Kidnapped - A Beautiful Blessing

Sasha strolled through the moonlit garden, her fingers grazing the delicate petals of the roses lining the stone pathway. The cool evening air carried the scent of damp earth and blooming jasmine, wrapping around her like a comforting whisper. She inhaled deeply, letting the stillness settle into her bones. It was rare for her to be alone like this—just her thoughts and the quiet hum of the night.

Lately, solitude had been a luxury. Between navigating her conflicting emotions, dealing with the ever-present ache of her healing wound, and the unshakable shadow of her past, she barely had time to breathe. Yet, in this fleeting moment, surrounded by the rustling leaves and the distant chirping of crickets, she felt a semblance of peace.

Then, the low rumble of an approaching car shattered the stillness.

Sasha's head turned slightly, her gaze following the sleek black vehicle as it rolled to a smooth stop in the parking area. The engine cut off, and the door swung open with controlled ease.

Darius stepped out.

Even in the dim glow of the lanterns lining the pathway, his presence was undeniable. The sharp angles of his face were partially shadowed, but the moonlight caught the subtle smirk playing at the corner of his lips. His fitted dark shirt clung to his broad shoulders, emphasizing the effortless strength beneath.

She tensed instinctively.

His steps were slow, deliberate as he approached, the gravel crunching beneath his polished shoes. He stopped a few paces away, watching her in that unreadable way of his.

Sasha turned sharply, her voice cool and distant. "What are you doing here?"

Darius didn't answer right away. Instead, he reached out toward her.

She flinched. Her body acted before her mind could register, her first instinct to pull away. But before she could step back, he caught a stray strand of her hair between his fingers and held something up between his thumb and forefinger.

A tiny, squashed insect.

Her breath hitched.

She blinked, her eyes flickering from the crushed bug to his face, realization dawning. He had only been removing it from her hair.

A simple gesture.

Yet, it left her strangely unsettled.

Words from Lea that morning echoed in her mind. *You should not judge a book by its cover.*

Her fingers curled at her sides. Had she ever truly tried to see beyond the walls Darius put up? Beyond the reputation that preceded him?

Darius snapped his fingers in front of her face. "Where are you lost?"

She blinked rapidly, forcing herself back to the present. "Ah, nothing."

His gaze lingered on her for a second longer than necessary, as if he didn't quite believe her, but he let it go. "The baby shower is tomorrow night. Will you be able to go?"

She hesitated, shifting her weight slightly. Her wound still ached—a dull, persistent throb beneath the bandages—and to make things worse, her period had left her drained. The last thing she wanted was to be surrounded by people, forcing smiles and pretending everything was fine.

"No," she finally said. "It would be difficult for me."

Darius nodded once. "Okay."

They fell into step beside each other, walking along the pathway at an unhurried pace. The night stretched around them, cool and quiet. Somewhere in the distance, an owl hooted, breaking the silence.

Then, out of nowhere, something buzzed past Sasha's ear.

She gasped, stumbling back in alarm as a bee darted too close to her face.

Before she could react further, Darius's hand shot out, quick as lightning, snatching the insect mid-air. With no hesitation, he crushed it in his palm, then flicked the lifeless body to the ground, smashing it under his heel.

Sasha gaped at him, horrified. "Why did you kill it? You could've just thrown it away!"

Darius dusted his hands off, looking entirely unfazed. "You were scared."

"So?" she snapped, still glaring at the flattened remains of the bee.

His lips quirked in amusement. "Haven't you studied in school?"

She huffed, crossing her arms. "I never encountered a bee before!"

He scoffed, gesturing lazily around them. "Your house is practically a jungle. No surprise that you're attracting insects left and right."

She shot him a glare. "It was just a bee! And last time, it was a lizard that dropped *by chance*—"

"It happened *by chance* because you forgot to do pest control *by chance*," he mocked, repeating her words with deliberate emphasis.

Her jaw clenched. "For God's sake, will you stop that?"

He exhaled sharply, but there was an amused glint in his eyes. "I didn't start it. You did."

Annoyance flared hot in her chest, but before she could shoot back a retort, a sharp pain suddenly shot through her right arm.

She inhaled sharply, a small gasp of pain slipping from her lips as her hand instinctively clutched at the spot.

Darius's smirk vanished in an instant. His eyes darkened with concern. "Show me," he demanded, stepping closer.

She hesitated.

The pain was worsening. A deep, burning sting near her already sore wound.

Reluctantly, she let him move her hand aside. That's when he saw it.

Another bee.

A single tear slipped down Sasha's cheek as the pain flared, a mix of exhaustion, discomfort, and sheer frustration pressing down on her. She hated feeling weak. Hated feeling vulnerable in front of him. But at that moment, there was no hiding it.

Darius didn't waste a second.

Without warning, he scooped her up into his arms.

His grip was firm but careful, his warmth seeping through the fabric of her dress. For a brief moment, she stiffened in surprise, but exhaustion quickly won over. Her body relaxed against his hold, her head resting against his shoulder as he carried her toward the house.

"Stop squirming," he muttered when she shifted slightly. "You're not in a state to argue."

She huffed weakly, her eyelids growing heavy. "I wasn't arguing."

"That's a first."

Despite herself, the corners of her lips twitched.

Maybe she really had misjudged him.

Maybe Darius wasn't just the ruthless man she had painted him to be.

Maybe—just maybe—there was something more.

And that thought was far more dangerous than she was willing to admit.

Sasha stiffened at the firm grip on her wrist. **"Darius—"**

**"Shut up,"** he ordered, his voice dangerously low. His fingers tightened around her as he strode toward the house, his pace brisk, his expression unreadable.

The pain in her body flared with each step, but she bit down on her lip, refusing to show weakness. By the time they reached her room, a tremor ran through her limbs, whether from exhaustion or the sharp sting radiating from her injury, she wasn't sure.

Darius didn't hesitate. He placed her gently on the bed, his movements controlled, careful—so at odds with the man who had just barked at her moments ago. Without a word, he pulled out his phone, issuing quick, clipped instructions to the maid.

Minutes later, the door creaked open, and the maid entered with a bowl of clean water, ice, and a fresh towel. She cast Sasha a hesitant glance before placing the items on the bedside table and quietly retreating.

Darius took the items, his focus solely on her. He dipped the cloth into the cool water, wrung it out, and pressed it carefully against her wound.

Sasha hissed, her body jerking instinctively at the cold sting. But soon, the sharp pain dulled into a soothing relief. She exhaled slowly, letting her eyes drift shut, focusing on the sensation.

Then, something unexpected happened.

His fingers, rough yet warm, ghosted over her cheek. The touch was light, barely there, yet it sent a strange shiver through her. She forced her lashes open, only to find Darius staring at her. His expression remained unreadable, but his fingers moved with an unfamiliar gentleness as he wiped away the stray tears from her skin.

She swallowed.

For a fleeting moment, she wondered—**who was this man?**

How could he be so ruthless one moment and yet so tender the next?

But before she could dwell on it, exhaustion pulled her under, dragging her into the depths of sleep as Darius continued tending to her wound.

When Sasha woke, the room was cloaked in dim lighting, the scent of antiseptic lingering in the air. She blinked sluggishly, her body still heavy with fatigue. Turning her head slightly, she found Darius beside her.

He was leaning against the headboard, his broad shoulders relaxed, but his gaze was distant, lost in some private thought. The dim glow of the bedside lamp cast sharp shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw, the furrow in his brow.

A knock at the door broke the silence.

The same maid from earlier entered, balancing a tray of food. She placed it carefully on the table before bowing slightly and excusing herself.

Darius barely spared her a glance before shifting his focus to Sasha. **"Want to eat here?"**

Sasha hesitated before shaking her head.

Without another word, Darius stood, retrieving the tray and bringing it to her. She reached for the fork, eager to feed herself, but before she could grasp it, his fingers closed around it first.

He twirled the pasta onto the utensil and, without hesitation, held it up to her lips.

She stared at him, stunned. **"I can eat myself."**

**"Just eat,"** he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

She hesitated for a second longer before parting her lips. He placed the food inside, watching her closely as she chewed.

Before she could protest, he used the same fork to take a bite himself.

Sasha froze mid-chew, her eyes widening in disgust. **"Can you *not* use my fork?"**

Darius smirked. **"Why?"**

She scowled. **"I don't eat from someone else's used fork."**

His smirk deepened, teasing. **"Ah, I know this thing from your country."** Then, with mock curiosity, he added, **"Strange, isn't it? You refuse to share utensils but have no problem spitting or peeing openly on the streets."**

Sasha nearly choked. **"Excuse me?"**

Her face burned, a mix of indignation and mortification flashing through her. She opened her mouth, ready to argue, but no immediate retort came to mind.

Darius chuckled at her silence. **"No comment?"**

Scowling, she huffed. **"Use your spoon."**

But instead of listening, he deliberately twirled more pasta onto the same fork and took another bite, eyes gleaming with amusement as he watched her growing frustration.

Sasha clenched her fists, her glare dark and promising violence.

When he still didn't stop, she made a move to sit up, intending to fetch another fork herself. But before she could push the covers off, Darius caught her wrist, halting her effortlessly.

His grip was firm yet non-threatening.

For a moment, he simply stared at her, his expression unreadable, before finally—**finally**—he reached for another fork and handed her a proper bite.

She held his gaze for a long moment, then, begrudgingly, opened her mouth and took it.

The rest of the meal passed in silence, but something had shifted between them. An unspoken tension lingered in the air, something neither of them addressed, yet neither could fully ignore.

Every now and then, Sasha found herself sneaking glances at him.

And every time she did—

She caught him already looking.