Kidnapped - A Beautiful Blessing

Lea's voice came through the phone just as Sasha picked up, her tone laced with concern.

**"What happened earlier? You cut the call all of a sudden."**

Sasha hesitated, the memory of the moment still fresh in her mind. She hadn't meant to worry Lea, but the panic from earlier had unsettled her more than she cared to admit.

**"It was… nothing serious,"** she finally said, her fingers tightening slightly around the phone. **"I misheard something. Some of the girls were talking, and I thought I heard them say there was a fire in the rooms. I panicked, but it turned out to be a misunderstanding on my part."**

There was a brief pause before Lea exhaled, a soft sigh of relief carrying through the speaker.

**"Oh, thank God. I was worried for a second."**

Sasha nodded to herself, though she knew Lea couldn't see it. She placed the phone on speaker and set it down on the table beside her, allowing herself a moment to sip from the glass of water she'd grabbed earlier. The cool liquid soothed her throat, but she was oddly thirsty, as if she hadn't realized how much she needed it.

Then, without warning, a familiar male voice filtered through the speaker, his tone relaxed, teasing—intimate in a way that made Sasha freeze mid-sip.

**"How is my baby and its mother?"**

A soft kissing sound followed.

Sasha nearly choked, coughing as she set her glass down with more force than necessary. Her eyes widened, flickering toward Darius, who sat across from her, his head lowered, gaze locked onto his phone as if he hadn't heard a thing.

Another kiss.

Lea's voice dropped to a near whisper, but the exasperation in her tone was unmistakable.

**"Leon, I'm on the phone."**

**"Oh."**

There was a beat of silence, the kind that carried an awkward weight with it.

Heat rushed to Sasha's cheeks before she could stop it, a foreign and unwelcome sensation curling in her chest. There was something so… natural about the exchange, about the casual way Leon had spoken—his affection unfiltered, unhidden. It was such a stark contrast to the quiet distance between her and Darius, to the silence that stretched between them even now.

She reached for the phone with slightly unsteady fingers, quickly turning off the speaker before any more of the intimate moment could spill into the space. The air between her and Darius remained unchanged—unbothered on his end, though she wasn't sure why she had expected anything different.

Then, the sharp chime of the doorbell rang out, cutting through the quiet.

Darius moved without hesitation, rising smoothly from his seat and making his way toward the door. Moments later, a group of servants entered, carrying trays of food. The soft clatter of dishes being arranged on the table filled the room, and Sasha took a slow breath, steadying herself.

By the time the servants had quietly exited, she had managed to push the lingering discomfort aside. The call had ended moments ago, and now, only the two of them remained.

Dinner was served.

She settled into her seat, forcing herself to focus on the meal before her. Across the table, Darius took his own seat, his movements unhurried, unreadable. The silence between them stretched, thick and weighted, though neither acknowledged it.

Sasha picked up her spoon, bringing the first bite to her lips. The moment the food touched her tongue, however, a sharp, searing pain flared through her side. It shot from the spot where her wound lay hidden beneath the fabric, radiating outward in a cruel, twisting ache.

She sucked in a breath, a strangled wince slipping past her lips. Instinctively, her hand moved to press against the pain, fingers curling slightly over the wounded area as she squeezed her eyes shut for a brief second.

The reaction did not go unnoticed.

Darius's gaze snapped to her immediately, his expression darkening as he took in her tense posture, the slight tremor in her fingers.

Without a word, he reached across the table, his hand closing over hers.

Sasha's breath caught.

His touch was firm but careful, controlled. Slowly, he pried the spoon from her grasp, setting it aside before guiding her hand down, placing it atop his lap with an ease that sent a shiver down her spine.

As if the touch alone could ease the pain.

Her heart gave an odd, unfamiliar lurch.

**"Is it better now?"** His voice was softer than she expected, the usual sharpness dulled by something she couldn't quite name.

She swallowed. **"Yes."**

The response was barely more than a whisper, but she wasn't sure if it was entirely true. Not when she was suddenly so aware of the warmth of his palm, the way his fingers still lingered over hers, grounding her.

The realization hit her all at once, and she withdrew her hand quickly, the motion abrupt. Darius let her go without resistance, but his expression remained unreadable.

Sasha hesitated, then reached for her spoon once more, intending to resume eating as if nothing had happened.

But just as she lifted it, Darius moved again.

He took the spoon from her grasp, scooping up a small bite of food before lifting it toward her lips.

Her breath caught for the second time that night.

She looked at him, eyes searching his face for an explanation, but he gave none. He simply waited, patient and unwavering.

A silent challenge.

A moment passed. Then another.

Slowly, hesitantly, she parted her lips.

He fed her.

The moment stretched between them, delicate and fragile in a way she didn't quite understand. She swallowed, tasting the food but barely registering it, too caught in the weight of his gaze.

And then, just like that, he took a bite of his own food, as if the entire exchange had been the most natural thing in the world.

Sasha stared at him, her fingers tightening around the fabric of her dress beneath the table.

Something unspoken stirred in her chest, curling and twisting in a way she wasn't ready to name.

Later that night, they lay in bed—Darius on the right, Sasha on the left. A vast space stretched between them, an unspoken boundary neither dared to cross. The room was steeped in silence, save for the rhythmic ticking of the ornate clock on the wall and the occasional distant hum of the city beyond the windows.

Sasha lay on her back, eyes fixed on the ceiling, her mind an unruly storm of thoughts. Sleep evaded her, teasing at the edges of her exhaustion but never quite claiming her. She had forgotten to take her medicine, too distracted by the whirlwind of emotions she had yet to untangle.

A deep voice, steady and commanding, broke through the quiet.

"Take your medicine, then sleep."

She startled slightly, turning her head to look at him. His face was half-illuminated by the soft glow of the bedside lamp, casting shadows that only sharpened his already striking features. His eyes, sharp and knowing, were locked onto hers, despite the dimness.

Had he been watching her all along?

For a moment, she hesitated, but the weight of his gaze compelled her into action. Without a word, she reached for the glass of water on the nightstand and the small bottle beside it. She swallowed the pill quickly, the bitterness lingering on her tongue before she lay back down.

Darius, satisfied, shifted slightly, his head sinking into the pillow. His eyes drifted shut, and his breathing evened out, as if he had never spoken in the first place.

Yet, Sasha's thoughts refused to settle.

Her mind replayed Lea's words from the night of her wedding, the quiet confession slipping through the veil of celebration like a whispered secret.

*"I love Leon, even after all the pain he's caused me."*

Sasha had not understood it then. Perhaps she still didn't. But the words clung to her, as persistent as the past.

And then, another phrase surfaced—one she had heard in a fleeting moment, from a reel that had once played across her screen.

*Love is like the phases of the moon. Sometimes full, sometimes invisible, yet it always persists.*

Her brows knitted together.

How could love persist if it had disappeared? How could one go from hatred to love without realizing where the shift had occurred?

Her chest tightened as she turned her gaze toward Darius again. Even in sleep, he looked impenetrable, as if no force in the world could disturb him. Yet, she had seen him break before. She had seen his control slip—because of her.

Before she could drown further in the labyrinth of her thoughts, his lashes fluttered, and suddenly, he was looking at her.

The intensity of his gaze sent a shiver down her spine. His voice, low and edged with sleep, cut through the darkness.

"Why aren't you sleeping?"

She swallowed, scrambling for an answer.

"It's… not comfortable here," she murmured, barely recognizing her own voice.

One dark brow lifted slightly, skeptical. "What's not comfortable?"

"The bed," she blurted, too quickly, too unconvincingly.

Silence stretched between them, and for a moment, she thought he might press further. But then he exhaled, a slow, measured sound.

"Just sleep," he said, his voice dropping into something softer, quieter. "You'll get used to it soon."

Sasha turned away before he could see the uncertainty flicker across her face.

Would she?

Pulling the blanket up to her chin, she closed her eyes and feigned sleep. She stayed like that, body still, mind restless, until the gentle pull of the medicine finally claimed her, dragging her into a dreamless abyss.

When Sasha awoke, sunlight had already spilled into the room, casting golden streaks across the sheets. The warmth of morning kissed her skin, and for a brief moment, she allowed herself the luxury of stillness.

She stretched languidly, her muscles shifting beneath the silk of her nightgown, and blinked up at the ceiling. The weight of sleep still clung to her, making her body feel heavy yet comfortable. Instinctively, she rolled over, reaching toward the other side of the bed—his side.

It was empty.

As expected.

The sheets were slightly cool where she lay, but the space Darius had occupied still held a lingering trace of warmth, a ghost of his presence. She curled slightly into it, inhaling the faint scent of him that clung to the pillows—fresh water, crisp air, and something distinctly him.

She sighed.

Moments like these confused her. There was an odd comfort in his presence, but she knew better than to seek it. Darius wasn't a man to cling to, nor was she a woman meant to find solace in him.

Pushing aside the thoughts, she forced herself up, her bare feet meeting the cool wooden floor as she padded toward the bathroom.

Meanwhile, Darius emerged from the pool, water cascading down his body in slow rivulets. The morning swim had cleared his mind, but there was always something lingering at the edges—something he couldn't quite shake.

Towel in hand, he wiped the excess water from his hair before heading inside. The house was quiet, save for the soft hum of the wind outside.

After changing into a crisp black shirt and slacks, his phone buzzed on the nightstand. He barely glanced at the name before answering.

Just as he lifted the device to his ear, a voice called out from the bathroom.

"Darius?"

He paused mid-step. "What is it?"

There was a brief silence before she responded, her voice slightly hesitant.

"Can you pass me a towel? It's in the closet."

A small pause. Then, dryly, "Did you forget to take one in?"

Another pause. Then, softer, "...Yes."

Darius exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly as he walked toward the closet. With the phone still pressed to his ear, he pulled out a neatly folded towel and approached the bathroom door.

Knock.

The door cracked open just enough for Sasha's slender fingers to reach through. She snatched the towel so quickly that he barely caught a glimpse of her.

The door shut again in an instant.

He huffed a quiet laugh before turning back to his call, already walking toward the balcony.

Inside, Sasha pressed the towel to her chest, willing her heartbeat to settle. It was ridiculous how aware she had become of his presence lately.

She wrapped herself in the plush fabric and stepped out once she was sure he was gone. The air-conditioned room sent a shiver down her spine as she moved toward the closet, tugging open the door.

Then—

A sharp, searing pain shot through her hand.

She gasped, jerking back instinctively. For a second, she didn't register what had happened. Then she saw it—the jagged edge of the door pressing against her fingers, crimson beginning to pool where the wood had cut deep.

The sight of blood always made her stomach lurch, but before she could process it fully, she heard footsteps.

Fast.

Darius.

"Why did you yell?"

His voice was sharp, demanding, his tone leaving no room for dismissal.

Sasha turned, still cradling her injured fingers, but the moment his eyes landed on her hand, something shifted in his expression.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath. His gaze darkened, sharp and assessing. "There's blood."

Instinctively, she took a step back. It wasn't the pain that unsettled her—it was the proximity, the sudden awareness of herself.

She was still in her robe, the hem barely reaching mid-thigh. The fabric clung to her damp skin, making her all too aware of how much was left exposed.

But Darius didn't seem to notice. Or if he did, he gave no indication.

His focus remained on her hand as he reached for her wrist.

"Where do you think you're going?" His grip was firm, steady, but not forceful. "Sit."

She hesitated, but something in his voice made it clear she had little choice.

Sasha lowered herself onto the edge of the sofa, watching as he retrieved a first aid kit from the drawer. He returned quickly, kneeling in front of her, his hands steady as he pulled out a cotton pad.

"This will sting."

She barely had time to brace before he pressed it against the wound. A sharp, burning sensation shot up her fingers, and she flinched but made no sound.

"Bear it," he murmured.

She did.

Her gaze flickered down to him, and for the first time, she noticed how close he was. His presence was overwhelming—broad shoulders, rolled-up sleeves revealing strong forearms, dark lashes framing sharp, focused eyes.

The robe suddenly felt too short.

She tugged at the hem instinctively, but Darius's eyes flickered downward, catching the movement. He said nothing, his face unreadable.

Instead, he continued tending to her fingers, the silence between them thick with something unspoken.

When he applied antiseptic, the sting returned, but she swallowed the discomfort, refusing to flinch again.

Finally, he wrapped the bandage securely, his movements precise. When he stood, she expected him to leave.

But her lips parted before she could stop herself.

"Darius…"

He turned slightly, glancing at her from the corner of his eye.

She hesitated, her pride warring with practicality.

"I… I need help," she admitted finally, her voice quieter.

Her fingers were injured, and dressing herself properly would be a challenge. She hated asking for assistance, but the alternative was struggling with buttons and zippers all morning.

A flicker of something unreadable passed through his gaze.

Then, without a word, he sat beside her.

And without hesitation, he reached for the knot on her robe.