Kidnapped - A Beautiful Blessing

By the time the clock struck nine, they were already on the road, the hum of the engine blending with the occasional rustle of wind against the windows. The journey was long, stretching across several states, and Sasha found herself staring out at the ever-changing landscape. Cities blurred into countryside, highways stretched endlessly beneath them, and as the miles passed, the scenery softened into rolling hills and vast open fields.

Darius had taken his usual annual break—a rare luxury in his line of work—but this time, he had chosen July. The air was thick with summer heat, a sweltering embrace that clung to their skin even with the car's air conditioning running. The sun blazed high, casting golden streaks across the horizon, and Sasha found herself both lulled and restless in the quiet rhythm of the ride.

Hours passed, and just when her muscles ached from sitting too long, they finally arrived.

Their destination was nothing short of breathtaking. The hotel loomed ahead, a perfect blend of grandeur and intimacy, nestled amidst a secluded paradise. Its architecture was a seamless fusion of modern luxury and nature's tranquility—sleek glass walls framed against lush greenery, cascading water features murmuring softly in the distance. The entrance was lined with towering trees, their leaves whispering under the warm evening breeze, creating an almost otherworldly sense of peace.

The moment Sasha stepped into their suite, her breath caught.

The space was expansive yet inviting, bathed in the soft glow of ambient lighting. The first thing that drew her in was the set of glass doors leading directly to their private pool. The water shimmered under the golden hues of twilight, rippling slightly as a gentle wind caressed its surface. On the opposite end, a large floor-to-ceiling window offered a panoramic view of the world beyond—endless stretches of emerald green, rolling hills meeting the sky in a seamless embrace. Birds flitted between the trees, their distant chirps adding a serene melody to the scene.

It felt unreal. As if she had stepped into a dream she never wanted to wake from.

Behind her, the low murmur of Darius's voice broke the silence.

He had already made himself comfortable on the bed, one leg stretched out, the other bent lazily as he held his phone to his ear. His deep, measured tone carried through the space, a stark contrast to the tranquility around them. Even in relaxation, there was an authority to him—a presence that couldn't be ignored.

Just then, Sasha's phone vibrated in her hand. She glanced down, and a small smile curled on her lips at the name flashing on the screen.

Lea.

Eagerly, she answered. "Hello, Lea!"

A familiar, excited voice greeted her. "Hi! It seems like you're already loving the place."

"I just arrived, but it's already stunning. The air, the quiet—it's all so peaceful. Wait, I'll show you."

Switching to a video call, Sasha turned the phone toward the massive window, letting Lea take in the breathtaking scenery. The sky had begun its descent into dusk, blushing with streaks of pink and orange that reflected off the landscape like an artist's masterpiece.

Lea gasped. "Wow! That view is insane."

Sasha grinned and moved the camera to the opposite side of the suite. "And look at this."

The phone's screen displayed the private pool, its inviting waters glowing softly under the deck's warm lighting.

Lea let out a small squeal. "Oh my God, you're so lucky! In this heat, a pool right outside your room is *perfect*!"

Sasha chuckled, already imagining herself sinking into the cool water later. "It really is. I wonder if it's cold?"

"Go check!"

With a playful roll of her eyes, Sasha walked toward the pool, kneeling by the edge. She hesitated for a moment before dipping her fingers in. A pleasant chill greeted her skin, a stark contrast to the warm air surrounding her.

"Yeah, it's—"

Before she could finish her sentence, a sudden *whoosh* of wings startled her.

A pigeon—fast and erratic—darted past her, the frantic flapping dangerously close to her ear. The unexpected movement made her flinch, her grip on the phone slipping.

It happened in an instant.

The device tumbled from her grasp, landing with a sharp *plop* into the water. Panic shot through her as she instinctively reached forward to grab it—

Only to lose her footing.

The slick edge beneath her betrayed her balance, and before she could even let out a proper gasp, gravity claimed her.

She plunged into the water.

A sharp, icy shock wrapped around her as she submerged. The world turned into a blur of motion, the muffled rush of water filling her ears. She kicked out instinctively, her arms flailing against the unexpected force dragging her down.

Then—strong arms.

Familiar. Unwavering.

Darius's grip closed around her, solid and unyielding. In a single powerful motion, he hauled her up, breaking through the surface with ease.

She barely had time to catch her breath before momentum took over. His balance faltered from the sudden force, and in the next instant—

They tumbled onto the deck.

The impact wasn't harsh, but it was enough to send a jolt through Sasha's spine. A second later, she registered something far more distracting.

Darius was on top of her.

His body, damp and heavy, pressed her into the wooden deck. His shirt clung to his torso, soaked through, the fabric outlining the hard lines of muscle beneath. Droplets of water trailed from his hair, sliding down his sharp cheekbones, tracing a path to his jaw before falling onto her skin.

Her breath hitched.

The warmth of his body, the way their damp clothes stuck together, the way his breath ghosted against her cheek—it all sent an unrelenting wave of awareness crashing into her.

Memories surfaced unbidden.

*That* night.

The heat of his bare skin against hers. The way he had held her, moved against her, consumed her completely in the dark.

A blush spread across her face, her pulse a wild drumbeat in her chest. She needed to move, to break the tension, to breathe.

Desperately, she pushed against his chest—only for pain to explode up her arm.

A sharp, searing sting tore through her right wrist, forcing a strangled cry from her lips.

Darius's eyes darkened instantly, shifting to her arm. His expression hardened. No hesitation. No questions.

He moved.

In one swift motion, he gathered her into his arms once more, lifting her effortlessly. Sasha barely had time to react, her body instinctively curling against his chest as he carried her inside.

Her heart pounded.

She should say something—protest, tell him she could walk—but words failed her. Instead, she found herself watching him, mesmerized by the droplets still trailing down his face, the way his wet shirt clung to him, revealing the ridges of muscle beneath.

She swallowed, pressing her lips together.

Unconsciously, she squeezed her thighs together.

And Darius?

He noticed.

His grip on her tightened, his jaw ticking.

But he said nothing.

And neither did she.

By the time they reached the bed, Darius was about to set her down when she blurted out, "Don't put me there. I'm wet. You're always trying to touch me, pervert."

His movements halted mid-step, muscles tensing. For a second, silence stretched between them, thick with challenge and amusement.

Then, without warning—he let go.

Gravity yanked Sasha down before she could react. She hit the floor with a dull thud, pain exploding in her skull as her head smacked against the unforgiving hardwood. The impact sent a jolt through her entire body, stealing the breath from her lungs.

"AHH! Damn it, Darius!" she groaned, clutching her head as stars burst in her vision.

Darius stood over her, utterly unfazed, arms crossed over his chest. "Didn't you just accuse me of touching you?" His voice was maddeningly calm, edged with a hint of smugness.

She glared up at him, face contorted in pain. "At least make me *stand* before throwing me like a damn sack of rice! Do you have any idea how much I'm already suffering? I was *shot*, then *stung by a bee*, and *now* you've probably given me a concussion!"

Darius arched a brow, utterly unimpressed. "You're still talking. You'll survive."

"You—!" She was so furious that her whole body tensed. Every inch of her ached, as if she had been run over by a truck, and yet here he was—completely indifferent.

With effort, she forced herself to sit up, her hands trembling slightly from exhaustion and pain. When she tried to push herself to her feet, Darius extended a hand toward her, offering help.

She slapped it away.

He exhaled sharply but didn't argue.

Grinding her teeth, she pushed herself up, keeping her head low, biting her lip to suppress the frustrated tears burning behind her eyes. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing her break.

Without another word, she turned on her heel and strode straight toward the closet. The moment she stepped inside, she slammed the door behind her, locking it with a sharp click.

Only then did she let the sobs escape.

Her entire body throbbed, sharp pain shooting through her wounded arm with every movement. She wiped at her face, furious with herself for being this weak.

Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to focus. She needed to change. She grabbed a simple one-piece dress from the closet—something easy to slip into without aggravating her injury.

She peeled off her wet clothes, but as she reached her right arm, agony shot through her, sharp and searing. The fabric had adhered to her wound, clinging to dried blood and raw skin.

A strangled cry tore from her throat.

The knock came instantly.

"Sasha?" Darius's voice was sharp, laced with something unfamiliar—concern. "What happened? Why are you crying?"

"Oh yeah, I should be *laughing*, you maniac!" she snapped, her voice thick with frustration and pain.

Darius exhaled audibly. "*Sasha.* Just tell me what happened."

"Shut up! Go away!"

Silence followed, but she could feel his presence just beyond the door.

She swallowed hard, trying again to remove the fabric. The pain was excruciating, white-hot and unbearable. Another cry slipped past her lips before she could stop it.

For a long moment, she hesitated. Her pride screamed at her to handle it alone, but the pain was too much.

With gritted teeth, she reached for her phone and dialed his number.

He answered on the first ring. "Yeah?"

Her pride burned, but she had no choice. "*Can you come in and help me change?* My clothes are stuck to my wound and… it hurts." Her voice wavered at the end, and she *hated* herself for it.

She braced herself for a taunt, some smug remark about her needing him.

But it never came.

Instead, the doorknob turned instantly. No hesitation. No teasing.

Darius stepped inside, his expression unreadable.

And for the first time that night, Sasha wasn't sure what to say.

Sasha's breath hitched as cold air kissed her exposed skin. Panic surged through her veins as she realized—she was standing in nothing but her underwear.

Her stomach clenched. She whirled around, arms crossing over herself in a desperate attempt to shield her modesty.

"Don't look!" she yelped, her voice sharp with alarm.

Darius exhaled, the sound caught somewhere between amusement and exasperation. "Close my eyes. Got it."

The room fell into silence, broken only by the uneven rhythm of her breath. Sasha hesitated, biting her lower lip.

"Did you?" she asked cautiously.

His answer came a beat later, calm and unbothered. "Yeah."

Somehow, she doubted that.

She took another step away, the damp fabric of her dress clinging to her like a second skin. It was ruined, tangled around her like a web. She tried pulling it off herself, but the soaked material stuck stubbornly to her body.

Frustration flared. She had no choice.

"Help me change," she muttered, barely above a whisper. Then she added, "*And don't peek.*"

His voice held the hint of a smirk. "I won't."

She wasn't sure if she believed him.

She shivered when his fingers brushed her bare back, featherlight and deliberate. His touch sent an unexpected shudder down her spine, the heat of his skin stark against the cold air.

Darius worked efficiently, his movements precise. He tugged at the damp fabric, removing it in one swift motion, careful not to linger. Yet, his presence alone was enough to leave her breathless.

Then his hands found the clasp of her bra.

She stiffened.

"I'll do it myself," she said quickly, her fingers flying to stop him.

His hands fell away immediately. No argument. No teasing remark.

For some reason, that made her pulse pound harder.

When she finally turned around, tugging a dry shirt over her head, he was still standing there. His posture was relaxed, hands at his sides—eyes shut, just as he promised.

Something inside her shifted.

She studied him, her gaze trailing over the sharp angles of his face, the way his damp hair clung to his forehead. The storm outside raged on, wind howling against the windows, but in that moment, it felt like the world had gone still.

A step. Then another.

She didn't mean to stumble, but her foot slipped, sending her forward.

His arms caught her instantly.

And this time, when she fell into him, it didn't feel so wrong.