Kidnapped - A Beautiful Blessing

A dull throbbing pain anchored Sasha back to reality, pulling her from the depths of unconsciousness. A low hum filled her ears, the distant echo of a world she had yet to fully re-enter. Her eyelids fluttered, impossibly heavy, resisting her attempts to pry them open. When she finally succeeded, the blurred outline of an unfamiliar ceiling greeted her. It was grand—smooth and polished, adorned with intricate moldings that caught the dim lighting, casting soft, wavering shadows along the walls.

Her vision swam, the edges of her sight tinged with haziness, but the opulence surrounding her was undeniable. Everything about this place felt foreign.

A sluggish weight pressed down on her limbs, rendering them useless. Her body felt disconnected, as if waking from a deep, drug-induced slumber. Even her thoughts struggled to piece themselves together, flitting between fragmented memories and present confusion.

*The marketplace… The blistering heat… The searing touch of a stranger against her skin…*

Her breath hitched.

And then—him.

Her so-called savior.

Awareness flooded her in an instant, sharper than the ache in her skull. A jolt of adrenaline forced her to push through the lingering exhaustion. Her muscles resisted, but she turned her head, her gaze searching for the man who had stolen her away.

There he was.

Sitting across the room in an armchair far too lavish for his nonchalant posture, he watched her with an expression she couldn't quite decipher. The golden glow from a nearby lamp traced the sharp angles of his face, highlighting the smirk that curled at the corner of his lips.

Sasha's fingers clenched the plush fabric beneath her, grounding herself against the growing unease coiling in her stomach.

"Where am I?" Her voice was hoarse, her throat raw as if she hadn't spoken in days.

Darius tilted his head slightly, as if weighing how much to indulge her. Then, with infuriating ease, he answered, "Somewhere in..." He paused, deliberate and calculated, letting the anticipation stretch unbearably before finishing, "Paris."

The word was spoken so smoothly, so effortlessly, yet the smirk that accompanied it sent a chill slithering down her spine.

Sasha blinked, her sluggish mind struggling to process what he had just said.

*Paris?*

Her breath came faster, panic seeping into her veins. That was impossible. How could she have traveled to an entirely different country without even realizing it? No passport. No documentation. No recollection of ever stepping onto a plane.

Her heart pounded against her ribs.

"How?" she demanded, forcing herself upright, but the sudden movement sent a sharp stab of pain through her skull. A dizzying wave washed over her, making her grip the blanket beneath her fingers to steady herself. "You were supposed to take me home, not... not here!"

Darius remained utterly unshaken. If her panic amused him, he didn't show it. Instead, he regarded her with maddening composure, his dark eyes unreadable.

"Sleep, Sasha," he commanded smoothly, his voice deep and laced with an authority that left no room for argument. "You need the rest."

And just like that, he dismissed her.

As if she were nothing more than an unruly child throwing a tantrum.

Her frustration burned beneath her exhaustion, hot and suffocating. She wanted to fight, to demand answers, to make him acknowledge the sheer audacity of what he had done. But her body betrayed her. The lingering fatigue was a vice, tightening its grip, pulling her under before she could will herself to resist.

The last thing she saw before sleep claimed her was Darius stepping out of the room, leaving her alone in a world that was no longer hers.

Sasha wasn't sure how long she had been unconscious, but when she stirred again, she found herself drifting in a strange limbo between reality and a hazy dream. The weight of sleep clung to her like a thick fog, making it difficult to distinguish fleeting memories from the present. Her lips parted in soft murmurs—fragments of incoherent words escaping before dissolving into silence.

A slow blink. Then another.

The remnants of exhaustion gradually lifted, and the world around her began to sharpen.

The room was breathtaking.

Spacious, lavish, and meticulously designed, it exuded a wealth so effortless it was almost daunting. Every detail, from the towering windows draped in heavy embroidered curtains to the ornate chandelier casting a golden glow across the ceiling, spoke of quiet opulence.

Her breath came slow and measured as she took it all in.

The massive bed she lay on was unlike anything she had ever slept in before—silky sheets that whispered against her skin, a plush mattress that seemed to swallow her whole, and a scent lingering in the fabric, something musky yet clean, distinctly masculine.

She sat up slowly, her fingers grazing the duvet as her gaze traveled across the room.

A mahogany dresser stood against the far wall, its surface polished to perfection. To its left, an elegant sofa with deep blue velvet cushions sat near a fireplace, unlit yet commanding attention. Even the bedside table beside her held a kind of grandeur, with its intricate gold detailing and an antique lamp casting a soft, warm glow.

Sasha exhaled, the realization settling deep in her chest.

*He's rich.*

The thought echoed louder this time, sinking into the very core of her understanding.

Her gaze swept over the details again—the thick, velvety carpet beneath her feet, the shimmering gold accents woven into the furniture, the understated elegance that came with old money. She had seen rooms like this before—on the glossy pages of high-end magazines, in movies where the elite walked with untouchable grace. But never in her reality.

Yet here she was.

But she had no time to admire it all.

A sharp need coiled inside her, overriding the momentary awe. She needed answers.

She pushed the covers aside and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. The cool air brushed against her skin, a stark contrast to the warmth of the blankets. When she pressed her feet to the floor, the rug beneath her was impossibly soft, swallowing the sound of her movements as she carefully stood.

Her body wavered for a second, her limbs still sluggish, but she forced herself steady.

A door stood tucked into the corner of the room, barely noticeable at first glance. Instinct guided her toward it. She didn't know what she expected—an exit, maybe—but as she twisted the handle and pushed it open, a soft glow of white light greeted her, nearly blinding in contrast to the warm lighting of the bedroom.

A bathroom.

But not just any bathroom.

Sasha stepped inside, her breath hitching. The space was as extravagant as the bedroom—sleek white marble stretched across the counters and floors, the veining in the stone glistening under the soft glow of recessed lighting. A large mirror spanned the wall above the basin, reflecting the luxurious setting back at her.

The sink itself was a masterpiece, modern and minimalistic, its golden faucets gleaming under the artificial glow. A massive glass-enclosed shower stood at the far end, the kind she had only seen in five-star hotels.

She hesitated only for a moment before stepping forward.

Reaching for the faucet, she twisted the handle experimentally.

Nothing.

Her brows furrowed.

She tried again, turning it the other way, only to be met with the same lack of response. It took a few more seconds, a few more attempts, before cool water finally gushed from the tap, splashing against the porcelain basin.

A deep sigh escaped her lips as she cupped the liquid in her hands, bringing it to her face. The coldness was a relief, sharp and grounding, washing away the lingering haze clouding her thoughts.

She closed her eyes for a brief moment, letting the sensation anchor her.

But the weight in her chest didn't lift.

Her mind was still a tangled mess, questions pressing in from all sides, the edges of her memories jagged and uncertain. But one thing was clear.

She needed to get out of here.

The moment Sasha stepped onto the balcony, a gust of fresh air greeted her, crisp and invigorating. It was unlike anything she had ever felt—clean, tinged with the distant scent of rain and blooming flowers, a stark contrast to the dense, humid air of Mumbai.

Paris.

A foreign land.

Her breath caught as she took in the view. Paris unfolded before her in a breathtaking panorama, a city of timeless beauty and effortless grandeur. Towering skyscrapers stood proudly against the sky, their glass facades catching the sunlight, shimmering like fragments of a dream. Below, the streets pulsed with life—cars weaving through the lanes, pedestrians strolling along cobbled pathways, distant laughter and muffled conversations forming a quiet symphony.

It was overwhelming. And mesmerizing.

She had always dreamt of traveling, of seeing the world beyond her hometown, but not like this. Never under these circumstances.

Her fingers curled slightly against the iron railing, a fleeting sense of unease tightening in her chest.

**"May I have your attention?"**

The deep voice, rich and commanding, sliced through her thoughts.

A shiver ran down her spine.

Sasha turned swiftly, her heart skipping a beat.

Darius stood at the threshold of the balcony, his tall frame casting a shadow over the sunlit floor. Dressed in a fitted black shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, he looked effortlessly imposing. His sharp features remained unreadable, yet his very presence seemed to shift the air around them, drawing her in despite herself.

Her fingers tightened around the railing before she forced herself to relax.

A hesitant smile tugged at her lips. "Your house is so... cool," she said, trying to keep her voice light. She gestured vaguely toward the luxurious apartment behind him, the elegant furniture, the expensive paintings adorning the walls. "You're lucky to have all this."

Her gaze flickered back to the skyline before returning to him.

"I want to achieve something like this too. But… it's not that easy."

Darius didn't respond immediately. Instead, he stepped forward, placing a tray on the small table by the balcony—a delicate porcelain teapot, a plate of bread, and a few other simple dishes.

Then, without a word, he sat down. His posture was relaxed, legs slightly parted as if effortlessly claiming the space around him.

Sasha hesitated before following suit, settling into the chair opposite him.

She watched as he absentmindedly separated the crust from his bread with a knife, his movements precise, deliberate.

"You must be really talented," she continued, trying to break the silence. "Achieving so much at such a young age… usually, it takes people years, but you—"

**"So innocent."**

The words were barely above a whisper, but they sent a ripple of unease through her.

She frowned slightly. "I didn't catch that. Can you repeat?"

Darius glanced at her, his dark eyes unreadable.

**"Never mind."**

A strange weight settled in her chest, but she forced herself to brush it off.

She shifted in her seat before speaking again, her voice softer this time. "Actually, I wanted to say this earlier. I really appreciate what you did… back in Mumbai."

She chose her words carefully, avoiding phrases like *saving me* or *standing up for me when no one else did.* There was something about Darius—something that made her wary of showing weakness.

Darius tilted his head slightly, his gaze holding hers.

**"It's the other way around."**

Her brows furrowed. "What do you mean?"

He didn't elaborate. Instead, he picked up his cup of tea, taking a slow sip.

**"Just eat your breakfast."**

There was something final about his tone, something that made her stomach twist in uncertainty. *Did I say something wrong again?*

She parted her lips to apologize, but before she could utter a word, he reached for a piece of bread and, in one fluid motion, lifted it to her lips.

Sasha froze.

The unexpected gesture sent her pulse racing. Her breath hitched, and for a fleeting second, she wasn't sure whether to recoil or lean in.

His eyes remained fixed on her, unwavering.

She hesitated, but hunger won over confusion. Slowly, she took the bread between her teeth, her fingers brushing against his for the briefest moment before he pulled away.

Silence fell between them—comfortable yet charged.

She chewed slowly, savoring the simple taste, her mind swirling with unspoken thoughts.

Minutes passed in quiet companionship as they ate.

Then, she decided to break the silence.

"Since we haven't introduced ourselves properly, I should go first," she began, brushing a stray hair behind her ear. "My name is Sasha, and I was born in—"

**"Mumbai, India."**

Her eyes widened slightly. "How do you—Oh, right. We met in Mumbai." She let out a small, awkward laugh, feeling strangely self-conscious under his gaze.

Darius didn't acknowledge her amusement.

She pressed on. "What about you? You didn't tell me your name."

Finally, he looked up, the corner of his lips tilting into a slow, knowing smirk.

**"Darius Lemoine."**

The name carried weight, authority.

She nodded. "Nice name. Since you're from Paris, what were you doing in Mumbai?"

**"Work."**

The reply was curt, leaving no room for further probing.

She noticed how he continued to carefully remove the crust from his bread, and a small smile tugged at her lips.

"You don't like crust either?"

Darius lifted his gaze, a flicker of amusement crossing his features.

"Seems like we do have…" He trailed off, watching her intently.

She met his stare and finished the thought for him. "Some similar likes," she said with a small giggle.

Something shifted in his expression.

"You should smile more often," he murmured.

Sasha raised an eyebrow, her playful side surfacing. "Why? Do you find me beautiful? Don't tell me you're falling for me."

The moment the words left her lips, she regretted them.

Darius's smirk faded.

The air between them grew thick, charged with something she couldn't quite name.

Her heartbeat quickened.

"I was joking!" she blurted out, forcing a laugh, but it sounded hollow even to her own ears.

Darius remained silent.

The shift in atmosphere was palpable.

She swallowed hard, choosing to keep quiet this time. The rest of her meal was eaten in silence, her mind replaying the moment over and over again.

Then, without warning, Darius pushed back his chair and stood. He dusted off his hands, his movements precise, controlled.

**"I'm leaving. If you need anything, there's a cellphone in your room."**

Sasha blinked. *So that's it?*

"So I'll be alone?" she asked hesitantly.

He didn't answer.

Instead, he turned, striding toward the door with a quiet dominance that sent another shiver down her spine.

And then, without a backward glance, he shut the door behind him.

The thud echoed in the silence.

Sasha exhaled slowly, staring at the closed door.

*What did I say this time?*