for this. Not after everything that had happened. Not after the relentless exhaustion settling into her bones like lead. But Darius, ever composed, turned to her with an expectant look, extending his hand.

She hesitated. The weight of the evening pressed against her chest, making her breath shallow. But she had no choice, did she? Not here, under the scrutiny of so many watchful eyes.

Reluctantly, she slid her fingers into his.

His grip was firm, steady—offering no room for hesitation as he pulled her close. One hand settled against the small of her back, his warmth seeping through the delicate fabric of her gown. The music shifted, slow and elegant, guiding their movements.

They swayed in perfect synchronization, the embodiment of grace and control.

But Sasha felt anything *but* graceful.

Her body protested with every movement, the dull ache in her abdomen sharpening with each step. The cramps hadn't fully subsided, and the lingering stress from earlier still gripped her muscles. Worse, she was acutely aware of Darius's unwavering gaze. It was unnerving, the way his eyes searched hers, as if trying to uncover something she wasn't ready to reveal.

She averted her gaze, staring past his shoulder.

Darius finally broke the silence. **"Are you feeling unwell?"**

His voice was low, meant only for her.

Sasha stiffened. She couldn't afford to appear weak. Not here. Not now.

She shook her head quickly, forcing a small smile. "No, it's nothing. I'm fine."

A lie.

The words left a bitter taste in her mouth, but she held onto them anyway.

A moment later, something caught her attention—his hand, wrapped in a fresh bandage.

Her stomach twisted.

She hadn't noticed before. *How had she not noticed?* The fight he'd been in earlier—it hadn't been small. It had been brutal. Yet here he was, moving as if nothing had happened, as if pain was just another part of his existence.

Her throat tightened.

This world wasn't kind. She had once thought that being by his side, being the *queen*, meant she would be untouchable. Respected. But she had been naive. Here, power only bred more enemies. And standing beside Darius meant standing at the center of the storm.

Lost in thought, she barely registered the moment he spun her.

The movement was sudden, effortless. A gasp slipped past her lips as she found herself pulled back against his chest, her body colliding with his solid frame.

His grip tightened slightly, anchoring her.

Her core ached.

The cramps were worsening, her waist feeling unbearably heavy. The effort to keep up with the dance was draining her, and she was dangerously close to her limit.

**"I think we should stop now,"** she said, keeping her voice neutral.

Darius frowned, his steps never faltering. **"We can't. We need to keep going for a few more minutes."**

She exhaled sharply. *Of course.* He was always so damn composed, always expecting her to match his endurance without question.

"But I'm tired," she insisted, her tone clipped. "I can't stand anymore."

Darius's hold on her didn't loosen. **"Sasha, we're the main couple. We can't just stop. It's a special dance, not some casual one."**

Something inside her snapped.

Her voice was sharp as she hissed, "I'm on my *periods*, Darius. I can't take it anymore!"

The words hung between them, thick with frustration and finality.

A muscle ticked in his jaw.

For a moment, she thought he might argue. Instead, he exhaled heavily, rubbing his temple as if she were the one testing *his* patience. **"You and your tantrums."**

She opened her mouth to snap back, but before she could, he suddenly crouched down.

Her eyes widened as his arm slid around her waist, the other beneath her knees.

"Darius—!"

She barely had time to protest before she was lifted effortlessly into his arms.

A ripple of shock swept through the room. Gasps echoed around them, whispers rising like a wave. But Darius paid them no mind.

Instead, he adjusted his hold on her, ensuring her dress remained modestly in place. Then, without missing a beat, he resumed dancing.

With *her* in his arms.

The music continued, soft and haunting, as he swayed gently, his movements never faltering.

Sasha could do nothing but stare.

Her breath hitched as their eyes met.

Something shifted between them—something she couldn't quite name.

His gaze held an intensity that made her pulse stutter. It wasn't amusement or irritation. It was something else. Something unreadable.

Her fingers curled slightly against his chest.

She wanted to look away, but she couldn't.

By the time the dance ended, her body was exhausted, her mind tangled with emotions she didn't have the strength to unravel.

At the dining table, she barely touched her food. She pushed it around absently, stirring the liquid in her glass with slow, deliberate motions.

Darius noticed.

He didn't comment.

Instead, he let the silence stretch between them, an unspoken understanding settling in the air.

Finally, she broke it.

"When are we leaving?" she asked quietly.

"Soon," he answered simply.

And soon couldn't come fast enough.

The ride home was quiet. The city lights flickered past the car window, painting shadows across her face as she leaned back against the seat, staring at the stars beyond the glass.

Her body ached. The exhaustion was creeping deeper, wrapping around her like a heavy fog. She pressed a hand to her lower abdomen, wincing as the cramps pulsed through her.

Darius noticed.

He didn't speak. He didn't ask.

He simply reached over and, without a word, placed his warm hand over hers.

Sasha stiffened at the unexpected touch.

"Darius—"

"Just rest," he murmured.

There was no mockery in his tone. No irritation. Just quiet insistence.

For once, she didn't argue.

For the first time that night, she felt… safe.