Kidnapped - A Beautiful Blessing

The morning sun filtered through the curtains in golden slivers, casting a soft, dreamlike glow over the bedroom. The air was thick with warmth, carrying the lingering scent of last night's rain—earthy, fresh, and intoxicatingly cool. But beneath it, another fragrance clung to the sheets, weaving through the air like a whisper of memory—the dark, heady spice of Darius's cologne.

Sasha stirred, her body sluggish, her limbs heavy as if weighed down by something more than sleep. A foreign heat cocooned her, wrapping around her bare skin like an intimate embrace. Her lashes fluttered, a slow awakening, but the moment clarity struck, it hit her like a violent storm.

Her breath stilled.

She was lying on top of Darius.

Bare skin against bare skin.

A sharp inhale tore through her lungs as icy dread spread through her veins, suffocating the remnants of warmth that had clung to her. Her heart pounded against her ribs, each beat a frantic, erratic thud. Horror crawled up her spine, hot and suffocating.

Her body stiffened. **What the hell had he done to her?**

A storm of emotions churned inside her—fear, disgust, rage, and something darker, something she refused to name. She could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath her, the hard lines of his body molded against hers. His scent—deep, masculine, unmistakably his—wrapped around her like a noose.

Her breathing turned ragged as panic clawed at her throat. She twisted, trying to free herself, but his arm was locked around her waist, his grip iron-strong even in sleep.

**Let go. Let go. Let go.**

Her nails dug into her palms as fury ignited within her, burning away the fear. With a surge of defiance, she ripped one hand free and brought it down against his face with all the strength she had.

The sound cracked through the room like a gunshot.

Darius jolted awake, his entire body tensing beneath her. His dark eyes snapped open, sharp and alert despite the lingering haze of sleep. For a fraction of a second, his expression was unreadable—laced with confusion, still caught between wakefulness and the sting of pain.

Then, something shifted.

His gaze darkened, rage simmering beneath the surface like molten fire.

A low growl rumbled from his throat, sending a shiver down her spine. Before she could react, before she could even think, he moved.

In a blur of motion, he flipped them over.

Sasha barely had time to gasp before she found herself pinned beneath him, her wrists trapped against the mattress, his body pressing down on hers with controlled force.

Their breaths mingled in the charged air, heavy and uneven. She glared up at him, her eyes burning with fury, but he met her defiance head-on, his gaze unyielding, his grip firm.

For a long, breathless moment, they simply stared at each other—challenging, daring, seething.

The storm outside had passed, but inside this room, a new one had only just begun.

"You're fucking insane!" Sasha spat, her voice raw with fury, her entire body shaking with barely contained rage. "How dare you—"

Darius didn't flinch. He remained eerily calm, but there was a dangerous undercurrent to his voice, like a blade sharpened just before a kill. "What do you *think* happened here?"

Her nails dug into his arms as she shoved against him, her body thrumming with violent energy. "You tell me, you *bastard!*" Her chest rose and fell in uneven breaths, her mind racing, filling in gaps with the worst possible conclusions. "You think I don't know? That you took advantage of me when I was sick? That you—"

Darius's jaw ticked, his patience splintering. "*You really think I would have you like this?*" His grip on her wrists tightened just enough to still her struggles. "*When you were barely conscious?*" His voice dropped lower, each word laced with warning. "I may be a lot of things, Sasha, but I'm not *that.*"

A sharp, humorless laugh escaped her lips, dripping with venom. "*Oh,* so you didn't force yourself on me, but you still stripped me naked and climbed into bed with me? That's supposed to make me feel better?"

His eyes flashed. "*You were freezing to death,*" he snapped, his patience hanging by a thread. "*Your body was shutting down. You would have gone into shock if I hadn't—*"

"Bullshit!" She bucked against him again, her rage blinding. "*You expect me to believe that?*"

His exhale was sharp, his frustration finally breaking through the cracks. "*Believe whatever the fuck you want.* But I *didn't* touch you. And if you weren't so goddamn stubborn, maybe you'd have noticed that you're still *intact.*"

The implication hit her like a slap. Her breath stilled for a moment, fury and humiliation clashing inside her like a storm. But she refused to be thrown off balance.

Instead, she *moved.*

Fast.

Before he could react, she tore her hands free and flipped him onto his back, straddling him in one swift motion.

Darius grunted at the sudden shift, his eyes flaring with something unreadable—surprise, yes, but also something far darker. Amusement flickered in the depths of his gaze, but there was something else there, something smoldering.

He didn't fight back. Not yet.

Her fingers curled around his throat, pressing just hard enough to make a point.

"If you *ever* lay a finger on me like this again," she hissed, her face inches from his, her nails digging into his skin, "*if you so much as think about touching me*—I will slit your throat while you sleep."

For a second, silence stretched between them.

Then—his lips curled.

A smirk.

Despite the pressure on his windpipe, despite the threat spilling from her lips like poison, he had the audacity to smirk.

"*That's* the best threat you've got?" His voice was strained, but his amusement was clear, taunting. "Try harder, *printsessa.*"

Her fingers clenched tighter, her nails biting deeper.

A thin line of blood beaded along his throat.

Darius's amusement vanished.

In a flash, his hands shot to her waist, and before she could react, he *moved.*

Effortlessly.

Sasha let out a startled gasp as he flipped her onto her back, reversing their positions in a single, fluid motion.

This time, he didn't just pin her. He caged her in.

His weight pressed against her, his forearms bracketing her head, his grip unrelenting.

Their breaths mingled, hot and fast.

And then—

His lips crashed onto hers.

The kiss was *brutal.*

Punishing.

A clash of dominance and defiance, fury and frustration. There was nothing gentle about it, nothing sweet. It was war.

She struggled, pushing against his chest, but he was unyielding. His lips moved against hers with fierce possession, his tongue sweeping into her mouth like a conqueror taking his prize.

Heat flooded her veins, white-hot and dangerous, mixing with her anger until she couldn't tell where one ended and the other began.

She hated him.

God, she *hated* him.

Then why did her body feel like it was on fire?

When he finally pulled away, her lips were swollen, her breath ragged.

His gaze burned into her, dark and filled with something she couldn't decipher. "*Never* question my honor again, Sasha." His voice was a low, lethal growl. "*Never.*"

She glared up at him, her chest rising and falling, hatred swirling with something far more treacherous.

Darius exhaled harshly, his grip loosening as he raked a hand through his hair.

"Get dressed," he ordered, his tone clipped.

Then, without another word, he pushed off the bed and stalked toward the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

After changing into a loose T-shirt and a pair of shorts she'd found in his wardrobe—clothes that still carried the faintest trace of his scent—Sasha made her way downstairs to the kitchen. The fabric was soft against her skin, but it did little to soothe the lingering burn in her throat.

She swallowed, wincing at the raw sting. **Damn him.** Even hours later, the memory of his grip on her neck haunted her, a ghost of his strength imprinted on her skin.

Pushing the thought aside, she yanked open the refrigerator, her fingers trembling slightly as she reached inside. A burst of cold air rushed out, kissing her overheated face. Her gaze flickered over neatly arranged dishes, but she wasn't searching for food—she just needed something cold.

Her hand found an ice cube, and she pressed it against her throat, exhaling sharply as the frozen relief seeped into her bruised skin. The contrast was sharp, almost painful, but she welcomed it. Anything was better than the dull, aching heat left behind by his touch.

Her stomach clenched with hunger, a reminder that she hadn't eaten in over a day. The hunger had been easy to ignore before, overshadowed by rage, betrayal, and the constant battle within her mind. But now, standing in the quiet kitchen with nothing but the hum of the fridge and her own shallow breaths, it gnawed at her.

Her eyes landed on a small dish of chocolate pudding tucked in the corner of the refrigerator shelf. Something about it felt out of place in a home like this—a mafia king's house stocked with expensive wines, aged meats, and imported delicacies. Yet, there it was, something simple. Something she *wanted*.

Before she could second-guess herself, she reached for it, her fingers curling around the cool glass dish.

The moment she pulled it out, a sudden wave of dizziness swept over her. The world tilted. Her footing faltered.

Then—impact.

Her body collided with something solid, knocking the air from her lungs. Strong hands caught her just before she could hit the ground, fingers firm yet careful as they steadied her.

Sasha's breath stilled.

She knew who it was before she even looked up.

Darius.

The warmth of his hands bled through the thin fabric of her T-shirt, anchoring her in place. Not rough. Not greedy. Just *there*. Holding her up instead of tearing her down.

For a fleeting second, something unfamiliar crept through her chest—something dangerously close to **safety**.

It unnerved her.

Every other man in her life had reached for her with hunger, with ownership. They had touched with entitlement, with cruelty. But his grip was different. It wasn't possessive. It wasn't lecherous.

Just... steady.

Her heartbeat stammered against her ribs, a traitorous reaction she despised.

The moment she realized how close they were, how easily her body had fit against his, she shoved him away with both hands.

"What the *fuck* is wrong with you?" she snapped, her voice sharp and defensive as she took a step back. "Always touching me!"

Darius arched a brow, his expression unreadable—except for the almost imperceptible twitch of his lips, as if she'd somehow *amused* him.

"You're the one who fell on me, *printsessa*," he murmured, his voice as smooth as velvet, laced with that damnable accent that made her spine tighten.

Sasha scowled, turning on her heel before he could see the heat crawling up her neck.

She barely made it two steps before one of his men approached, speaking to him in rapid French. She didn't catch the words, but she recognized the clipped efficiency of a report being delivered.

Darius listened in silence, nodding once.

Then, with a simple motion, he tapped two fingers against his own phone before pointing at her.

She stiffened, narrowing her eyes. "What?"

His gaze met hers, dark and unreadable. "Check your phone."

And with that, he turned and walked away, already bringing his own phone to his ear as he disappeared down the hallway.

Sasha stood frozen in place, fists clenched at her sides.

She hated this.

Hated the way he made her feel unsteady. Hated the way he always seemed to be three steps ahead.

And most of all, she hated that no matter how much she swore she wouldn't let him control her…

Somewhere deep down, she wasn't sure if she already belonged to him.

She shook the thought from her head and stormed toward the counter, jaw set.

Whatever game he was playing, she wasn't about to lose.

Not to him.

Not to anyone.