Kidnapped - A Beautiful Blessing

Darius jolted awake to the sharp, insistent ringing of his phone. A low growl of irritation rumbled in his throat as he reached for the device, his muscles stiff with exhaustion. Blinking against the dim glow of the screen, he swiped to answer.

**"What?"** His voice was rough, thick with sleep.

The person on the other end spoke in hushed urgency, but Darius barely processed the words at first. He sat up, pressing his fingers to his temple as he forced his mind to sharpen. **Too damn early for this.**

After a brief exchange, he hung up with a curt reply, running a hand through his tousled hair. His jaw tensed. **This night just keeps getting better.**

Pushing the covers aside, he rose from the bed in one fluid motion, his body moving on instinct. Within minutes, he was freshened up and dressed in a crisp black shirt and tailored trousers, the fabric molding against his lean, powerful frame. Adjusting the cuffs, he exhaled slowly.

But something felt…off.

A subtle tension in the air. A shift he couldn't quite place.

His sharp gaze swept the room, scanning its familiar shadows. **Empty.**

The bed—where she should have been—lay rumpled but unoccupied.

His eyes narrowed. **Where the hell is she?**

A prickle of unease slithered down his spine. His instincts never lied.

Turning toward the balcony doors, he noticed they were still locked from the inside. His frown deepened. Striding forward, he unlatched them and stepped out, the night air cool against his skin. The distant hum of the city barely reached the quiet sanctuary of his penthouse.

**"Sasha."** His deep, commanding voice sliced through the silence.

No response.

His grip tightened on the railing. The soft rustle of curtains behind him, the rhythmic thrum of his own pulse—those were the only sounds.

**"Sasha."** This time, his voice was sharper, edged with barely concealed impatience.

Still, nothing.

His gaze swept the dimly lit balcony, and then—he saw her.

Curled up in the farthest corner, her knees drawn to her chest, arms wrapped around herself as though she were trying to disappear.

His breath hitched.

For a moment, he didn't move. The pale silver of the moonlight traced the delicate curve of her face, highlighting the damp trails along her lashes, the soft tremble of her lips.

**Shaking.**

Not from fear—but something deeper.

In three quick strides, he was kneeling beside her.

"Sasha," he murmured, lower this time, his voice losing its sharp edges.

Nothing.

Reaching out, he pressed the back of his hand against her forehead.

**Burning.**

A string of curses tangled in his throat. His jaw clenched.

Without hesitation, he slipped an arm under her knees, another beneath her back, lifting her with effortless ease. She was weightless in his arms—fragile in a way that made something tighten deep in his chest.

He carried her inside, his movements swift but controlled. The coolness of the sheets met her fevered skin as he placed her at the center of his bed.

His phone was in his hand before he even realized it. He dialed.

"Dr. Moreau. Get here. Now."

No pleasantries. No explanations. Just a cold, clipped command.

As he waited, his gaze flickered to her damp clothes, the way they clung to her skin, heavy with fevered sweat. He reached for the duvet, intent on covering her—but hesitated.

The sheets were already damp. If he left her like this—

**Damn it.**

Darius exhaled sharply, running a frustrated hand through his hair. He had no choice.

She needed to be changed.

And he would do it himself.

Darius moved swiftly, his muscles taut with tension as he rummaged through his wardrobe. He pulled out a pair of his black shorts and a white T-shirt—simple, comfortable. Tossing them onto the foot of the bed, he turned back to Sasha, his gaze darkening at her fragile state.

Her breath was shallow, her skin ghostly pale beneath the dim light. Damp strands of hair clung to her forehead, and the slight tremor in her body made something coil tightly inside his chest. He hated seeing her like this—weak, vulnerable.

His fingers hovered for a moment before moving to the edge of her soaked **dupattā.** He pulled it away carefully, the fabric heavy with moisture, and let it drop to the floor. His gaze flickered to her leggings, dark and clinging to her like a second skin. They had to go.

Swallowing his unease, he hooked his fingers beneath the waistband and slowly slid them down the smooth length of her legs. The wet fabric resisted, sticking stubbornly to her skin. He exhaled sharply through his nose, carefully working them over her ankles before tossing them aside.

That left her **kurti.** A more intricate piece of clothing than what he was accustomed to handling. He grasped the hem, lifting it until it bunched at her waist. She barely stirred, her body limp beneath his touch. With a frustrated sigh, he slipped a hand beneath her back, trying to prop her up.

It was more difficult than he expected.

The awkwardness of maneuvering her unresponsive body while undressing her only added to his growing agitation. Every attempt was met with resistance—not from her, but from the damned fabric itself. His patience wore thin.

With a sharp inhale, he laid her back down and gripped the kurti's neckline in both hands. He hesitated for only a second before tearing the fabric apart in one swift motion.

A soft **rip** echoed in the quiet room.

Piece by piece, he stripped away the rest of her drenched clothing, his hands steady, his movements efficient. He worked with precision, his touch impersonal. His gaze never lingered longer than necessary.

Once she was bare, he grabbed the white shirt and eased it over her head, guiding her arms through the sleeves. It was easier than struggling with a tight-fitting T-shirt. The oversized fabric draped over her frame, swallowing her petite form. Instead of bothering with his shorts, he let her remain in just his shirt—the hem brushing against her thighs, leaving her legs exposed to the cool air.

Moments later, a sharp knock at the door signaled the doctor's arrival.

Darius stepped aside as the older man approached, setting down his medical bag. The doctor placed a hand against Sasha's forehead, then checked her pulse with quiet efficiency. His frown deepened.

**"A high fever,"** he confirmed, his voice laced with concern. **"I'll prescribe some medicine. Keep her warm, or it might worsen."**

Darius gave a curt nod, accepting the prescribed pills. **Warm?** He'd already wrapped her in dry clothes, turned up the room's temperature, and covered her with a thick duvet. Yet, her body still trembled, violent shivers wracking her delicate frame.

His jaw tightened. **It's not enough.**

His mind raced for a solution, and an unsettling thought surfaced. One he didn't particularly like.

He clenched his jaw and exhaled slowly. **Damn it.**

There was only one way to stabilize her temperature quickly.

Without wasting another second, he stripped off his own clothes in swift, practiced movements. The cool air prickled his skin, but he ignored it. Turning back to her, he hesitated briefly before peeling away the fresh clothes he had just dressed her in, leaving only her undergarments. His hands were careful, his touch devoid of anything but urgency.

Then, he climbed onto the bed, settling against the mattress before pulling Sasha onto his chest.

Her body was ice against his warmth.

His arms tightened around her, pressing her small frame against his own, his body heat enveloping her completely. She was shivering uncontrollably, her breath uneven.

Darius exhaled through his nose, his lips grazing the top of her head as he held her closer.

**"Breathe, Sasha,"** he murmured, his voice rough, barely above a whisper. **"Just breathe."**

She didn't respond. Not yet.

But he would keep holding her until she did.

Until she was warm again. Safe again.

Until she finally stopped trembling.

The second her frozen skin met his warmth, a violent shudder ran through her frail body. Darius felt the tremor as if it passed through him, too, his own muscles instinctively tensing in response. His pulse quickened, heat spreading through his veins, but he forced himself to stay still. **This wasn't about him.** This was about keeping her alive.

Her soft breath ghosted over his collarbone as she instinctively burrowed closer, seeking the warmth he provided. The damp strands of her hair clung to her flushed skin, and her cheek found the crook of his neck, pressing against him with a trust that sent his control spiraling.

He clenched his jaw.

Her body was cold—too cold—but the way she nestled into him, the way her skin brushed against his, ignited something dangerous. **Every slight movement, every unintentional press of her bare skin against his sent a slow, insidious burn straight to his core.**

**Fuck.**

Darius tried to regulate his breathing, but it turned uneven as Sasha shifted again, her delicate frame molding against his. Her chest pressed flush against his, her slender legs tangling with his beneath the heavy duvet. His fingers twitched where they rested on her back, resisting the primal urge to hold her tighter.

He shut his eyes. Gritted his teeth. **Think of something else.**

But then she sighed—a soft, breathy sound, warm against his throat.

His fingers curled into the sheets.

**This is torture.**

A lesser man would have lost his resolve, but Darius was built differently. He prided himself on discipline, on self-control. And yet, lying there with Sasha unconsciously seeking him in her fevered haze, he felt himself unraveling by the second.

For a fleeting moment, he debated pushing her off, putting space between them before he did something reckless. But just as he started to move, she mumbled something under her breath.

**A name.**

His entire body went rigid.

**"Dad… please don't go…"**

His breath caught in his throat.

**"You always leave me at work…"**

The words were so faint, so fragile, that they barely reached him. But they carried the weight of something deeper—something old and raw, carved into her soul by years of longing.

His grip on her unconsciously tightened.

**She's dreaming about her father.**

The realization was like ice in his veins, extinguishing the restless fire burning through him.

**This isn't about me.**

His fingers, which had curled into fists moments ago, relaxed. Slowly, he let out a measured breath and ran a soothing hand up and down her back. His touch was light, barely there, but enough to calm the tremors racking her small frame.

Minutes passed. Then an hour.

Outside, the relentless downpour had softened, the rhythmic tapping of rain against the glass filling the silence. Sasha's fever had begun to subside, though a faint warmth still clung to her skin.

When Darius was certain she was stable, he carefully slid out from under her, intending to replace his warmth with the heavy duvet.

The second he moved, however, she let out a distressed whimper, her fingers grasping blindly before latching onto his shoulder.

**"Don't go, Dad,"** she whispered, her voice barely above a breath. **"Please… just this once… stay."**

Darius froze.

Her grip tightened, and a soft, broken sob escaped her lips, piercing through the walls he had so carefully constructed.

**"I'm hungry, but I don't want vegetables. I want chocolate ice cream…"**

He blinked, momentarily thrown.

**What?**

**"Sasha…"** His voice came out low, uncertain.

She sniffled, her lips parting slightly as she whispered, **"You're the best, Dad. I love you so much…"**

His chest constricted.

She wasn't here. Not really. She was caught in a fevered haze, reaching for ghosts that would never return.

Darius swallowed hard, forcing away the strange tightness in his throat.

Wordlessly, he pushed himself up, walked across the room, and grabbed the untouched bowl of soup the doctor had left. It was lukewarm now, but it would do.

He returned to the bed, lowering himself beside her once more. With a gentle nudge, he pressed a hand to her shoulder. **"Sasha, wake up."**

She stirred sluggishly, her eyelashes fluttering, but her fever-dazed eyes barely registered him.

**"Eat,"** he instructed, his voice softer than usual. **"Then take your medicine."**

She didn't argue. Didn't have the strength to.

Lifting the spoon, he guided it to her lips, feeding her in slow, measured motions. She swallowed without protest, though her head lolled slightly, exhaustion dragging her under.

Darius remained patient, far more than he ever was with anyone else. He wiped her mouth carefully after every few bites, adjusting the soup's temperature against her lips, ensuring she didn't choke in her half-conscious state.

When the bowl was empty, he pressed a pill against her lips, coaxing her to take it. She barely managed to swallow before slipping back into sleep, her breathing soft and steady.

Darius exhaled, running a hand down his face.

The tension in his muscles refused to fade. He glanced at Sasha's face, now peaceful in slumber, and felt something shift within him.

It wasn't desire.

It was something far, far more dangerous.

It was past midnight, but sleep was the last thing on his mind. The room was dimly lit, the only glow coming from the laptop screen as he leaned against the headboard. The soft hum of the air conditioning filled the silence, a stark contrast to the storm raging in his thoughts. With a quiet exhale, he shifted to his side of the bed, his fingers moving over the keyboard in practiced ease. Business never slept, and neither did he.

Hours passed in quiet focus, his mind absorbed in numbers and strategies—until a soft whimper broke through the stillness.

Darius froze.

The sound was faint, barely a whisper, but it pulled his gaze away from the screen. He turned toward her, his eyes narrowing in the dim light. Sasha lay curled on her side, her face twisted in distress. Shadows clung to her delicate features, making her look smaller, more fragile.

Tears streaked her cheeks, glistening under the faint light. Her fingers clutched the sheets, her knuckles turning white as if she were holding on for dear life. Her lips parted, trembling as she murmured broken words.

**"Mom… Dad… don't leave me… please…"**

His chest tightened.

The plea was raw, filled with a kind of grief that dug its claws deep. She wasn't awake, but the pain in her voice was real—so real it settled like lead in his stomach.

**"You promised a vacation… my birthday party… I was supposed to be eighteen with you both…"**

Her voice cracked, a sharp breath hitching in her throat before a choked sob escaped.

**"Mom, I was supposed to get married one day… you were supposed to help me… What about me?"**

Darius clenched his jaw. He shut his laptop without a second thought, setting it aside as he moved closer. His hand hovered over her trembling form, hesitating for the briefest moment before settling against her back.

He rubbed slow, steady circles, his touch firm yet gentle.

Her sobs softened, the tension in her body easing beneath his warmth.

**"It's okay,"** he murmured, his voice quieter than he'd ever heard it. **"I'm here. It'll get better."**

The words felt foreign on his tongue, unfamiliar in their comfort, yet they worked. Bit by bit, her breathing steadied, her trembling subsiding into small shivers.

Darius watched as she melted into his touch, her body instinctively seeking warmth, seeking solace. He reached forward, brushing away the damp trails of tears from her face. Even in sleep, she fought battles no one could see. Her brows pinched together, her lips quivering with the ghosts of words left unsaid.

He stared at her.

She was a storm wrapped in a fragile body, wild and untamed, yet heartbreakingly delicate.

And for the first time, Darius didn't know if he wanted to break her—or protect her.