Kidnapped - A Beautiful Blessing

Darius's gaze didn't falter, didn't flicker, not even for a second. It held steady, sharp and unwavering, pinning her in place as though she were the only thing anchoring him to the moment. That same familiar intensity radiated from his dark eyes—a depth so consuming, so unfathomable, it left her chest tight and her pulse unsteady. There was something lurking behind his gaze, something heavy and unspoken, something she couldn't name no matter how hard she tried. And perhaps it was safer not to name it, not to acknowledge how the sight of him made her heart stutter against her ribs.

Then, finally, he spoke—his voice low, smooth, but edged with something dangerous. Something she couldn't quite place, but felt all the same, like a storm rumbling just beneath the surface.

"What are your intentions this time?" His tone was deceptively calm, but the weight of the question lingered between them like a loaded weapon.

Sasha let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding, the sound sharp in the stillness of the room. Her lips parted with a hint of defensiveness, but she forced herself to keep her voice even. "I don't have any intentions." She paused, eyes flickering away for the briefest moment before adding, quieter, "And last time… it was just a misunderstanding."

A dry, humorless chuckle left Darius's lips, the sound devoid of warmth. It scraped across her skin like a cold blade, making her spine stiffen. "A misunderstanding?" he repeated, the words tasting bitter on his tongue. He leaned back against the headboard with calculated ease, his head tilting slightly as though he were studying her from a new angle, seeing straight through the thin armor she tried to keep intact. "Keep your lies to yourself, Sasha."

Her fingers unconsciously curled into the sheets beneath her, gripping them tightly as a surge of frustration flared inside her. She met his gaze head-on, jaw tightening. "I'm not lying," she said, each word clipped and deliberate.

For a beat, Darius said nothing, his eyes narrowing slightly as if weighing the truth in her voice. And then, to her surprise, the corner of his mouth lifted into something that could almost be called a smirk—but not quite. It was too sharp, too knowing.

"That, I know," he murmured, his voice low and unreadable.

The words threw her off balance more than she cared to admit. Sasha opened her mouth, then closed it again, unsure of how to respond. She felt the familiar exhaustion pressing down on her, dragging at her bones, making it harder and harder to hold onto whatever fragile defenses she'd built. She didn't have the energy for this game—not tonight.

"Can you just let me and Damien do our work peacefully?" she muttered finally, her voice quieter, tinged with fatigue she couldn't hide. The fight in her was running thin.

Darius's eyes lingered on her face for a moment longer, as though he were searching for something. She half-expected another cutting remark, another veiled threat—but it didn't come. Instead, he exhaled sharply, the sound heavy, and looked away without a word. His face fell back into that same unreadable mask, offering her no clues, no relief.

Sasha turned her attention to her now-empty plate, the sight of it making her stomach twist with a vague sense of nausea. The maid entered quietly, her presence barely registering as she began clearing the table. Sasha slid the plate toward her without protest, too drained to offer even a polite nod.

Now, the exhaustion hit her in full force. It wasn't just physical—it was the kind of weariness that settled deep, weighing down her thoughts, her limbs, her heart. The past, the present, everything she'd been running from and everything she'd been clinging to seemed to press down on her all at once.

All she wanted—desperately—was to rest.

Without sparing another glance at Darius, she rose from her chair and walked to the bed, each step feeling heavier than the last. The mattress welcomed her like an old friend as she lay down, muscles softening, tension bleeding out of her as soon as she hit the cool sheets. She exhaled slowly, a faint sense of relief slipping through her defenses.

"Can you place him here?" she murmured after a beat, her voice softer now as her eyes flickered toward Darius. He was still holding Damien securely in his arms, cradling the child like a natural extension of himself.

His gaze slid to hers, unreadable as ever. "No," he answered flatly.

Her brows pulled together, irritation stirring faintly beneath the surface. "Darius," she said, her tone edged now, fighting past the fog of exhaustion.

"What?" He gave her a look, something close to amusement flickering in his eyes. The corner of his lips twitched, as though he enjoyed pushing her buttons. "The baby is right here."

Sasha let out a quiet huff, sitting up slightly, her eyes narrowing. "Can you at least keep him near me?" she pressed, her voice soft but firm. "He's been in that position for too long. His back will start hurting."

For a moment, she wondered if he'd argue just for the sake of it, but he didn't. Without a word, Darius shifted, moving with quiet precision as he carefully placed Damien in the space between them. His movements were controlled, practiced, as though he'd done this a hundred times before.

The baby stirred slightly, a tiny sound escaping his lips, but he didn't wake.

Darius remained close, his large frame stretched out beside Damien. His hand moved almost absently, gently stroking the baby's head with surprising tenderness—an intimacy so subtle, it made Sasha's chest ache in ways she didn't understand.

Her gaze lingered on the sight—this dangerous man, feared and ruthless, softened by the presence of a child. Warmth bloomed unbidden in her chest, threading through the heaviness of her exhaustion.

Her eyelids felt impossibly heavy now, her body sinking deeper into the mattress. She didn't realize when her breathing slowed, when the quiet sounds of the room wrapped around her like a cocoon. She didn't notice when the tension in her limbs completely faded.

She didn't even realize when she finally slipped into sleep—her last sight, the dim glow of Darius's dark eyes watching over their son.

When she stirred awake, the room was wrapped in a soft hush, a quiet so complete it almost felt fragile.

The golden glow of the afternoon sun filtered lazily through the sheer curtains, its rays stretching across the floorboards and creeping up the walls like liquid amber. Shadows danced faintly in the corners, delicate silhouettes shifting with the breeze that barely moved the fabric.

Sasha blinked, her eyes adjusting to the light, her heart momentarily still.

Her gaze wandered naturally, seeking him—and found Darius.

He was still lying beside her, his broad frame relaxed against the pillows. But he wasn't asleep.

No, his eyes were open, sharp yet unreadable as they remained fixed on the small bundle cradled between them.

He was watching Damien.

Not just watching. Studying. As if memorizing every soft breath, every tiny movement of their son's fragile hands curled against his chest.

Something in the sight tangled itself tightly around her heart—a quiet ache, a sharp clench she hadn't anticipated.

Darius—the man she had once convinced herself was cold, cruel, monstrous—looked utterly still, almost reverent, as he stared at their child. His expression was unreadable, caught somewhere between longing and restraint.

She felt her lips curve before she even realized she was smiling.

It wasn't a deliberate gesture. It was unconscious, soft.

And before she could talk herself out of it, she leaned forward, her body moving on instinct.

Her lips brushed Damien's downy forehead, a feather-light kiss that made her chest swell, almost unbearably warm.

Her hand lingered, fingers delicately smoothing over the curve of his tiny cheek.

She should've stopped there.

But something reckless, something tender, guided her further. Before her mind could catch up, she leaned in once more.

This time, her lips touched Darius.

Just a whisper of contact—barely a kiss, more a fleeting ghost of one, pressed gently to the edge of his jaw.

The warmth of his skin, the faint scent of him—it all lasted less than a heartbeat.

But he noticed.

She felt it immediately.

Darius wasn't asleep.

The instant her lips brushed his skin, his body tensed. His dark eyes snapped open, sharp as a blade.

Sasha froze, the breath catching painfully in her throat.

She tried to pull back, retreating quickly, but her hand lingered mid-motion on his cheek, betraying her hesitation. A flicker of regret flashed across her face.

She shouldn't have touched him. She knew better.

But Darius's reaction was faster.

His fingers closed firmly around her wrist, his grip possessive, unyielding.

The air between them shifted, heavy, thick with something neither of them dared name.

For a long moment, neither spoke.

The silence grew, stretched, until it felt suffocating.

Then—without warning—he moved.

His other hand slid with practiced ease around her waist, and in one fluid motion, he pulled her forward, over him.

Sasha let out a soft gasp, instinctively planting her hands against his chest to steady herself.

Her breath hitched as she realized she was now straddling him, her knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his hips, their bodies aligned too perfectly, too intimately.

He had been careful—deliberate even—not to disturb Damien, not to jostle her too much. But the closeness of him, the solid heat radiating off his body, was unmistakable.

It seeped into her skin, leaving her unsteady.

Her voice came out shakier than she intended. "What… why did you do this?"

Darius didn't respond right away.

Instead, his gaze roamed her face, slow and searching. It lingered on the delicate parting of her lips, then flicked back to her eyes. His stare was intense—burning.

There was something raw lurking beneath his usually impenetrable exterior.

Need.

Longing.

Possession.

Sasha's breath came quicker, shallow pants she couldn't quite control.

He slid his hand up her spine, anchoring her in place, pulling her infinitesimally closer.

And then she saw it.

The moment his control wavered. The moment the wall he kept so carefully constructed cracked, and he gave in.

Her eyes fluttered shut, anticipation tightening in her belly, just before his mouth claimed hers.

The kiss was deep. Fierce. A collision of restraint and surrender.

His lips moved against hers with consuming intensity, his tongue sliding past her parted lips, demanding, coaxing.

Sasha met him with equal fire, her hands fisting in his hair, tugging him closer as if she could merge herself into him, erase the space between them entirely.

His fingers traced down her spine, his touch unrelenting, sparking heat everywhere he touched.

Their legs tangled, the sheets twisting beneath them as their bodies found a rhythm, instinctive and primal.

Desire coiled low in her abdomen, a steady thrum she couldn't ignore.

She felt him—hard, insistent—pressing against her core, even through the thin barrier of clothing.

A soft, desperate whimper slipped from her lips.

Darius groaned in response, a sound rough and guttural, his hands sliding beneath her top, fingertips grazing bare skin as they traced higher—

But then—

A sharp, plaintive cry.

Damien.

It sliced through the haze like ice water, yanking them both back to the present.

Sasha jerked away, breathless, her heart pounding wildly as she scrambled off Darius, her face burning. She reached for Damien, her hands trembling slightly as she gathered him close.

Darius cursed under his breath, his voice low and rough.

Sasha focused on the baby, forcing herself to breathe, to ignore the heat still pulsing through her veins.

Damien's tiny fists curled against her, his soft whimpers turning into hungry cries.

She adjusted her position, shifting the fabric of her top and guiding him to her breast, feeling him latch on greedily.

Darius rolled onto his side, still watching her, his dark eyes hooded, unreadable—but tense.

His gaze flickered down to where her top had ridden up, baring a sliver of smooth skin. His jaw tightened, his body taut with restraint.

"Fuck," he muttered, barely audible.

Sasha could feel his stare like a touch, the weight of it pressing into her back.

Then—

She felt his fingers brush against her waist. Light. Deliberate.

She stiffened immediately. "Darius," she whispered, her tone laced with warning.

He hummed softly, but didn't withdraw.

His lips found her earlobe, grazing, teasing, sending a shiver straight down her spine.

"You need to stop," she breathed, struggling to suppress the tremor in her voice. "My postpartum bleeding… it hasn't stopped yet."

Darius exhaled harshly, his forehead pressing against the back of her neck, his control visibly fraying. "I can barely control myself right now," he ground out, voice strained.

She swallowed, feeling her pulse race beneath her skin.

He lingered there, his breath hot against her shoulder, before finally—reluctantly—pulling away.

She heard the soft rustle of fabric as he moved, the bed shifting beneath his weight.

Then—the sound of running water. The shower turning on.

Sasha exhaled shakily, only realizing now how tightly she'd been wound.

Her body still hummed with the remnants of desire, but she forced herself to focus on Damien—on his warmth, on the steady rhythm of his breathing, grounding herself in the simplicity of the moment.

By the time Darius emerged from the bathroom, the room had cooled.

But she was no longer there.

Outside, in the quiet of the garden, Sasha stood barefoot on the grass, the breeze tugging at her hair.

In her hands, she held two red roses, their petals soft and velvety beneath her fingertips.

She stared down at them, heart pounding, and for a moment, her lips trembled.

Then—softly, barely above a whisper—she spoke.

"I love you, Darius."

Her fingers brushed over the second rose, delicate as a prayer.

"I love you, Damien."

The words lingered in the air, carried away by the wind.

And for the first time in what felt like forever—she let herself feel it. No walls. No lies. No fear.

Just the fragile, terrifying truth.