Kidnapped - A Beautiful Blessing

Sasha knew she had to seize this moment. Every interaction with Darius felt like a test, a delicate balance between revealing too much and getting what she needed. If she wanted answers—real answers—she couldn't confront him head-on. She had to be clever, subtle, and patient.

She let her gaze drift lazily toward him, masking her intent behind a casual smile. "Let's play a game," she offered, keeping her tone light, almost teasing, as though the idea had only just occurred to her.

Darius didn't even bother to meet her eyes. His attention remained fixed on the night skyline beyond the glass windows, his expression unreadable. "Not interested," he replied flatly, the dismissal sharp.

Sasha didn't let it deter her. She leaned in slightly, voice smooth. "It's just truth or dare," she pressed, feigning nonchalance, as if the stakes weren't important.

That finally earned her a flicker of acknowledgment. His eyes cut to her briefly, unimpressed. "Ask me anything. I'll answer. No need for a game."

But she knew better. That wouldn't give her the leverage she needed. So she tilted her head, letting her smirk play at the corners of her lips. "Sounds like someone's scared they won't be able to complete a dare."

That did it. His gaze sharpened, his mouth twitching with faint amusement, the challenge hooking his interest. Slowly, he turned to face her fully, arms folding loosely across his chest. "Are you trying to challenge me, Sasha?"

"Maybe," she shot back, lifting her chin, matching his stare with defiance. It was dangerous, but she'd learned he respected boldness more than submission.

He regarded her for a moment longer, then gave a low chuckle. "Fine. Let's play. But I set the rules."

Her brows arched. "Why should you get to set them? It's my game."

His smirk widened, the glint in his eyes dark and knowing. "Are you afraid the rules will be too difficult?" he countered smoothly, throwing her own taunt back at her like a knife she hadn't seen coming. "I didn't think you were a coward."

Sasha felt the sting but refused to let it show. Instead, she narrowed her eyes, jaw tightening. "Fine," she snapped. "What are the rules?"

His voice was calm, deliberate. "Simple. If either of us refuses to answer a question or complete a dare, the other person is free to do whatever they want. No limits."

Her heart skipped. She forced herself to keep her expression steady, nodding without hesitation. "Deal."

Before he could take control, she leaned forward, eager. "I'll start. Truth or dare?"

Darius didn't flinch. "Truth."

Good. She didn't waste time. "Have you ever killed an innocent person?"

For a split second, she thought she saw something flicker in his eyes, something dark and unreadable. But his answer came far too easily, like he'd already made peace with it—or buried it so deep he no longer cared.

"Maybe," he said carelessly. "I don't count that."

Her pulse quickened, a hot flash of anger rising in her chest. Maybe? He dismissed the weight of lives like they were nothing. "Why?" she demanded before she could stop herself, the word sharp.

Darius's gaze hardened instantly. "Your turn is over," he said quietly, but the steel in his voice was unmistakable.

She swallowed down the fury, masking it behind a cool mask, though her hands curled tightly into fists at her sides. Fine. Two could play this game. "Fine," she said evenly. "My turn. Truth."

He watched her for a long moment, as if weighing how far he could push. Then he shifted, leaning back casually against the balcony railing, his eyes never leaving hers. "Where did you learn to use a gun?"

Sasha froze for a heartbeat, careful not to let it show. He had noticed. She had thought she'd been careful, that night, slipping past his guards. She hadn't realized how closely he'd been watching.

Just like that, the game had become more dangerous than she anticipated.

"My parents taught me," Sasha began, keeping her tone carefully measured, as though every word had been rehearsed a thousand times. Her fingers curled subtly into the fabric of her dress, grounding herself. "They were terrified their precious daughter might one day cross paths with monsters." She let the word linger, sharp and bitter. Then, leaning slightly forward, she locked eyes with him, her gaze unblinking, venom dripping from her voice. "But guess what? My fate still ended with one."

Darius didn't flinch. He remained lounging in his chair, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as if her accusation amused him more than it stung. His silence was louder than words, deliberate and unreadable.

She swallowed down the flicker of frustration bubbling inside. No reaction, not even a twitch. He was toying with her patience.

"Your turn," she said, forcing a cool smile. "Truth or dare?"

He straightened slightly, his dark eyes glittering with interest. "Dare," he replied, voice smooth as silk, laced with something darker beneath. "Let's see just how dangerous those intentions of yours are."

Her mind spun rapidly, possibilities flashing through her head. She needed something that would push him off balance, strip away that effortless control he wore like armor. Something that tested him—not physically, but psychologically. Then it struck her.

"You love killing people," she said, letting the words fall like stones between them. "Show me how you do it."

For the first time, his brow lifted, an almost curious expression crossing his face. "That's it?" His voice was dry, but the underlying edge hadn't faded. "That's your 'dangerous' dare?"

Then he glanced around, deliberately taking in the setting, the quiet hum of the night, the way she hadn't used this moment to free herself. His lips quirked again, sharper this time. "Interesting. You didn't ask me to release you. Strange."

"Are you going to do it?" she challenged, raising her chin.

He rolled his shoulders, movements lazy, almost bored. "I'm on a break," he replied, tone nonchalant. "I don't kill during breaks."

Her lips curved into a smirk, though her heart was thudding faster. "You do remember your own rule, don't you?" she reminded, arching a brow.

His gaze darkened noticeably. "Go ahead," he murmured, voice a low threat wrapped in invitation. "Seize your opportunity. Show me those hidden talents of yours."

Her pulse spiked. She hadn't expected that. She thought he'd dismiss her, brush off her dare like smoke. But no—he was leaning into it, daring her back.

Questions hovered at the edge of her tongue. Questions she had nursed in the quiet moments when no one was watching. About him. About the empire he built, the life he carved out of shadows. But she knew better. He wasn't the type to spill secrets under pressure.

So she shifted tactics.

"You built everything from nothing," she said softly, eyes never leaving his face. "You have power, wealth, control. And yet…" She let her gaze flicker down, searching his expression. "You don't look happy. Why is that?"

The corner of his mouth curved into something unreadable, half amusement, half something colder. "You've been paying attention to me, then?" he asked, voice low, teasing.

Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Your looks flatter a lot of women," she replied coolly. "I'm not one of them."

He ignored the jab, as though it barely registered. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, his gaze sharp. "What about you?" he asked. "You've got everything here. Are you happy?"

She stiffened, caught off guard. "Why are you answering a question with another question?"

"Because you won't like my answer," he said simply, almost lazily, but there was a weight beneath the words.

Her pulse fluttered. "Try me."

His smile vanished, replaced by something colder, firmer. "Accept this marriage," he said, voice steady but carrying a force behind it. "You don't have a choice."

Her breath snagged in her throat. It wasn't cruel, the way he said it. It wasn't even a threat. It was something else entirely—something heavier, something she wasn't ready to name.

He turned as if to leave, but before she could stop herself, the question escaped her lips.

"Why haven't you touched me yet?"

He halted mid-step, his body tensing subtly.

Her heartbeat thundered in her chest. Still, she forced her voice to stay even, pushing forward. "You respect my boundaries," she continued, eyes sharp, determined not to look away. "That's not like you. Why? What exactly are you playing at?"

He slowly turned back to face her, his expression unreadable, carved from stone.

"Are you disappointed that I haven't?" His voice was low, dangerous, almost a whisper of threat.

She swallowed, but met his gaze head-on. "Can you answer without trying to insult me?"

A muscle ticked in his jaw. "You're lucky," he bit out, voice clipped.

Her brows drew together. "Lucky?"

His eyes turned glacial, sharp enough to cut. "Lucky that I chose you to be my wife. Anyone else would've used you up and discarded you long before now."

Her stomach twisted, a sharp coil of fury winding tight in her chest. "So loyalty, respect, trust… they only apply because you put a ring on it?" Her voice trembled slightly, not with fear, but rage. "Do you think marriage makes this sacred? What about love? Consent? Or do those things not exist in your world?"

Something in his face shifted, a dark cloud rolling over his features.

Before she could react, his hand lashed out, fingers tangling roughly in her hair, yanking her head back without warning.

She bit down a gasp, refusing to let any sound slip out, locking eyes with him defiantly.

In one swift, sharp motion, he shoved her backward, her body slamming against the cold edge of the balcony, her upper body precariously tilted over the railing. One more push, and she would tumble over into the void below.

Her heart hammered wildly, adrenaline rushing hot through her veins. For a split second, she wondered if he'd do it—if he'd let her fall.

But he didn't. He simply held her there, like a predator watching its prey, gaze unreadable, fierce, devouring.

Neither of them spoke. The tension crackled between them like a live wire, fragile yet deadly.

"Love or not," Darius murmured, his voice low and razor-sharp, "our marriage has its own rules." His fingers slid upward, tangling in her hair, the grip deceptively gentle at first—but tightening with every word. "I will treat you as my wife. But don't get ahead of yourself, Sasha. Don't confuse privilege with power."

His eyes darkened, a glint of warning flashing beneath his calm facade. His hand yanked her head back just enough for her pulse to race beneath his hold.

"If you ever push my limits—" his fingers twisted, a sharp pull radiating at her scalp, forcing her to meet his gaze, "—I can make you a whore just as easily."

A cold shiver raked down her spine, cutting through her anger like a blade dipped in ice.

Darius leaned in, close enough that his breath ghosted over her lips, a whisper of heat and something far more dangerous. His voice softened, but it lost none of its menace.

"And don't talk to me about love," he murmured, voice threaded with disdain. "That fantasy belongs to naive little girls. It promises everything but gives you nothing."

Without warning, he released her, shoving her back just enough to send her stumbling. Sasha fell to her knees, one hand instinctively flying to her neck, rubbing the ache where his fingers had been. She coughed, swallowing hard, trying to catch her breath.

Her hands shook, but it wasn't from fear. No.

It was fury—white-hot and searing—coursing through her veins like wildfire.

Through blurred vision, she watched Darius turn his back on her, walking away without a second glance, his footsteps leisurely as he made his way toward the pool.

Something snapped inside her.

Before reason could anchor her, Sasha surged to her feet, propelled by a rage that blotted out caution. Without hesitation, she sprinted after him, her heels clicking furiously on the stone tiles, and with both hands, shoved him—hard—square in the back.

The sound of the splash cut through the heavy air like a gunshot.

Darius disappeared beneath the water, his form submerged in the shimmering blue, and for a beat, everything stilled.

When he resurfaced, water streaming down his face, he pushed his wet hair back with a single swipe of his hand, his expression sharp and lethal.

Sasha stood at the pool's edge, chest rising and falling, lips curling into a slow, mocking smirk. Satisfaction coiled tightly in her chest, drowning out the lingering remnants of his earlier threat.

"Now, that counts as a good comeback," she said, her tone light but laced with steel. She tilted her head, her eyes glinting with challenge. "And don't try that again, husband."

Without waiting for a response, she pivoted on her heel, the silk of her dress whispering against her legs as she strode back toward the house.

Behind her, she heard it—a sharp crack as Darius's fist collided with the water, frustration radiating in every movement.

Her smirk faltered when she caught the echo of hurried, heavy footsteps slapping against the wet tiles.

Before she could react, his hand clamped around her arm, spinning her around. The force of his grip sent her stumbling forward, colliding against his chest.

Darius's face hovered inches from hers, unreadable, but his breathing was heavy, lips parted slightly as though he, too, was waging a silent war within.

And then—

He crushed his mouth to hers.

The kiss was brutal, punishing—a storm of rage and possession colliding in a single, searing moment. His lips devoured hers, unforgiving, swallowing any breath she managed to catch.

His grip tightened at her waist, fingers digging in, as though daring her to push him again.

But slowly, the kiss shifted.

The anger remained, but beneath it, something darker and hotter unfurled. His mouth softened fractionally, the pressure still demanding but purposeful now. His tongue traced her lower lip, slipping past when she gasped, stealing whatever resistance she had left.

Sasha froze, caught between the pounding of her heart and the disorienting pull of his touch. Every nerve stood on edge, her pulse racing, her breath lost entirely to him.

Just as abruptly as it started, he pulled back.

His gaze flickered down to her lips, then up to her eyes, still unreadable—but something smoldered beneath the surface. His chest rose and fell, the only hint of how close he'd come to unraveling.

"You wanted to know why I haven't touched you?" His voice was quieter now, almost dangerous in its calm. His thumb brushed lazily against her swollen lower lip, the touch feather-light in contrast to the storm he'd just unleashed. "Now you know."

And without another word, he turned away, leaving her standing there—lips tingling, heart hammering, her body betraying her, while the echo of his kiss lingered like smoke.