Kidnapped - A Beautiful Blessing

Sasha was lost in the depths of sleep, floating in a world where reality blurred into dreams. But the peace didn't last long. A sharp, searing pain tore through her arm, yanking her violently back to consciousness. A strangled gasp escaped her lips as agony flared like fire beneath her skin, the sensation akin to nails being hammered into her flesh.

She sucked in a breath, her body stiffening against the throbbing ache. The wound, which had dulled under exhaustion, now pulsed in brutal protest, reminding her of the injury she had carelessly ignored before drifting off.

Her jaw clenched as she shifted slightly, testing the limits of movement. Even the smallest motion sent a fresh wave of pain radiating up her arm, forcing her to bite back another whimper. It took her disoriented mind a moment to grasp the cause—she had forgotten to take her painkillers.

A deep sigh left her lips, half frustration, half resignation. Her entire body begged her to stay put, to surrender once more to the heaviness of sleep, but the persistent pain demanded otherwise. Sleep was no longer an option.

With a slow, careful breath, Sasha forced herself to sit up. The room was cloaked in darkness, the silence so thick it felt almost suffocating. The only source of light was the soft glow filtering through the curtains, casting ghostly silver streaks across the walls.

Reaching out with her uninjured hand, she fumbled for the bedside lamp. A soft *click*, and warm yellow light spilled over the nightstand, illuminating the scattered items atop it—her phone, a half-empty glass of water, and a small, untouched bottle of painkillers.

She exhaled sharply at the sight of them.

With deliberate slowness, she extended her left hand toward the bottle, careful not to jostle her injured arm too much. The effort was more challenging than expected. Her fingers trembled as they wrapped around the pill, her movements hindered by the dull, persistent ache that refused to be ignored.

Biting down on her lower lip, she finally managed to pop the tablet into her mouth and chase it down with a sip of water. The cool liquid slid down her throat, soothing in contrast to the lingering burn in her arm.

Only then did she glance toward the empty side of the bed.

Darius wasn't there.

She should have felt relieved. His absence should have given her space to breathe, to think without the weight of his presence pressing into her thoughts. But instead, a strange hollowness settled in her chest, curling around her ribs like an ache of a different kind.

She tore her gaze away. There was no point in dwelling on it.

With a sigh, she grabbed her phone, unlocking it out of habit more than anything else. The screen lit up, revealing a handful of unread messages. Her brows furrowed as she read the name at the top of the list.

**Lea.**

**Lea:** *Are you okay? How's your wound?*

**Lea:** *Did you take your medicine?*

**Lea:** *Let me know if you need anything.*

Sasha frowned. How did Lea even know about her injury?

Then realization struck.

Leon must have told her. And if Leon knew…

Her grip on the phone tightened. There was only one person who could have told him.

Darius.

Her lips parted slightly, but no words came. An unfamiliar sensation flickered inside her, something tangled between resentment and something far more fragile—something she refused to name.

After a moment's hesitation, she began typing back.

**Sasha:** *The doctor bandaged me and prescribed some medicine. I'm fine now, just resting.*

Her thumb hovered over the screen before she added another message.

**Sasha:** *Don't stress too much. The baby won't like its mom worrying.*

A sad-faced emoji accompanied her words before she hit send.

She let out a breath, placing the phone on her lap.

As she scrolled absentmindedly, a short animation reel caught her attention. She tapped on it, watching as a tiny, heart-shaped character appeared on the screen, its voice soft yet firm:

*"Do you know why love is often compared to the moon? Because love has phases—sometimes it shines at its fullest, and other times it disappears entirely. But even in its absence, it waits to return."*

Sasha blinked, her brows knitting together.

"What the hell does that even mean?" she mumbled under her breath.

Love had phases? Love was like the moon? Poetic nonsense.

She could barely grasp what love even was, and here people were comparing it to celestial cycles as if that made it any easier to understand. If love was anything like the moon, then hers had long since entered a permanent eclipse.

With an exasperated sigh, she tossed her phone onto the nightstand and switched off the lamp.

Darkness reclaimed the room.

Pulling the blanket up to her chin, she turned onto her side, wincing slightly at the movement. The pain in her arm had lessened, but the ache in her chest lingered.

She shut her eyes, waiting for exhaustion to claim her once more.

It took longer than she expected.

The warm, slightly spicy scent of ginger filled the air, weaving through the room like a gentle embrace. Sasha stirred, her body slow to respond, weighed down by both exhaustion and pain. A dull ache throbbed through her arm where the bullet had torn through flesh, and an all-too-familiar cramp twisted in her lower abdomen, sharp and relentless.

She blinked groggily, her vision unfocused at first, before it settled on the figure seated beside her. Lea. The woman's presence was steady, her expression soft with quiet warmth. Her honey-brown hair framed her face, and the glow of the morning light only accentuated the kindness in her gaze.

"Good morning," Lea greeted, her voice gentle, as though she didn't want to disturb Sasha's fragile peace.

Sasha shifted slightly, trying to stretch the stiffness from her limbs without jostling her injury. A suppressed groan vibrated in her throat as she met Lea's eyes. "Morning."

Lea studied her carefully. "How are you feeling?"

Sasha inhaled deeply, assessing herself. The pain was there, dull and lingering, but tolerable. Compared to what she had endured in the past, it was nothing.

"Better," she admitted. "A little sore, but not too bad."

Lea's gaze flickered toward her bandaged arm, a hint of concern shadowing her expression. "Does it still hurt?"

"A little," Sasha confessed, rubbing her temple as a fresh wave of cramps made her stomach twist.

Lea's brows furrowed. "Do you want to rest more? I can bring you some breakfast if you'd rather sleep."

Sasha was about to accept when another realization hit her—a far more inconvenient one. A groan of frustration left her lips as she pressed her fingers against her forehead.

Lea immediately tensed. "What's wrong?"

Sasha exhaled sharply, her voice laced with irritation. "I'm on my period." She paused, rubbing her face. "I need to clean up and change."

Understanding flashed across Lea's face, and she stood swiftly. "I'll get you some ginger water. It'll help with the cramps."

Without waiting for a response, she left the room. Sasha watched her go before forcing herself upright. Every movement felt sluggish, her body heavy with fatigue. With a deep breath, she pushed through the discomfort and made her way to the bathroom.

By the time she emerged, she had swapped her previous clothes for a dark-colored top and a pair of loose pajamas—practical, given the circumstances. She had scrubbed away the clammy feeling that always accompanied the first day of her cycle, but the weariness remained.

Lea was already back, standing by the bed with a tray in her hands. The steam curling from the cup of ginger water was rich with warmth, the scent even stronger now. A plate of simple breakfast sat beside it.

Sasha crossed the room and sank onto the edge of the bed, grabbing a hairbrush from the nightstand. She lifted it, attempting to run it through her long, thick strands, but her left hand was weak, the angle awkward. The bristles snagged in her hair, pulling painfully.

Lea, who had been watching, reached out and gently took the brush from her fingers. "Let me."

Sasha hesitated. She wasn't used to being taken care of like this. But there was something reassuring in Lea's presence—something that didn't demand or manipulate, just offered.

After a moment, she gave a small nod.

Lea guided her to sit properly, then moved behind her. With careful, practiced strokes, she ran the brush through Sasha's dark locks, untangling the strands with ease. The sensation was soothing, lulling Sasha into an almost trance-like calm.

"You have such beautiful hair," Lea murmured, her voice full of genuine admiration.

Sasha met her gaze in the mirror, a faint, almost reluctant smile tugging at her lips.

"I should be asking you for hair care tips," Lea teased lightly.

A quiet chuckle escaped Sasha. "You're exaggerating. Yours is just as nice."

Before Lea could respond, a knock at the door interrupted them.

"Come in," Sasha called out, her voice steady despite the lingering grogginess.

The door creaked open, revealing a young woman dressed in a neatly pressed maid's uniform. Her posture was poised, but there was an air of familiarity in the way she stood, as though she had once been more than just a staff member.

"Do you need anything, ma'am?" the maid asked, her tone polite.

Sasha glanced at Lea, who remained silent. Taking it as a sign that there was nothing else needed, she turned back to the maid. "We're fine. Thank you."

The woman gave a small nod, about to step back when Lea suddenly spoke.

"Wait."

The maid paused, turning back with a puzzled expression.

Lea studied her for a moment before a slow, warm smile spread across her lips. "It's been so long since I last saw you. You've grown into a beautiful woman."

The maid's cheeks flushed slightly. "You flatter me, Lea." Then, her expression brightened with something close to excitement. "But I must say, you're glowing too! I heard about your pregnancy—congratulations! What month are you in?"

Lea's eyes narrowed slightly, curiosity flickering in her gaze. "Who told you? I only told Darius and Sasha."

The maid grinned, mischief dancing in her expression. "I have my sources."

Lea hummed in amusement, placing a hand on her stomach as if to affirm the quiet truth. "Well, I'll be four months along soon."

"That's wonderful news!"

Sasha, who had been silently observing the interaction, finally spoke. "Wait… you two know each other?"

Lea nodded. "Yes. Darius rescued her." Her tone softened, a distant look passing through her eyes. "Back when I was staying with him instead of Leon, we spent a lot of time together." She turned back to the maid. "I thought you left after I got married. You wanted to be independent, right?"

The woman's smile dimmed slightly. "I did. But things didn't go as planned. I needed help, and Darius offered me a place here. He told me I could still work while handling my own life, so I took the offer."

Sasha's lips parted slightly in surprise. Darius… helped her?

That didn't sound like the man she knew. Cold. Ruthless. A man who took what he wanted, who forced her into marriage without hesitation. And yet, here was another story of him offering help, of him doing something that didn't benefit him.

"Strange," she murmured without thinking. "That's… not him."

Lea caught the skepticism in her tone and smiled knowingly. "They say you shouldn't judge a book by its cover. Maybe you shouldn't judge your own husband so quickly."

Sasha scoffed. "He forced me into this marriage. That's all I need to know."

Lea shook her head, her gaze unwavering. "He's the kindest person I've ever met." There was something unshakable in her voice—something deep and sincere.

The maid nodded in agreement. "She's right. If I have a safe life now, it's because of him."

Sasha opened her mouth to argue, to dismiss it, but the words stuck in her throat. She wasn't ready to acknowledge that side of Darius. Not yet.

Instead, she sighed, brushing off the weight of the conversation. "Fine, fine. Let's eat. I want to sleep after this."

Lea chuckled, patting her hand before settling down beside her.

As they ate, the conversation flowed naturally between Lea and the maid. They laughed, reminisced about old times, their voices filled with ease.

Sasha remained quiet, listening.

And as she watched them—watched the way familiarity softened their voices, the way comfort wrapped around them like something sacred—an ache pressed deep in her chest.

Longing.

For something she had never truly known.

For something that felt dangerously close to belonging.