Kidnapped - A Beautiful Blessing

Darius cleared his throat, the sound deliberate and firm, pulling Sasha back from the haze of her thoughts. She blinked, realizing with a jolt that she had been staring at him—openly, shamelessly—as if searching for something in his expression that she wasn't ready to name. Heat crept up her neck, embarrassment settling in her chest like a heavy weight.

She shifted, trying to sit up, eager to shake off the moment, but the instant she applied pressure to her wound, a sharp pain seared through her side. A gasp left her lips before she could swallow it down, her breath hitching as she clutched at her ribs.

Darius, ever watchful, moved with her, his reflexes sharp, his presence almost overwhelming. His face hovered inches from hers, close enough that she could make out the barely-there stubble along his jaw, the way his dark lashes framed his piercing gaze. An awkward, unspoken tension crackled in the space between them—something neither of them acknowledged, yet neither could ignore.

His voice, smooth yet laced with something deeper, broke the silence. "Can you get up on your own?"

She hesitated, her pride warring with the throbbing pain radiating through her body. Finally, she shook her head, exhaling in quiet defeat. "No, I can't." The admission tasted bitter, but she knew better than to be reckless. She had already aggravated her wound too many times in the past hour.

Darius didn't say anything. He didn't tease, didn't throw out a mocking remark about her arrogance—which, in itself, was surprising. Instead, his hands found her waist, strong and steady, his grip firm as he helped her up. The warmth of his palms against her body sent an unfamiliar sensation rippling through her, something she refused to acknowledge.

But she couldn't stop staring.

The man before her was different from the one in the photos she had studied so obsessively over the years. He wasn't just the ruthless figure she had sworn to destroy. Right now, he looked like someone capable of something more—someone capable of care.

The moment shattered as quickly as it had formed. Darius guided her to the bed, his movements efficient and impersonal. But as soon as he made to step back, her fingers curled around his shoulders, her nails digging in just enough to make him pause.

"Where do you think you're going?" she demanded, her voice edged with frustration. Her heart pounded, but she refused to let it show. "My whole body hurts because of you. You're responsible—so treat it."

Her tone left no room for argument, and for a second, something flickered in his gaze. Amusement? Annoyance? Whatever it was, he didn't voice it. Instead, he exhaled through his nose and wordlessly reached for the first-aid kit.

She expected him to be rough, indifferent, but as he carefully began dressing her wound, his touch was surprisingly gentle. His fingers brushed against her skin, light but precise, as if he understood exactly where to avoid pressing too hard.

When he was done, she didn't let him pull away. "Now press my whole body with a hot water bag."

Darius arched a brow, and for a moment, she thought he might scoff at her demand. But once again, he didn't argue. Instead, he silently moved to heat the bag, testing the temperature with a careful press of his hand before setting it aside to cool slightly.

Sasha watched him, curiosity creeping in despite herself. Even in the smallest of tasks, there was precision in the way he moved, a quiet efficiency that told her this was a man who never did anything without purpose.

Before she could dwell on it, he peeled the blanket back, exposing her legs to the cool air of the room. She barely had time to process the chill before he placed the warm compress against her skin. The heat seeped into her muscles, easing the dull ache in her legs. Slowly, methodically, he worked his way up, pressing the warmth against her waist, then back down again. His movements were careful but firm, almost soothing in their repetition.

The tension in her body began to fade, her eyelids growing heavy despite her best efforts to stay alert.

When he reached her arms, she exhaled, fully settling into the mattress for the first time since she had been injured. The exhaustion that had clung to her since the start of the night seemed to weigh heavier now, making it difficult to keep her thoughts sharp.

Just as she felt herself teetering on the edge of sleep, Darius spoke again.

"Turn around."

She stiffened. Her mind jolted awake as wariness coiled in her gut. "I can't. It still hurts."

For a long moment, he didn't say anything. His expression remained unreadable, his gaze dark and contemplative. But instead of pressing her, he moved closer, his hands slipping beneath her neck.

She sucked in a sharp breath.

Without a word, he lifted her slightly, shifting her in a way that prevented any strain on her wound. It took her a moment to realize what he was doing—why he had chosen to adjust her like this instead of simply turning her over.

He was being careful.

A strange warmth settled in her chest at the thought, unsettling and unfamiliar. She forced herself to ignore it, but the feeling lingered, stubborn and unshakable.

Before she could protest, he positioned her fully—lying on her stomach, resting against him.

Her breath hitched.

His chest was solid beneath her, the steady rise and fall of his breathing impossible to ignore. Every shift of his muscles sent a ripple of awareness through her, a reminder of just how close they were. But before she could dwell on it too much, the warm compress pressed against her back, sinking deep into her aching muscles.

The relief was immediate, the discomfort of the hot weather momentarily forgotten in favor of the comfort the heat provided. A sigh slipped from her lips before she could stop it, her body instinctively relaxing against him.

Her eyelids grew heavier, her thoughts sluggish. She barely registered the warmth of his body beneath her before exhaustion finally pulled her under.

And Darius?

He didn't move. He didn't pull away.

He simply stayed there, silent and unmoving, as she drifted into sleep against him.

The soft thrum of a heartbeat. Slow, steady breathing.

Sasha stirred, her lashes fluttering open to the dim morning light filtering through the sheer curtains. The warmth beneath her was solid, rhythmic—the quiet rise and fall of his chest beneath her cheek grounding her in the present. Darius's arms rested loosely around her back, his skin warm against hers.

For a moment, she didn't move.

She should. She should push away, create distance, remind herself why she couldn't get comfortable in his embrace. But something inside her resisted. The moment realization hit—that she was here, wrapped in him, safe in a way she hadn't felt in years—something warm and unfamiliar curled in her chest. A reluctant comfort. A treacherous yearning.

Without thinking, she tightened her grip, pressing herself closer, her fingers curling slightly against his skin. She shut her eyes again, allowing herself a stolen moment of peace. Just this once. Just a little longer.

But when she woke again, the warmth was gone.

A frown pulled at her lips before her eyes had even opened. The absence was immediate, a cold emptiness where he had been. Blinking against the light, she sat up slowly, her gaze scanning the room. The sheets beside her were slightly rumpled, but the space was empty.

Darius was gone.

She exhaled sharply, running a hand through her hair as frustration simmered beneath her skin. He left? After holding her like that?

Something ugly coiled in her chest.

She threw back the covers, grabbing her phone as she swung her legs over the edge of the bed. A dull ache spread through her muscles, a lingering soreness from last night. She ignored it, pushing to her feet and making her way toward the balcony doors. The cool floor sent a small shiver up her spine as she reached for the curtain and yanked it back.

The view below was a sharp contrast to the turmoil inside her. The community pool was alive with energy, the midday sun gleaming off the water. Children shrieked with laughter as they splashed, parents lounged on the deck with drinks in hand, conversations mixing with the hum of summer heat.

And then she saw him.

Darius sat on a recliner near the pool, exuding his usual effortless dominance. One arm draped casually over the chair's armrest, the other holding a glass of dark liquor despite the early hour. His expression was unreadable, but the lazy smirk tugging at his lips sent a sharp pang through her chest.

He looked perfectly at ease.

And he wasn't alone.

A woman stood beside him—tall, toned, her sun-kissed skin on full display in a barely-there bikini. Sasha's gaze flicked to the way she leaned in, placing a manicured hand on his chair as she spoke. The tilt of her head, the flirtatious smile—it was obvious.

Darius didn't move away.

He smirked at something the woman said, taking a slow sip of his drink, and Sasha's stomach twisted violently.

Heat surged beneath her skin, a mix of frustration, betrayal, and something far more dangerous—jealousy.

She had woken up tangled in his arms, lulled into a fleeting sense of security, and now he was out here, entertaining another woman as if nothing had happened? As if he hadn't held her like she was something worth keeping?

Her fingers curled into fists.

Fine. If he wanted to play games, she would play too.

A slow, dangerous idea took root in her mind, unfurling like a thorned vine.

Let the game begin.

Sasha stood before the mirror, her reflection staring back at her with sharp, calculating eyes. Her hair was slightly tousled from sleep, a subtle reminder of the intimacy she had woken to—the warmth of Darius's arms, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her cheek. And yet, he had left.

A bitter smirk curled at her lips.

Fine. If he thought he could leave her tangled in the remnants of last night while he entertained some other woman, he was sorely mistaken.

She reached for her brush, running it through her hair until every strand was smooth and in place. Then, she grabbed a tube of soft pink lipstick and applied it with slow, deliberate strokes. It wasn't bold, but it was enough—just the right amount of innocent allure to contrast the fire simmering beneath her skin.

Her gaze dropped to the dress she wore. It wasn't revealing, but it fit her well, hugging her curves in all the right places. If she couldn't flaunt herself in a bikini because of her wound, she would make sure she looked just as stunning in something else. Let him look. Let him remember exactly what he had walked away from.

With renewed determination, she turned on her heel and left the room.

The sun was blinding as she stepped outside, but Sasha barely noticed. Her eyes scanned the area, seeking him out like a predator tracking prey.

And there he was.

Darius was still lounging on the recliner, his posture effortlessly relaxed. The woman was beside him, leaning in even closer than before, her laughter ringing out as she playfully touched his arm.

Good.

Sasha's lips curved, her pulse quickening.

Two could play this game.

Her gaze flicked to the side, searching—until she found him. A man, shirtless and toned, his bronzed skin glistening under the sun. His smirk was cocky, the kind that promised he'd say yes before she even spoke.

Perfect.

She sauntered toward him, letting her hips sway just enough to catch his attention. When she stopped in front of him, she tilted her chin up, her expression sultry.

"Hey," she purred. "Would you like to dance with me? I'm all alone."

His grin widened, his gaze shamelessly roaming her body before he stepped closer. "How could I say no to that?"

Without hesitation, he slid an arm around her waist and pulled her into a dance. His hands were bold, roaming over her back, tracing the dip of her spine. It was more than she had intended, but she let it happen. Let Darius see.

And he *was* watching.

She could feel it, the weight of his gaze burning into her skin like a brand.

The man spun her, laughing as he lifted her hand to his lips. His kiss lingered, his breath warm against her fingers.

Unease curled in her stomach.

Enough.

Her body tensed, and before she could stop herself, she yanked her hand back and delivered a sharp, stinging slap across his face.

A collective gasp rippled through the crowd. The man stumbled, his expression twisting from shock to fury as he straightened. His drunken eyes darkened, his jaw tightening as he raised a hand—

But he never got the chance to strike.

A hand shot out, catching his wrist mid-air with an iron grip.

Sasha's breath hitched. She turned—

And found herself staring straight into Darius's eyes.

They were murderous.

His jaw was locked so tight that she could see the tension in his neck, his fingers digging into the man's wrist with enough force to turn his knuckles white.

For a second, everything was still.

Then, with a brutal twist, Darius wrenched the man's arm back. A pained cry tore from his lips just before Darius delivered a devastating punch to his face. The sound of impact was sickening—flesh against flesh, bone against bone. Blood splattered, and the man crumpled to the ground like a ragdoll.

The crowd murmured in shock as servants rushed in, dragging the unconscious fool away.

Sasha barely registered it. Her lips had parted in surprise, her heart hammering in her chest. She quickly pressed them together, masking her reaction.

Darius's gaze snapped back to her, something unreadable flickering in his stormy eyes.

Then, without a word, he grabbed her wrist.

She barely had time to process before he was pulling her with him, weaving through the crowd with a commanding stride.

They had barely made it past the onlookers when Sasha yanked her wrist free, slowing her steps. Darius didn't stop walking.

Fine.

She exhaled sharply, eyes darting around.

There.

Another man, tall and attractive, stood nearby, watching the scene with interest.

Sasha turned toward him, letting her expression shift into something playful, teasing. She met his gaze and sent him a slow, deliberate wink.

It worked instantly.

The man smirked in understanding and approached, slipping an arm around her waist with an easy confidence.

"You have an amazing body," he murmured near her ear, his voice thick with suggestion.

Sasha tilted her head slightly, lips curving. "Oh?"

"Let me worship you—"

Before he could finish, she laughed. Loudly.

Loud enough for Darius to hear.

The effect was immediate.

One second, the man's arm was around her, his fingers grazing her waist—

And the next, he was being *ripped* away.

Darius's hand locked around the man's wrist, his grip merciless.

A loud *crack* echoed through the air as he twisted it. The man's face contorted in agony, a strangled scream ripping from his throat.

Sasha's stomach tightened.

Had she gone too far?

The anger in Darius's expression was unlike anything she had ever seen before—dark, unyielding, *dangerous.* He wasn't playing anymore.

Swallowing, she hesitated before placing a cautious hand on his back. "Let him go," she murmured.

For a moment, he didn't move.

Then, slowly, his head turned.

The intensity in his gaze sent a shiver through her.