Kidnapped - A Beautiful Blessing

Sasha quickly changed her pad, wincing at the faint sting that accompanied each movement. The discomfort had become routine, something she endured without complaint. She adjusted her nightwear hastily, fingers moving almost on autopilot. There wasn't time to linger—there never was.

Her priority wasn't herself.

Damien came first. He always came first.

She washed her hands briskly, the cold water momentarily grounding her. But in her rush, she barely dried them, swiping them over her nightgown before hurrying toward the door. The faint dampness clung to her fingertips, but she paid it no mind.

A sharp, sudden cry split the quiet.

Her heart clenched painfully, as if someone had reached inside and twisted it.

Without hesitation, she abandoned everything else. Her bare feet skimmed across the cool floor as she raced back to the bedroom, pulse pounding in her ears like a war drum.

But the sight that met her when she stepped inside made her freeze, breath catching in her throat.

Darius stood there—tall, broad, almost out of place against the soft domesticity of the room—but it wasn't his usual imposing figure that held her captive.

It was the way his large hands cradled Damien's tiny body with a tenderness she never expected from a man like him.

He rocked the baby with stiff, uncertain movements, his expression taut with focus, brows drawn together in an unfamiliar furrow of concentration. As if the fragile weight in his arms was the most delicate, dangerous thing he'd ever held.

Sasha's breath hitched.

Something unfamiliar stirred in her chest. It unfolded slowly, quietly—warmth spreading beneath her ribs, wrapping tightly around her heart.

It was the first time she'd seen them like this.

**Darius and Damien.**

Father and son.

There was no one else here. No guards, no staff. No audience. He hadn't called for her. He hadn't left Damien crying for someone else to handle.

He had simply… stepped in.

Taken care of him.

Her throat worked as she swallowed, voice coming out softer than she intended, tentative. "Was he crying for long?"

Darius didn't look up immediately. His attention remained on the small bundle in his arms as he shook his head. "No. Just a moment ago." His voice was low, rough around the edges, but steady.

Relief bloomed beneath her skin, loosening something tight inside her.

But Damien's soft cries hadn't stopped completely. He squirmed restlessly against Darius's chest, his tiny fists curling, his mouth opening in search of something more.

Darius's frown deepened, tension lining his jaw. "What does he need?" The frustration laced in his voice wasn't sharp. It wasn't anger—it was uncertainty. Quiet desperation. A man who wasn't used to this, who didn't know the rules of this fragile new world but was still trying anyway.

Sasha didn't move to take Damien from him.

She could have. Instinctively, she almost did.

But she hesitated.

Because there was another part of her, stronger than pride or possessiveness, that wanted them to have this moment. Wanted Darius to find his rhythm with their son.

So instead, she crossed the room slowly, lowering her voice, keeping it even. "Just sit down. Make him comfortable. I'll get his bottle—he's probably hungry."

Darius glanced up at her briefly, eyes sharp as if trying to gauge whether she was testing him, expecting him to falter.

But after a second's pause, he shifted his grip on Damien and moved toward the bed. He lowered himself onto the edge of the mattress with a stiffness that betrayed how unnatural this felt to him.

Damien rested awkwardly against his firm chest, still fussing but no longer wailing.

Sasha slipped away briefly, retrieving the bottle she'd pumped earlier. She returned to his side without hesitation, holding it out.

Darius took it carefully, his movements almost painfully deliberate, as though afraid one wrong move might shatter the fragile peace between them.

He guided the nipple to Damien's mouth, and the baby latched on immediately, suckling hungrily.

A breath escaped Darius—quiet but audible.

Then, a slow, almost reluctant smile tugged at his lips.

**Soft. Almost unguarded.**

A glimpse of something she rarely saw.

"Easy, Damien," he murmured, voice low, barely above a whisper, as if speaking too loudly might disturb the delicate connection. "It's yours."

Sasha's fingers paused as she folded Damien's tiny clothes nearby, the simple domestic task grounding her. But she hadn't realized she was smiling too—until her face felt lighter, softer.

Darius noticed.

His gaze flickered toward her, lingering. Something unreadable shadowed his eyes.

She looked… different to him. The sharp edges smoothed out. There was a contentment in her expression he hadn't seen in years, maybe longer.

Something in his chest pulled taut, uncomfortably so.

He cleared his throat, the sound breaking the fragile quiet.

Sasha's head snapped up instantly, her smile fading without thought.

**A habit.**

She braced herself, always expecting something harsh to follow, something to ruin the stillness between them.

"Do you want water?" she asked quickly, interpreting the shift in his demeanor as discomfort.

He shook his head once. His voice, when it came, was quieter. Thoughtful. "No."

Silence settled between them, heavy but not uncomfortable, until he spoke again.

"Why don't you trust my staff?"

Sasha stilled, her hands lowering.

Her gaze sharpened slightly, but her voice remained controlled. "Are they trustworthy?" she asked simply, meeting his eyes without flinching. "I don't think so."

Darius's brow twitched, the muscle in his jaw flexing. "They're loyal to me. I handpicked them."

She nodded once, conceding a small point. "Maybe they're not dangerous." Her voice remained steady. "But I'm only concerned about Damien. I don't know who our enemies are, not fully. And I won't take chances—not when it comes to him." Her gaze didn't waver. "They must already know you have an heir now."

The mention of enemies—and heirs—cast a shadow across his expression. His jaw tightened, but he didn't refute her.

Sasha exhaled quietly, then added, softer this time, but no less firm. "And I'll be doing everything myself from now on. I'll cook for us. You and Damien won't eat anything prepared by anyone else. Damien will always be in front of my eyes. I won't leave him alone. Ever."

Darius's gaze darkened further, something sharp glinting beneath the surface.

His lips curved, but the smile was nothing warm—it was cutting, taunting. "Since when do you care what happens to me?" His voice dropped lower, mocking. "You think a bullet to the heart could kill me?"

Her breath faltered.

The words struck her harder than he could've known—or maybe he did know.

He was talking about **that night.**

The night she'd pulled the trigger, believing she had ended his life.

Guilt sliced through her, swift and brutal, threading through every vein like poison.

She said nothing.

Without another word, she gathered the remaining clothes, her movements brisk, precise, and walked out of the room, leaving the fragile stillness behind.

Darius looked down at Damien, the weight of the moment anchoring him in stillness.

His eyes roamed over the delicate features of the infant cradled in his arms—the soft curve of Damien's cheek, the faintest furrow between his brows, the way his tiny fist curled against Darius's chest.

**So much like me.**

The thought settled in his mind with a strange mix of pride and disbelief, like a truth he hadn't prepared for but could no longer deny.

A feeling he'd never known before—foreign yet commanding—tightened in his chest. It wasn't soft or gentle. No, it was fierce in its stillness.

**A quiet possession. A realization.**

Not one that could be measured in words or logic, but one that pulsed through his veins with undeniable certainty.

**Fatherhood.**

The word struck him, not with warmth, but with weight. A responsibility he'd never asked for. A title he'd never imagined for himself. He had carved out a life of control, of power, of silence. Children had no place in it.

And yet here he was—unable to look away from the fragile life in his arms. A life he had helped create.

He hadn't wanted this. Hadn't planned it.

And still, as he studied Damien's sleeping face, a restless energy surged beneath his skin. A sudden, burning need—to hear the boy's first words, to teach him, to shield him from the chaos of the world he himself had built.

A vow, silent but unyielding, unfurled within him. It didn't need to be spoken. It was already part of him, etched into his bones.

He bent down, brushing his lips to Damien's forehead, lingering for a heartbeat longer than necessary.

**Mine.** The word resonated in his mind like a brand.

Sasha moved about the kitchen in silence, her thoughts heavy and scattered.

She hadn't meant to cook for him. Certainly not his favorite dish. The idea hadn't even crossed her mind consciously.

But her hands had moved with a will of their own—the rhythm of chopping vegetables, stirring the sauce, seasoning with practiced motions. It grounded her, dulled the noise in her head, gave her a fleeting sense of control.

Now, the plate sat in her hands, steaming gently, the scent rising up—warm, familiar.

Her feet paused at the threshold of the bedroom, hesitation gripping her.

She hadn't decided to do this. And yet here she was, about to step into his space again.

With a shallow breath, she pushed the door open.

Inside, Darius was seated on the edge of the bed, one arm wrapped securely around Damien. The baby slept peacefully against his chest, his tiny body rising and falling with each breath.

The sight rooted her in place. Her throat tightened unexpectedly.

She hadn't expected this. Hadn't imagined that Darius—ruthless, cold, untouchable—could look like he belonged here. Like he belonged with Damien.

Like he belonged **with them.**

She swallowed the lump forming in her throat and forced the words out. "Darius."

He didn't look at her immediately. Instead, his gaze remained fixed on Damien's sleeping face. His fingers absentmindedly brushed over the baby's back, slow and protective.

A low hum of acknowledgment slipped from his throat.

"I brought your food," she added, her voice barely above a whisper.

Still, she expected him to stand, to take the plate, to maintain the distance he'd kept so carefully since their reunion.

But then his dark eyes lifted, pinning her in place.

"Bring it here," he said, his voice low, quiet, but threaded with an effortless authority that made her breath catch.

It wasn't a demand. It was simply **what would happen.**

Her stomach tightened, a familiar mix of defiance and uncertainty swirling within her.

Still, she obeyed, stepping closer, placing the plate beside him on the bed.

Darius reached for the fork with his free hand, taking a measured bite, never once shifting Damien from his arms.

Suddenly, his phone rang—harsh and jarring in the hush of the room.

Damien stirred in his sleep, his tiny brow furrowing, but he didn't wake.

Sasha's instincts took over. She moved quickly, picking up the phone from the nightstand, pressing the answer button before holding it to Darius's ear.

Her gaze flicked to the plate, the food cooling rapidly.

Without really thinking, her fingers grasped the fork, twirling the pasta with practiced ease.

She lifted it to his lips.

Darius stilled.

His eyes shifted from the phone to her, something unreadable lurking in their depths—dark, slow-burning.

But he didn't stop her.

**Deliberately, slowly**, he parted his lips, accepting the bite she offered.

She fed him like that—one bite at a time—while he listened in silence to the conversation on the other end of the line.

The quiet intimacy of it unsettled her. The way their roles had reversed—mirroring that moment when he had once fed her, when she had been injured and unwilling to accept his care.

Except now, Damien lay between them, an unspoken tether they both could feel but didn't know how to name.

Her hand, still holding the fork, drifted down, her fingers brushing against Damien's fine hair as she absentmindedly stroked his forehead.

In that gentle motion, her hand slid against Darius's arm—warm, solid beneath her touch.

She gasped quietly, her breath catching.

Her pulse kicked up, awareness sparking like a current between them.

Her eyes darted to his, and for a long, suspended moment, they simply stared at each other.

The air between them thickened, heated, weighted with too much unsaid.

She pulled her hand back abruptly, pretending nothing had happened, the fork shaking slightly in her fingers as she lifted another bite to his lips.

The memory of him feeding her flickered in her mind, unwelcome but inescapable.

And now, here she was—tending to him.

Except this time, **their child** was between them.

By the time the call ended, the plate was empty. She set the fork aside, her hand brushing lightly against his again, and quickly picked up the glass of water.

She held it out, expecting him to take it.

Darius didn't move. His gaze settled on her, sharp and unreadable.

"Are you planning to kill me again?" he murmured, voice low but laced with something hard. "Maybe poison this time?"

She froze.

The words pierced deeper than they should have. Not just because of their truth—but because he had spoken them now, in this moment of uneasy peace.

She said nothing. Couldn't. Her lips parted, but the words never came.

Darius took the water from her hand, drinking slowly, his eyes never leaving her face.

She turned away, blinking rapidly as she walked toward the door, swallowing the ache that rose in her chest.

He was still angry. Still wounded beneath all his control.

And she didn't know if he would ever truly forgive her.