Kidnapped Bride, Unexpected Knight

Kidnapped Bride, Unexpected Knight

Gavin

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My wedding day was supposed to be the happiest day of my life, but I found myself tied to a chair in a dark, moldy basement, a burlap sack ripped from my head. The kidnapper held my phone, reading my fiancé Ethan Riley' s name, demanding a thirty-million-dollar ransom. Desperate, I called Ethan, but his line was busy-forty-nine times. On the fiftieth try, the kidnapper lost his patience, breaking my ribs with a punch, calling me "useless." The physical pain was nothing compared to the cold dread that settled in my heart. Why was he so busy? A week ago, Ethan paid a thirty-million-dollar ransom for his childhood friend, Chloe Davis, without hesitation, abandoning me at our wedding rehearsal to deliver the money himself. Then, a video message from Chloe lit up my phone, which the kidnapper held to my face. Chloe smiled, cooing, "Sorry, Sarah, Ethan's a little busy right now. He's putting my shoes on for me." The camera panned to Ethan, kneeling, gently sliding a crystal-heeled shoe onto her foot. But it wasn' t his devotion that shattered me; it was the dress Chloe was wearing – my wedding dress, the one my mother had made for me. A white-hot rage surged through me. I screamed for the phone, but the kidnapper smashed it, severing my last connection to Ethan. He then dialed Ethan on his burner phone, putting it on speaker, and calmly declared a new ransom: "One dollar. For every time he doesn't answer, I cut off a finger." On the fourth ring, Chloe answered, her voice dripping with fake concern. "Oh, Sarah," she sighed, "You have the worst timing. Ethan's busy getting a band-aid for me." I screamed, "I've been kidnapped! Tell him I've been kidnapped!" Chloe laughed, calling me dramatic. Then, Ethan' s voice, cold and impatient, filled the silence. "Sarah? What is this? Chloe said you're playing some kind of game. Kidnapped? Again? This is a new low, even for you." He hung up. The kidnapper reached for my hand. "Well, it looks like he didn't answer." He severed my pinky finger with rusty pliers. The blinding pain made my world tilt. I begged him to video call Ethan, just so he could see. Ethan appeared, annoyed, with Chloe beside him, dabbing a tiny scratch on her foot. He called me a liar, manipulative, and selfish, accusing me of trying to ruin their wedding. I showed him my mutilated hand, the bloody stump where my pinky used to be. For a second, he hesitated, a flicker of horror in his eyes. But then Chloe shrieked, "That is disgusting, Sarah! Where did you get that fake movie prop?" She sobbed dramatically into Ethan' s chest. His brief doubt vanished, replaced by a storm of protective rage directed at me. "Look what you've done," he snarled. "You're making Chloe cry. All you do is cause pain. You're a monster." He hung up, telling me never to call again. The kidnapper picked up the pliers again, eyeing my ring finger. "Let's get rid of this one next." My ring finger, the one holding all my broken promises, was severed. Then, he live-streamed my torture to the world, revealing me – Sarah Miller, Ethan Riley' s supposed fiancée – bruised, bloody, and broken. Comments flooded the screen: "Fake," "Awesome special effects!" until people recognized me. The kidnapper cursed, ending the feed, but then showed me another video: Ethan and Chloe, at our wedding venue, getting married. Chloe in my dress. Ethan' s voice, clear and steady, saying, "I do." My world went black.

Introduction

My wedding day was supposed to be the happiest day of my life, but I found myself tied to a chair in a dark, moldy basement, a burlap sack ripped from my head. The kidnapper held my phone, reading my fiancé Ethan Riley' s name, demanding a thirty-million-dollar ransom.

Desperate, I called Ethan, but his line was busy-forty-nine times. On the fiftieth try, the kidnapper lost his patience, breaking my ribs with a punch, calling me "useless." The physical pain was nothing compared to the cold dread that settled in my heart. Why was he so busy? A week ago, Ethan paid a thirty-million-dollar ransom for his childhood friend, Chloe Davis, without hesitation, abandoning me at our wedding rehearsal to deliver the money himself.

Then, a video message from Chloe lit up my phone, which the kidnapper held to my face. Chloe smiled, cooing, "Sorry, Sarah, Ethan's a little busy right now. He's putting my shoes on for me." The camera panned to Ethan, kneeling, gently sliding a crystal-heeled shoe onto her foot. But it wasn' t his devotion that shattered me; it was the dress Chloe was wearing – my wedding dress, the one my mother had made for me.

A white-hot rage surged through me. I screamed for the phone, but the kidnapper smashed it, severing my last connection to Ethan. He then dialed Ethan on his burner phone, putting it on speaker, and calmly declared a new ransom: "One dollar. For every time he doesn't answer, I cut off a finger." On the fourth ring, Chloe answered, her voice dripping with fake concern. "Oh, Sarah," she sighed, "You have the worst timing. Ethan's busy getting a band-aid for me."

I screamed, "I've been kidnapped! Tell him I've been kidnapped!" Chloe laughed, calling me dramatic. Then, Ethan' s voice, cold and impatient, filled the silence. "Sarah? What is this? Chloe said you're playing some kind of game. Kidnapped? Again? This is a new low, even for you." He hung up.

The kidnapper reached for my hand. "Well, it looks like he didn't answer." He severed my pinky finger with rusty pliers. The blinding pain made my world tilt. I begged him to video call Ethan, just so he could see. Ethan appeared, annoyed, with Chloe beside him, dabbing a tiny scratch on her foot. He called me a liar, manipulative, and selfish, accusing me of trying to ruin their wedding. I showed him my mutilated hand, the bloody stump where my pinky used to be. For a second, he hesitated, a flicker of horror in his eyes.

But then Chloe shrieked, "That is disgusting, Sarah! Where did you get that fake movie prop?" She sobbed dramatically into Ethan' s chest. His brief doubt vanished, replaced by a storm of protective rage directed at me. "Look what you've done," he snarled. "You're making Chloe cry. All you do is cause pain. You're a monster." He hung up, telling me never to call again. The kidnapper picked up the pliers again, eyeing my ring finger. "Let's get rid of this one next."

My ring finger, the one holding all my broken promises, was severed. Then, he live-streamed my torture to the world, revealing me – Sarah Miller, Ethan Riley' s supposed fiancée – bruised, bloody, and broken. Comments flooded the screen: "Fake," "Awesome special effects!" until people recognized me. The kidnapper cursed, ending the feed, but then showed me another video: Ethan and Chloe, at our wedding venue, getting married. Chloe in my dress. Ethan' s voice, clear and steady, saying, "I do." My world went black.

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My world revolved around Jax Harding, my older brother's captivating rockstar friend. From sixteen, I adored him; at eighteen, I clung to his casual promise: "When you're 22, maybe I'll settle down." That offhand comment became my life's beacon, guiding every choice, meticulously planning my twenty-second birthday as our destiny. But on that pivotal day in a Lower East Side bar, clutching my gift, my dream exploded. I overheard Jax' s cold voice: "Can't believe Savvy's showing up. She' s still hung up on that stupid thing I said." Then the crushing plot: "We' re gonna tell Savvy I' m engaged to Chloe, maybe even hint she' s pregnant. That should scare her off." My gift, my future, slipped from my numb fingers. I fled into the cold New York rain, devastated by betrayal. Later, Jax introduced Chloe as his "fiancée" while his bandmates mocked my "adorable crush"-he did nothing. As an art installation fell, he saved Chloe, abandoning me to severe injury. In the hospital, he came for "damage control," then shockingly shoved me into a fountain, leaving me to bleed, calling me a "jealous psycho." How could the man I loved, who once saved me, become this cruel and publicly humiliate me? Why was my devotion seen as an annoyance to be brutally extinguished with lies and assault? Was I just a problem, my loyalty met with hatred? I would not be his victim. Injured and betrayed, I made an unshakeable vow: I was done. I blocked his number and everyone connected to him, severing ties. This was not an escape; this was my rebirth. Florence awaited, a new life on my terms, unburdened by broken promises.

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