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77. Love Bites, Obviously
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2025-07-08 09:01:50Misha’s arm subtly brushed against mine, grounding me. He didn’t glance left or right, ignoring the whispers and stares that followed us as we climbed the grand staircase.
At the top, the hallway narrowed into a mezzanine level, elegantly carved out as a private overlook above the raucous dining below. Here, the wealth finally showed.Polished floorboards gleamed under the soft amber lighting. A single long table stretched like a throne room centerpiece. Gold-rimmed glasses sparkled under the glow. Embroidered runners trailed like banners of old bloodlines. The chairs were tall-backed, carved, and intimidating, looking like they came with titles and obligations.Thirteen seats, but only nine were set.Five men already sat along the left flank of the table, impeccably dressed, eyes sharp and unreadable. Their suits were dark, their presence heavier than the crystal glassware before them. One watched us openly, like he was cataloging threat levels.
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Accidentally Kidnapped the Warlord and Became His Wife 101. Three Days Without Him
The days blurred together.Three mornings of waking up alone, with only the pale light leaking through the curtains to remind me time was still moving forward. Three afternoons of doing absolutely nothing but eating, scrolling aimlessly through my phone, and trying not to feel like a ghost wandering someone else’s house. Even my footsteps felt too loud here, like I was intruding something I shouldn't know.I didn’t go wandering often. The mansion was too big, too full of faces I didn’t know how to read. Most of them were men, rough-looking or just plain indifferent, and I couldn’t stand the weight of their eyes trailing me like I didn’t belong.The few women I came across were either maids, cooks, and one gardener. They were polite but firm. Every time I offered to help, they refused with apologetic smiles.“You’re Vincent’s daughter, Miss Lorraine, not staff.”“We don’t want Vincent to get angry if you’re seen doing chores.”“Please just relax. Your husband will be back soon.”Except
Accidentally Kidnapped the Warlord and Became His Wife 100. One Drop at A Time
I pulled against the cuffs, testing their give. No budge. “Since you liked the zap upstairs...” Truck One clipped one lead to the chair arm, the other hovering near my inner forearm. Skin there thin, nerves chatty.The smaller one I dubbed Truck Two, wheeled the stainless cart closer, towels folded in neat stacks beside a cracked plastic jug of water. Controlled drowning, waterboarding with hardware store chic. Why not.“Silas hates hospitals,” he added, crouching low enough for me to see the tobacco stains on his teeth. “He sends clean bodies out, no complications, no charts. And you,” he jabbed a finger in my chest, “You drugged one of his guys and handed him to civilians. Like dumping trash on the wrong curb.”“More like recycling,” I muttered.The bigger one barked a laugh and hit the switch.Electricity tore through me like a white-hot wire in my veins. Every muscle clamped. My vision whited out, and when it came back the overhead light was swinging harder. A taste of copper and
Accidentally Kidnapped the Warlord and Became His Wife 99. Since You Like the Zap
The Vescari mansion was a jagged silhouette against the night sky, lights burning like hostile eyes. I got out of the cab and stepped through the front doors alone, stale cigarette smoke clinging to me. I’d had too high an expectation for that particular brand, coming from a meticulous man like Silas.Too bad. I have better taste.Inside the grand hall, Silas waited with one hand buried in his trouser pocket, the other around a half-empty bourbon. His gaze flicked past me once, expecting a certain chatty idiot, and then snapped back, narrowing.“Where’s Roth?”“Hospital,” I said, kicking the door shut behind me. “Crashed out.”Silas set his glass down with a sound like a gavel strike. “Crashed on what?”“Coke.”The single syllable hung. Confusion creased first. Silas didn’t do surprise often. Then the switch from confusion soldered into a colder anger.“He doesn’t use,” he stated, “None of us do. That’s the rule
Accidentally Kidnapped the Warlord and Became His Wife 98. Margins of Fear
Ernest Klemens stared at the folder like it contained a live charge. In a way, it did. Paper cuts deeper than bullets when the ink carries weight.“Go on,” I said casually, “You already know what’s in there.”He opened it slowly, eyes moving in jerks across the first page. The Southpoint zoning reclassification. I watched his micro-reactions. Brow compression, a fractional breath hitch, the shift in posture when fight-or-flight pings his nervous system. Classic stress tells.“You’ve signed similar before,” I reminded him. “Same process. Different parcel.”Klemens’s eyes stayed on the folder, but the set of his shoulders changed. Angles sharpened. He wasn’t broken yet. “You think you can walk in here and—what? Scare me?” His tone had weight now, brittle but braced. “You don’t know who you’re dealing with.”There it was. The shift from fear to posturing. Common defense reflex. False spine built on habit.“Wrong variable t
Accidentally Kidnapped the Warlord and Became His Wife 97. Language, Senator
The skyline was a strip of bruised neon when I killed the lights. Selina’s perfume clung to the air like heat trapped in velvet, woven with shower steam and expensive lies. Her heels had clicked down the hall five minutes ago, each step sounding like a countdown in my head.Now there was nothing but the hum of the HVAC and my own pulse syncing with the city outside the glass. I sank into the couch by the window, a dark silhouette in a room meant for someone else’s hunger, waiting.Patience is leverage. Most men twitch it away. They tap phones, clear throats, check time like their skin itches with minutes. I became furniture.The door sighed open at 7:42.Ernest Klemens’s presence announced itself with a slow drag of breath, steady and sure, the kind men take when they’re walking into something they believe they own.“Selina?” His voice floated warm, teasing, like he’d rehearsed it against her ear a hundred times already. A smile lived in
Accidentally Kidnapped the Warlord and Became His Wife 96. Pretty Problem
The noon heat burned like a welder’s torch, turning sidewalks into silver streaks. I moved through them quietly, scanning glass fronts and skimming reflections more than faces. By two o’clock I had a string of half-leads and one solid thread. Klemens always dropped off grid every Friday at three, exactly two hours, no calendar entry, no visible tail.That wasn’t golf.I pulled the pattern, ran his comm gaps against transit pings. James sifted the back-end metadata, ghosted tower handoffs, and scrubbed ride-share blurs until an address hardened from noise. Uptown midrise. Sister towers that some developer named the same brand with a 1 and 2 tacked on like an afterthought. Our man’s signal geofenced to Tower One most weeks, service-core level, high floors.By four I was in the service stair of Tower One with purpose.Sometimes the cleanest way into a skittish asset is to come in wrong.Through a narrow pane of tempered glass I wat
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