Kidnapped - A Beautiful Blessing

The streets of Mumbai thrummed with relentless energy, alive with the honking of rickshaws, the distant call of street vendors, and the rhythmic thud of hurried footsteps against sun-scorched pavement. The air hung heavy with heat, thick and suffocating, pressing down like a tangible force. The June sun, a merciless overseer, scorched everything in its wake, making even the shade feel like a trap of simmering warmth.

Amidst the shifting crowd-men in sweat-drenched shirts, women balancing bags of groceries, children weaving through the throng with reckless abandon-stood a young woman in white.

Sasha.

Still, unmoving, she was an anomaly against the chaos, her presence almost ethereal in the glaring daylight. The pristine fabric of her kurta fluttered faintly in the occasional breeze, but the relief was fleeting, swallowed instantly by the oppressive heat. Sweat trickled down the curve of her neck, dampening the edge of her dupatta where it clung to her skin. Her slender arms, burdened with the weight of several thick books, trembled slightly from exertion. Yet, her sharp, delicate features remained composed-masking the discomfort pressing in on her from all sides.

She was waiting.

Waiting for a moment she wasn't sure would ever come.

Her gaze flickered toward the bustling road, her dark eyes scanning the endless stream of cars weaving through lanes with aggressive urgency. There was an anticipation in her stance, subtle yet undeniable, as if she were teetering on the edge of something inevitable. But the heat was an unrelenting adversary, eroding her patience with every passing second.

Her throat ached with dryness, lips parched from the unforgiving sun. She had given the last of her water to a stray dog-a frail creature with ribs jutting out beneath its patchy fur. She had watched as it lapped up the liquid with desperate thirst, and now, ironically, she was the one suffering.

Swallowing against the scratch in her throat, she shifted her books again, her fingers stiff from gripping them too tightly. The heavy air, thick with dust and the acrid scent of exhaust fumes, pressed into her lungs like an unwelcome weight. The cacophony of the street-engines grinding, voices blending into an endless, unintelligible murmur-wrapped around her like a vice, making her pulse drum in her ears.

Then, suddenly-

A touch.

It was fleeting at first. A brush of fingertips against her bare arm, so light it could have been an accident. But then it came again. A palm grazing along her back, slow and deliberate, lingering just long enough to make her blood run cold.

A chill rippled through her despite the oppressive heat.

Her entire body went rigid, her breath catching in her throat. The sensation of that touch clung to her skin like filth, invisible yet suffocating.

Her fingers curled instinctively around the edges of her books, knuckles whitening as something dark and furious clawed at her chest.

She turned her head slightly, her stomach twisting with unease, and met his gaze.

Dark eyes. A smirk curling at the corner of cracked, yellowed lips.

A predator's expression.

"So shy," he murmured, his voice a sickly sweet drawl, laced with mockery.

Sasha's fingers dug into the fabric of her dupatta, nails pressing into her palm so hard it almost hurt.

Rage. Disgust. Helplessness.

They warred within her, a storm of emotions threatening to spill over, but she swallowed it down, forcing herself to remain still. She knew this feeling too well-the bitter awareness that men like him felt entitled to her space, her body, her silence.

She wanted to scream.

She wanted to shove him away, to demand why he thought he could touch her as if she were nothing more than a passing amusement.

But she didn't.

Instead, she let her gaze drop, her chin tilting downward, her breath shallow. As if looking away would make her disappear. As if lowering her eyes would make him lose interest.

But she could still feel him.

The weight of his gaze raking over her like a stain she couldn't wash away.

The city pulsed around her, uncaring, indifferent. People passed by, lost in their own hurried lives, oblivious to the silent battle raging inside her.

Her vision blurred for a fraction of a second.

She refused to cry.

But the sting remained, a cruel reminder of how easily dignity could be stripped away with nothing more than a touch.

And he was still watching.

Still smirking.

Still waiting to see if she would break.

Then suddenly-

A shift in the air.

It was subtle at first, like the charged stillness before a storm. A presence. Unseen yet undeniably potent, weaving through the oppressive heat and the suffocating press of the crowd.

Someone was watching.

Sasha didn't see him, but she felt him. An inexplicable shiver ghosted down her spine, a sensation that warned of an approaching force-one that was as dangerous as it was inevitable.

From a distance, sharp eyes had locked onto the scene. Dark, calculating, and brimming with an intensity that could burn through steel.

His expression remained unreadable, but his body betrayed him-his jaw clenched, his broad shoulders coiled with tension. He had witnessed everything.

And he was furious.

A single, sharp command fell from his lips, slicing through the hum of the bustling marketplace. His driver obeyed without hesitation, maneuvering the sleek black car through the chaotic mess of honking rickshaws, restless pedestrians, and sun-scorched pavement. The tires screeched as the vehicle came to an abrupt stop in front of her, drawing startled gasps from those nearby.

Before Sasha could register what was happening, the car door swung open with an ominous finality.

And then-

**Him.**

Darius.

His presence was suffocating, eclipsing everything around him. The heat, the noise, the entire world seemed to shrink in his wake, retreating from the sheer force of his being.

Dressed in an impeccably tailored black suit, the fabric clung to his powerful frame, emphasizing every precise movement. His crisp white shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, teasing a glimpse of bronzed skin, but nothing about him was relaxed. His jaw was a hard line of restraint, his lips pressed into a firm, unforgiving curve.

But it was his eyes that stole the breath from her lungs.

Dark. Piercing.

And filled with wrath.

A wrath so tangible it could be tasted in the air, thick and seething, crackling like embers waiting to ignite.

The man who had touched her stiffened. His smirk faltered, his bravado wavering under the weight of realization. He took an instinctive step back, but it was too late.

Darius didn't speak.

He didn't have to.

With terrifying precision, his hand lashed out, fingers curling into the man's collar. The movement was effortless, fluid-like a predator striking prey. And then, with brutal force, he yanked the man forward.

The first punch landed with a sickening crunch.

A gasp rippled through the crowd as blood splattered onto the pavement, vivid red against the dull, sunbaked ground. The man's head snapped to the side, his body crumbling, but Darius showed no mercy.

A hush fell over the marketplace.

People stopped, their gazes shifting toward the scene with silent curiosity. They didn't interfere. They wouldn't dare. They merely watched, unreadable expressions masking their interest.

Darius was relentless.

His knuckles, now stained with blood, crashed into the man's face again. And again. And again. Each strike was precise, coldly methodical, as if he was delivering judgment with a single-minded purpose.

Sasha's breath caught in her throat.

She should be scared. The violence, the raw brutality of it, should send fear clawing through her veins.

But it didn't.

She wasn't afraid.

She was shocked. Stunned. Intrigued.

And deep down, beneath the layers of logic and reason, something else stirred.

Something dark.

Something unexplainable.

The man whimpered, his body collapsing under the ruthless assault. Blood dripped from his split lip, his eye already swelling shut, his breaths coming in desperate, broken gasps. But Darius wasn't finished. His fury was unyielding, a force of nature that could not be tamed.

And Sasha-

She couldn't look away.

Sasha knew she had to intervene.

Her breath hitched as she forced herself to speak, her voice barely above a whisper. "S-Stop."

The word felt fragile in the heavy air, almost swallowed by the chaos around them. But he heard her.

For the first time since this violent encounter began, he hesitated. His grip on the man's collar slackened, his knuckles no longer pressing into flesh and bone with the same brutal force. Slowly, his head lifted, his dark, piercing gaze colliding with hers.

And just like that, the world around them seemed to blur. The distant honking of cars, the muffled shouts of bystanders, the uneven rise and fall of her own breath-all of it faded into insignificance.

Sasha felt her pulse quicken, a strange heat creeping up her spine. There was something terrifying yet captivating about the way he looked at her, as if he were trying to read the secrets buried beneath her skin, trying to decipher something she hadn't even voiced.

"I... the police... you might-" She stumbled over her words, her tongue heavy, her thoughts tangled. She barely knew what she was trying to say.

But he understood.

Without a word, Darius released the man, letting his battered body crumple onto the pavement with a dull thud. The man groaned, but Sasha barely registered it. She was too focused on the man before her-the one who had just let go, not out of mercy, but because she had asked him to.

He turned to her, his expression unreadable, the air between them thick with something she couldn't name.

"Get in the car," he commanded, his voice smooth yet laced with quiet authority.

Sasha's body tensed. A storm of uncertainty raged inside her, but beneath it, something deeper stirred-something she didn't understand.

She hesitated for a fraction of a second.

And then, without fully knowing why, she obeyed.

The sleek black car loomed beside her, its polished surface reflecting the glow of nearby streetlights. A man-his driver, most likely-opened the door, waiting.

Sasha lowered herself into the plush leather seat, her hands trembling slightly as she settled in. The scent of rich leather and faint cologne wrapped around her, a stark contrast to the chaos she had just witnessed.

Before she could fully process her surroundings, Darius slid in beside her, closing the door with quiet finality.

The world outside felt distant now, muffled behind tinted glass.

Sasha's throat burned, her body aching from exhaustion and stress. She barely registered the driver adjusting the air conditioning or the cold bottle of water suddenly pressed into her hand.

She simply drank, allowing the cool liquid to soothe the raw dryness in her throat. It felt like the first thing grounding her, tethering her back to reality.

Darius watched her. His gaze was unwavering, heavy with something she couldn't decipher.

She wanted to thank him. Wanted to say something-anything-to break the charged silence between them.

But before she could, a strange dizziness crashed over her like a wave.

Her limbs grew heavy.

The world tilted at odd angles.

Her vision blurred, her fingers slipping from the bottle's ridged surface.

And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, everything faded to black.